This is Where it Stops

This Is Where It Stops is a boundary-centered spoken word piece rooted in lived experience, body memory, and grief that does not fade with time. 

This song speaks from the reality of being present through a loved one’s final days—holding, witnessing, and carrying moments that never leave the body. It gives voice to the physical and emotional imprint of that experience: how memory lives in muscle tension, breath, and instinct, long after the moment has passed. 

At its core, this piece is about drawing a clear and unapologetic line. 

It confronts the casual, often careless way topics like hospice and death are spoken about by those who did not witness them firsthand. It reclaims authority from those who speak without understanding and places it firmly in the hands of the one who was there. 

This is not anger without purpose.
 This is grief with boundaries.
 This is memory that refuses to be minimized. 

This Is Where It Stops is a declaration of sovereignty—
a refusal to let sacred, lived experience be reduced to conversation, humor, or passing words. 

It is the moment where the body, the voice, and the truth align and say: 

This does not enter my space. 

The opening moments of this episode include a short excerpt from Regulation Before Release.

This excerpt is offered as orientation and stabilization before the main content begins. It is not an exercise and does not ask the listener to relax, process, or change anything. The sound is shared as structure—something steady that can be present while the nervous system settles at its own pace.

Regulation Before Release was created for moments when grounding and co

The opening minutes of this episode feature an excerpt from Nothing Is Required of You, a listening piece that anchors the tone and ethics of this podcast.

This excerpt is offered as orientation—not instruction. There is no exercise to follow, no breath to control, and no expectation to relax, heal, or change. The sound is shared as presence—something that can be nearby without asking anything of the listener.

Nothing Is Required of You was created for nervou

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 1:37

Do not bring that word into my space like it is harmless. Do not say hospice like it is a fact you picked up to fill the silence. My body knows what that word means. It is not a number, it is not a conversation, it is not something you toss into the air and walk away from. I was there, I was there when her body changed from living to leaving. I was there when breath became work, and time stopped moving forward, and everything became waiting. I was there for the lifting, the bathroom trips, the slow undoing of what used to be strength. I was there for the smell, the kind that does not leave you, that settles into your skin and stays. I was there for the words no one should have to say, for the moments no one prepares you for, for the silence that comes before the end. My body remembers even when I am quiet. It remembers in my knee when it tightens without asking. It remembers in my breath when it shortens, it remembers in the way I move things out of reach, create distance, make space before something crosses the line. So hear this clearly. You were not there, you did not witness, you did not carry, you did not stay. I did. This is not anger for the sake of anger, this is a boundary built from memory, from grief, from everything I held when there was nothing left to hold. So this is where it stops. Not because you understand, not because you agree, but because I decide what enters my space and what does not. This does not.