Delicate Like

My shoes filled with blood. Picture these strappy, satin dance shoes - latin, three inch heel, dyed nude. The straps, double straps actually, wrap across the top of my feet, underneath the shoe and then rise up my naked ankle to bind themselves there with a tiny square clasp covered in rhinestones. Such is ballroom life: we get into our cars at 4pm and head to Jack n' the Box, order cheeseburgers and fries and milkshakes in those satin heels and bring them back in, into the teachers room, cramming the food in with Kathy Lee Gifford singing Hey there, you with the stars in your eyes and Terrence Trent D'Arby about delicacy until we're done, pop mints, spritz Obsession in my case, Hugo Boss or Obsession for Men in his - fuel up with another black coffee in a styrofoam cup, teach three more private lessons, prep for the guest party, black cocktail dress, still latin shoes, hi, how are you? dance, dance, get called into the guest circle, dance, dance some more as this perfect illusion of people, classy people - it's all perfectly benign and how many new people can you close? but the shades are lowering over his eyes. I wonder if anything is happening to mine. I'm so aware of the impending darkness that my eyes feel hysterically open, my smile for everyone endless and wide. Then it's time to put away: chairs, tablecloths, tables, plastic champagne cups. We're the last two going into the closet to put away the last two things. The opposite of ostentatious. There's a dark corner in the back, perfect for being pushed up against. Curtains have been pulled over his eyes now. My shoes fill with blood. It follows me all the way home. Wet steps. It pools around me like a blanket I wrap myself in. I know what this blood is without knowing what this blood is.

🎧 Bring This Prompt into Your Own Body

The essay you just read began as a prompt inside the Body Writers Circle. We take our prompts from song lyrics and write whatever our bodies want to say. If your own body feels full or unsafe to exist in today, I invite you to try this gentle Body Writing™ practice:

Set the Mood: 

Get cozy, plug in headphones and sink into this week's featured song on Spotify.

Listen:

Close your eyes. Don't worry about the lyrics or what they mean intellectually. Just notice how the rhythm, melody and vibe affect your body. What do you feel opening up and coming forward?

Write:

Open your journal and write the opening lyric (My shoes filled with blood.) at the top of your page. Don't try to match my writing; just notice: what does it bring up for you? What does it make your body want to say? Write for three pages – without editing, censoring yourself or trying to make your writing "good."

Why Journaling Alone Is Only the First Step

While practicing this alone can bring beautiful moments of connection and relief, trying to navigate your deepest, most intense stories alone is a big ask for a sensitive nervous system. When you're the only one holding the pen and the space, your inner critic takes charge easily, causing you to freeze up or pull back before finding the deeper medicine.

True somatic resolution requires co-regulation.

Which is why doing this work inside an ultra-intimate, zero-critique group of just 5 to 6 women changes everything. In the Body Writers Circle, you don't carry emotional weight by yourself. The shared presence of our tiny, trusted community holds space for you – allowing you to feel safe venturing into the depths your body needs without freezing or flooding.

If you feel a quiet, resonant yes to this, you belong with us. 

A new, founding member circle is opening soon. (June 2026)

Add your name to the waitlist here, for first access to a space. 💗