If It's All Steel

I'm not sorry. The inky night made me do it and I'm not sorry. You have no idea how alone I was in that car, in that hand-me-down sunbird, in that bucket seat, behind those headlights, in that alley. The night was a maw. You have no idea. I'm not sorry. What would you have done? You would have turned off your high beams and rolled your window down too. What is it about certain moments that stay with us, that stain us so deeply, corrupt us so irrevocably? Is it how sharp the stars are when they happen? How heavy and cold the steel? How folding and accommodating the shadows, how still the white curtains? If there are curtains. If there are white curtains and a breeze, you can know you're making a choice. If it's all steel and discs you couldn't lift on your own, you know you're in trouble. Benches are a bad sign, as are men too comfortable with pockets. 

When you have to walk by them and it's like diving with sharks, it's a bad sign, but I'm not sorry. Because where were you? Where was your better judgement? You were just enjoying a theatre show. Shame on you. I don't even need to cast shame on you. I'm not sorry. I would've done it even if you weren't there; I'm allowed to own that. I'm not sorry, not sorry, not sorry. 

She says, feeling deep sorriness in her bones. Feeling sand where her blood should be. Rolling down that window and turning around and driving and parking and the moon and steel and walking home, or feeling like I was walking home. Alone in the universe, under all the lights. Where were you? Where were you? Comfy in bed while I was being filled with spiders. Being shown just exactly how the world is and what a wolf feels like under his fur.

🎧 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 (And I'm not sorry.) 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. 💗