Epiphany

Since the birth of her child she had felt alone. Her husband returned to work as if nothing had happened and largely absented himself from the home when he was not on the clock. When the diagnosis was handed down, her friends fell away and alone was no longer a feeling, but a reality.

Aloneness became a continuous theme. Alone for feedings. Alone for firsts. Alone juggling the budget. Alone managing the house. Alone administering therapies. Alone, alone, alone. While she was capable, while she did not need anyone to help her in these things, support beyond “I trust you. Do whatever you think is best.” would have been welcome.

Her abilities to juggle and manage and problem solve became her husband’s freedom from worry. Freedom from everything. Problem ‘A’ + Wife = No problem. While she appreciated the vote of confidence in the beginning, eventually it became a burden. Because he never worried about anything, she worried about all of her concerns plus his.

As her child grew, the concerns connected to the child gained gravitas. The minor worries of vomiting every time a textured food was introduced, grew into epic level worries that the child would never have the wherewithal to hold a job. The epic worries gave birth to a host of other worries. Still, she was alone. Alone with “Whatever you think is best. I trust your judgement.”

Then she wasn’t. She met a man who changed her life. Such a simple phrase – “changed her life”. Three words with untold dimension and depth. This man, over a relatively short period of time, became irreplaceable. He became the center of her universe. He offered friendship, assistance, advice, genuine concern, support and … she loved him. Love in its purest form. Love with an intensity she would not have believed possible.

This man was a pragmatist. Matter of fact statements about finding someone else if she were “hit by a bus tomorrow” occurred with some frequency. She often raised the bus scenario to see if the answer would change, wanting to believe she meant as much to him and he did to her. The answer never did change, each time reenforcing her belief that she was not good enough, nothing special, disposable. This inserted itself into the litany of her worries. One false move and I’m out the door. She saw this as fait accompli. Not an if, but a when. Eventually, he would be done.

The pressure of this particular worry threatened to crush her on a daily basis. She would wake in the morning and think of him, wondering if today would be the day. Is today the day her world would come crashing down? Is today the day it ends? Once, when the universe called into being enormous levels of stress in her life simultaneously, she woke thinking that something had to give. She could not maintain sanity under such pressure. Of the three arenas in her life, only one could she let go.

This arena also happened to be the one that often brought her the only happiness she experienced on a given day. Being who she was, she decided, again, as she so often had since becoming a mother, that her happiness was not only unimportant, but undesirable. She had seen, time and again, that when she put her needs first, terrible things happened, ingraining the belief that she was not allowed to be happy. For whatever reason, perhaps for something she had done in a past life, karma had decided that in this life, she did not deserve to be happy for any extended length of time.

When she woke under the stress and worry of life’s obstacles, multiple issues weighed her down, making getting out of bed nearly impossible. That same morning, when she had not been speaking to him for very long, several negative thoughts were expressed. OK she thought I’m being selfish sharing my worry and stress with this man. I’m creating problems in his life. I’m draining him. I’m toxic. If we cannot both be happy, then he should be. He deserves joy. It will be harder now that I know what it is to have this but I can return to who I used to be. He deserves everything I cannot give him. He’s told me he can find another. I will leave him to it. She tried to be firm, matter of fact, about it. With raw pain infusing her voice, she stated the reasons she should not be in his life. She hinted around the edges of saying goodbye for quite some time. She couldn’t form the words. Ultimately selfish, she could not say goodbye.

Several days later, he said a thing. He often said things, offhandedly, seemingly unaware of the impact. Again, with his pragmatic way, he spoke in facts, as if they were all equal in weight and value. He told her, more fully, differently than he ever had, exactly, simply, how he felt about her. He said this as plainly and unaffected as if he were stating the color of her eyes. This statement was spoken in conjunction with other thoughts and ideas. Those that came after, she did not hear.

With the gift of his words, color flooded into her world, suddenly, in the impossibly vibrant way witnessed by Dorothy. My god, she thought, holding her breath, I had no idea. Yes, I knew he loved me. I didn’t know he loved me, loved me. I am not replaceable. I am not a place holder. I am not disposable. I am significant, important, meaningful, to this man who is my world. I’m not alone in the depth of my emotion. Maybe, just maybe, I am good enough, worthy, deserving. Maybe, she thought, feeling as though she were tempting the fates of the universe, maybe, I am allowed to be happy.

Fun fact #136

Training makes my horny. I had forgotten. I have felt bad for so long I nearly forgot I had lady bits. I trained today and it was as if my body said “Oh! That’s right! There they are! I remember those. Thanks for reminding me. Now that they’re awake let’s do something. What? What do you mean we can’t? Well … fine then. You do what you want but they’re here and I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget that for a very long time.”

Yup. Sounds about right. Oddly, I don’t mind. I’m just glad I feel well again.

 

Many a tear has to fall

Today I read this: https://fetlife.com/users/8612/posts/1970457

I had a scene once. I had been playing pretty much all day..with a spanking here or there with close friends.

Then another close friend that I trusted agreed to single tail me. And it hurt…and I cried. It didn’t hurt in the ouch too hard way. It hit something cathartic I cant explain and the tears just flowed. I trusted my friend, my walls were down and the sensation of crack searing my flesh was over powering. Like it hit my soul.

And I cried out and I cried–the tears flowed and I felt silly that I couldn’t stop them. I wasn’t sad–it was more a relief emotion.

And my friend showed instant concern and care–softly rubbing my back, whispering softly, asking me if I was ok.

My response shocked me. But with some sorta bravado and a giggle as the tears continued like a waterfall…I asked “Do tears scare you?”

And with a hint of a smile, and a very Domly voice commanded me to “Turn Around!” (That was hot!!)

And we went deeper–three rounds deep until I was uncontrollably and freely sobbing. To say it was wonderful to be able to trust and open up that much is an understatement.

Sometimes when I cry now, I remember this day. Not all tears are bad.

This made me think about the times I have cried during play. About how it makes me feel that I’m weak. About how ashamed I am that I failed to be strong. About how crying makes me feel less “hard core”. About how this often happens with my back turned. About how I dread the moment I turn around because I know there are people watching and I’m a mess.

There were several comments on the post, a good many of which stated that the one commenting had never cried during play usually followed with “I wish I could”. Not a single person said they didn’t want to cry, or that they are embarrassed when they do. A few said they find it, or would find it, cathartic. Cathartic!? I don’t get that at all. How is failure perceived as catharsis?

I can remember the early days of play when there were no tears. I wonder what’s changed. Is the play significantly more challenging now? Is it somehow more emotional? Is the pain that much more intense? Am I no longer guarded? Is it a combination of all of these? Is it something else entirely? I wonder if I could prevent the tears if I wanted to, but then, they aren’t a conscious choice. There have been times that I’ve not been aware of them. It just … happens. How do I prevent something that I’m not consciously aware of? Should I even try? Does it matter?

 

What change may come

Given that it’s New Year’s Eve I can’t help but think about the past year with You. It is amazing to me how much has changed. You and I often talk about how much I have changed. Tonight I was wondering if the changes in You have been as radical. Everyone changes every day. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Holy crap, I can’t believe I just did that or It finally happened. type changes. I’m betting Our experiences together have been things You’ve done many times before and, therefore, the change for You would be minimal.

I’m looking forward to spending the coming year with You … I consider it an appetizer to the rest of Our lives.

…………………………….
Today I am grateful for: quiet
Today’s funny moment: n/a
Sad moment:
Protocol: n/a
Water: 4.5 liters
Corset: n/a
Hood: 1 hour

That Word

A while back … what seems like a very long time ago, You began identifying me as Your fucktoy. The word made me uncomfortable – so uncomfortable that I had difficulty doing nothing more than agreeing with You. I expect that You knew this. You didn’t ask me to say it for at least a month, and it may have been longer than that. I had become used to hearing it by the time You asked me to speak it. Saying it then was as challenging as hearing it had been at the start.

Dealing with fucktoy was rough because that word fuck has always been a “bad” word. A word I only said when furious or in a great deal of pain. There was nothing positive about it. DH knew if I was, to use his vernacular, dropping F bombs, that he had better tread very lightly. It took a great deal of time for me to view it as a good thing – to see it as something I wanted to be.

Now this. This word cunt, perhaps the most offensive term a woman can be called. A word that I have never used. A word that when said on a very rare occasion by DH, conversation will halt, I will raise an eyebrow and he will apologize. A word that is only ever assigned to a person if they are being insulted. You had me say that word about myself and I felt dirty. I don’t know how else to describe it, and believe me, I’ve spent some time working on this. Even with everything You and I have said and done with each other, I was embarrassed to speak that way in front of You – ashamed to refer to myself in that way.

I had barely choked out the words. Still awash in the emotion they invoked and You said a thing that I want to pretend I didn’t hear … It will get easier the more you say it.

…………………………….
Today I am grateful for: progress
Today’s funny moment: What kind of computer do you have … and please, don’t say  ‘a white one’.
Sad moment: yet another phone call from the school
Protocol: n/a
Water: 4 liters
Corset: 24.5 am, 24 pm
Hood: 1 hour