These Precious Things

These precious things, let them bleed. I hadn't heard of Tori Amos at that time, but that's what I was thinking. I don't know where that nihilism came from. But if I had to guess?

From feeling invisible. From reporting and being told he was a moneymaker - nothing was going to happen. But, you know - she was there for me. She got cancer. She might be dead now. More feelings to unpack but less than you might think. 

These precious things, let them bleed.

If a girl were that sentence, it was me in that ballroom. 

Me in the storage closet. Me trying to put my cards away. Me drowning. Me afraid to extend an arm for who I knew was waiting to take it. Pretty girl. Sensitive girl. Alone in a car in an alley at night girl. Me me me. Let them bleed.

I don't even remember the first time you kissed me. 

You'd think I would - it was such a razor up my arm.

Such a neat and fragrant opening of the skin to play in the veins below.

These precious things - every precious knife I had, let them bleed you. May they. That's what I was trying to do every time I emptied myself into you and in every way. You had no idea. You thought you were just enjoying acts of giving. You had no idea I was trying to cut you - or cut myself and drown you in all my blood. I was too slight. Too ineffectual. I'm the only one who felt anything.

🎧 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 unsurprisingly 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 (These precious things, let them bleed.) 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. 💗