Nirvana

 What are your kinks?

Okay, so let’s talk kinks. This is always the fun part because it feels like pulling the curtain back and saying, “Here’s what actually makes me tick.” And trust me, there’s a lot that makes me tick. Some of it is playful, some of it is dark, and some of it is just… well, complicated. But that’s what makes it interesting.

First and foremost, I live for power exchange. That’s the heartbeat of everything I do in kink. There’s something so DEVINE about giving up control...not because I’m weak or incapable, but because I choose to. That moment of saying, “Here, I trust you enough to hold this for me,” is ridiculously hot. It makes me feel small, safe, and free all at once. But don’t get me wrong, I can be stubborn as hell about it too. Part of me loves the game of testing, pushing, and then finally giving in. That push-pull is half the fun.

Impact play? Yep, that’s definitely on my list. Spanking isn’t just a slap on the ass for me, a wooden spoon or paddle hitting my bare ass. It’s about the build-up, the anticipation, the sound ringing in my ears. It makes me feel present and grounded. And depending on the mood, it can be playful (me giggling and wiggling away) or serious (me being reminded exactly who’s in charge). Both sides turn me on in different ways.

Restraint and bondage are another huge thing. Whether it’s rope, cuffs, or just a strong hand pinning me down, being held in place does something to my brain I can’t even fully explain. It forces me to stop fighting, stop overthinking, and just exist in the moment. That loss of control is intoxicating, even when I pretend to resist it. Actually… especially when I pretend to resist it.

Psychological kinks? Oh, I have plenty. Consensual non-consent is a big one. There’s this thrill in dancing on the line between “no” and “yes,” knowing that underneath it all, I’m still safe. The mind games, the intensity, the roleplay... it all feeds into that craving I have for being overpowered but protected at the same time. It’s scary and hot, which is exactly why it works.

And then there’s the softer stuff....praise, structure, rules, rituals. The nurturing side of kink is just as big for me as the rough side. I love being guided, cared for, and even spoiled a little (okay, maybe a lot). Hearing “good girl” will never not melt me into a puddle. But here’s the bratty part: as much as I crave structure, I also love breaking the rules just to see what happens. When i do it, its not about disrespect; it’s about the thrill of being caught and the intimacy of that little battle of wills.

So, what are my kinks...in a nutshell? They’re a mix of rough and gentle, dark and soft, playful and serious. Together they tell the story of who I am as a submissive: someone who wants to surrender, be challenged, be cared for, and yes, sometimes get away with being just a little bit naughty.

Xoxo
Nirvana

Dom, sub, switch? What Parts of BDSM Interest You? Give us an interesting in-depth definition of what that means to you. Basically define your kinky self.

If I had to put a label on myself in kink, I’d say I’m a submissive and little. That feels like the most accurate and honest description. But it’s not a flat, one-size-fits-all kind of label…for me it’s layered, textured, and very personal. For me, submission isn’t about weakness or blind obedience. It’s about deliberately choosing to hand over power, and in that choice, I discover a different kind of strength.

What draws me in is the balance between structure and freedom. On the surface, it might look like I’m giving something up. But when I allow myself to follow someone’s lead… someone I trust, someone who has earned that place…I actually gain something much bigger. I gain peace. I gain freedom. I gain safety. I gain the ability to step out of my own head and stop trying to control everything all the time. Submission, to me, feels like exhaling after holding my breath for too long.

That doesn’t mean I can’t stand on my own… I can, and I do. But there’s a side of me that lights up when I can lean into someone stronger, steadier, and more demanding of me. Submission feels like a softening into myself, where I don’t have to carry every burden or be the one steering every decision. It’s not just about play. Yes, the sting of impact, the excitement of being told to kneel, the intimacy of rituals, and the physical thrill of surrender. But what keeps me in kink is the emotional and psychological side. I love what those physical acts mean. Rope isn’t just rope…it’s the experience of being held. Impact isn’t just pain… it’s a conversation between trust and vulnerability and all the space in between.

It is about the transcending unspeakable and profoundly deep connection and devotion present in a dynamic. Rituals aren’t just rules or completing tasks… they’re grounding anchors that remind me I’m cared for and claimed. These things aren’t just sensations; they create connection. That’s the part I can’t get enough of.

I wouldn’t say I am completely a switch but do have my moments where it comes out. I am however a BRAT and boy oh boy is it fun, and I’ve learned to love it. It’s not about wanting to be blatantly disobedient, but about enjoying the push-and-pull, the spark of playful resistance. Sometimes I poke at rules, not because I want to break them, but because I want the thrill of being pulled back in. That mischievousness makes me feel more deeply seen and cared for, and it keeps my submission fun and alive. And being put in my place ..welp who would say no to that lol

Beside my deeply submissive side and bratiness…there lies a little. Soft, cute, playful and always eager to please. When I first entered into kink I started off as a little but at the time being a little and trying to understand myself and what I was feeling was a bit too much for me to handle at the time and I hide her away. It is only in the last few months that I gave her a chance, and I’m glad I did. Our favourite little pastime would have to be Bluey, whether it is watching it, or colouring in. we are trying too build our stuffie collection, we currently have 2, CupCake and Sparkles and we are hoping to make a big stuffie army to take over the world!

The more I explore, the more I realize that being a submissive isn’t something I “do”.. it’s part of who I am. I crave structure, I crave connection, and I crave the grounding feeling of giving myself over to someone I can trust. Kink gives me all of that in a way nothing else does. It doesn’t make me less it actually makes me feel more: more woman, more whole, more alive, more free.

So if I had to define my kinky self, I’d say this: I am a submissive who finds strength in surrender, freedom in structure, and intimacy in power exchange. I’m still learning, still growing, but I know this part of me is real. It’s not just play… it’s a truth I carry, and a journey I’m walking one step at a time.

That is the kinky self I’m choosing to grow into, day by day.

Xoxo
Nirvana

The bedroom was caught in the half-light between day and night. Sunset bled through the curtains in slow, ribbons of red and orange that painted everything with a molten glow; the room felt like the inside of a flame. A low, wordless music threaded the air, a pulse behind the pulse of their hearts, low and sensual, curled through the air like incense, weaving its rhythm into the stillness.

The bottle of oil in her hands was warm enough that the heat felt like permission. She stood with oil in her hands, her fingers trembling not from nerves, but reverence. Warm, slick, fragrant. It pooled across her palms like liquid sunlight. Each drop was smoothed across his skin with devotion. She pressed it into his chest first, spreading in broad circles, her fingertips lingering at the slope of his collarbone. Every kiss she placed was both soft and deliberate…one at the hollow of his throat, one over his heart, another against the curve of his ribs. The oil glistened where her lips had been, and the room seemed to hum louder with every offering. Once she was done, she took a step back and clasped her hands behind her back as trained.

His gaze was fixed on her now bowed head. Taking in her skin, the rise and fall of her chest as she waited for what was next. “Turn around,” he said with finality, and she did exactly that. “Hands Up,” he said, voice steady, commanding. She obeyed, arms lifting overhead like a prayer. He poured oil into his hands, rubbing them together before touching her fingertips. His thumbs moved with ritual slowness, tracing each finger down to the palm. He kissed the inside of her wrist, the hollow of her elbow, the curve of her shoulder.

“You are radiant. You deserve this. You belong. Breathe with me.”

He worked lower, massaging oil into the length of her arms and collarbones, lips grazing the oiled path, voice threading affirmations into her skin like vows. His arms moved lower…down her back, over her ass, between her legs. By the time he finished, her body felt not just touched but consecrated.

He made his way around her and sat himself at the foot of the bed and watched her for what felt like a lifetime. His eyes were burning with something unspeakable as he watched her…the setting sun casting a golden glow on her already glistening skin, the way she tried to rub her thighs together, he saw it all. He pulled her onto his lap, the grip around her waist painfully tight. She straddled him, thighs gripping his waist, their bodies aligned like two halves of a single thought, foreheads pressed together. The world contracted to their eyes, their breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He set the rhythm, guiding her to mirror him: four counts in, hold, six counts out. Their breath tangled until it felt like a single body inhaling itself. Her chest rose and fell against his, and the stillness grew so charged that it buzzed between them like a taut string ready to snap.

Then he shifted. His strength spun her onto the bed in one fluid motion. And in the blink of an eye, a coil of rope coiled around her wrists…rough, fibrous, smelling faintly of earth. He tied with precision, pulling the knots firm but careful, his thumb pressing the circulation points, checking her skin. “Safe?” he asked, voice low against her ear. She nodded, and he tugged once more, securing her wrists to the bedpost. The rope didn’t just restrain; it framed her, drew lines of surrender across her body.

His touch turned mercurial. At times, his hands pressed deep into her muscles, kneading, grounding her body into the mattress. At others, his fingertips barely skimmed, raising goosebumps like whispers. A sharp spank landed against her thigh…not brutal, but enough to jolt her breath. Before the sting could bloom fully, his palm soothed it, slow circles, a kiss against the same spot. Pain braided with solace, and suddenly the two could not be separated; the two were an offering and a response. She let out a sound that was part laugh, part surrender…”You deserve everything I am about to give to you.”

“Feel everything. Stay here with me.” The cadence of their breathing grew urgent as he hovered above her. His lips brushed her ear, his words slow, deliberate. Then, like an answered prayer, he oh so gently slid inside her. Slow as if he was telling her we had all the time in the world, “Let me feel you,” he said as one hand slid between her breasts to grip her throat, and the other grabbed her hip. And just like that, he began. Slow, deep thrusts that caused shallow gasps and whimpers to fall from her mouth. She never left his eyes…they were fixed on him, and his were fixed on her. Even when he would pull all the way out and thrust back in, their eyes never left each other.

He hovered over her, his forehead resting on hers. She breathed in what he breathed out, and he breathed in what she breathed out. She was part of the rhythm, her hips moved with his…meeting his slow thrusts. Her hands ached to touch him…” I want to touch you” was all she said, and he let her. Reaching over, he undid the knots, and before her hand was even fully free, she wrapped them around his neck. Rubbing and dragging her palms across his back. She reached for his hands and held them as his thrusts got deeper…she allowed her eyes to close as her head fell backwards in bliss.

“Inhale when I take… exhale when I give. Let me inside your breath. Let me inside your body. Let me inside your soul.” He guided the ritual of their union the way a priest keeps tempo: slow invocation, measured pressure, breath as prayer. Each movement they made together was matched to inhalations and exhalations. Inhale as he leaned in, exhale as she softened into him. He threaded words between each breath, not empty praise but anchors. “You are seen. You are held. You are mine.” The repetition turned his voice into a rope of its own, winding around her until she could not tell what was what.

When the turning point arrived it did not explode so much as break open. The sensation rose, a building tide that made her ribs hollow and then stretch…something temporal that pulled sensation into focus until it became almost too bright to bear. Her breath stuttered, then broke, and tears welled hot at the corners of her eyes as release tore through her in waves…a climax so consuming it emptied her, then filled her with something unnameable. He stayed with her through it, eyes locked on hers, guiding her breath back to steadiness. When the tears spilled, he kissed them away, murmuring against her damp cheeks.

“You are safe. You are enough. You are mine. Always.” The affirmations fell like soft cloth over her trembling body, wrapping her tighter than any rope ever could. He pulled her into his chest, stroking her hair, rocking her gently as she drifted down from the high. Their breathing returned to one rhythm again…slower, softer now.

After, the world was a wash of afterlight and quiet. They lay tangled: one arm over shoulders, a forehead resting on a chest, breath slowing from flamed cadence back toward a steady shore. Words still tumbled between them, but softer now…assessments and worship, the tidy suturing of two people reknitting. He murmured practical things as well as tender ones: Drink. Stay. You did well. She clung to the sound of his voice like a map home.

Outside, the sunset completed its arc and the red shifted to twilight. Inside, the air smelled of oil and rope and skin and the faint residue of incense...a room that had been consecrated for the span of an evening. The heat had burned out to embers; the glow remained, slow and sure, and in that steady warmth they rested. The music faded into silence, but the room still hummed with the imprint of what had just passed: devotion, surrender, and the alchemy of two souls daring to meet without armour.

Affirmations on their own can feel like simple positive thinking. But when I pair them with my breath, with stillness, with awareness of how the words move through my body, they shift into something else. They become tantric. It’s intimacy with myself. It’s the union between word, breath, body, and spirit. So this practice isn’t just a list of affirmations. It’s a ritual of remembering who I am, even when life tries to make me forget.

This past week has been one big poop show. In fact, if I sat down and counted the cracks, I’d run out of fingers. Life pressed, tugged, pulled me in directions that didn’t always feel kind. But still...despite everything...I decided I’m going to hold on to the one thing I can choose: POSITIVITY.

And so I began a simple practice. A ritual of breath, word, and awareness. Feel free to do it as well.

🌬️ Inhale deeply. Feel your chest rise.
🌬️ Exhale slowly. Let your shoulders fall.

✨ Inhale: I am free.
✨ Exhale: I release what cages me.

✨ Inhale: I am divine.
✨ Exhale: I return to my sacred self.

✨ Inhale: I am strong.
✨ Exhale: I ground into the strength of earth.

✨ Inhale: I am resilient.
✨ Exhale: I bend, but I do not break.

✨ Inhale: I am brave.
✨ Exhale: My heart stays open.

✨ Inhale: I am courageous.
✨ Exhale: My body carries me forward.

These words are a reminder. A reminder that even when my voice trembles, I still speak. Even when my knees wobble, I still stand. Even when my heart aches, it still beats with purpose.

Sometimes I laughed at myself, because I must have sounded like a broken record. Like some scratchy vinyl replaying the same line. But maybe that’s the beauty of it all. They loop, they repeat, they remind you of the melody you might forget when the world is too loud.

And so continue to hold onto my melody this week. My own vintage soundtrack of resilience.

I am FREE.
I am divine.
I am strong.
I am resilient.
I am brave.
I am courageous.

I am everything I need to be, and I will continue to be all of these things...Not because life has been easy. But because I am here. Despite everything, I am still here.

Xoxo
Nirvanva

Week Two
Sunday: How do I express pleasure in non-sexual ways?
For me, pleasure lives in the little things...like the feeling of warm water hitting my back in the shower, or a warm cup of rooibos tea on a cold morning. It’s putting on body lotion slowly, not because I’m rushing to get out the house, but because it feels good to glide my hands over my skin, and feel ME!

I’m laughing so hard I snort...more like the hyenas from Lion King. It’s blasting music and dancing around. It’s being silly with someone I love and not having to perform or explain why I am the way I am. IT'S LAUGHING AT MY OWN JOKES....Pleasure doesn’t always have to be sexual. Sometimes, it’s just letting myself enjoy something fully, without guilt or needing it to “mean” anything. I think the more I allow myself to feel good in these small, everyday ways, the more safety I’m building in my body to receive pleasure in bigger ways, too.

Monday: What physical sensations do I notice most often?
Tension. Let’s start there. My shoulders are always tight. My jaw clenches even when I sleep. My belly? Usually knotted up or held in. I catch myself in this low-key state of bracing, like I’m preparing for something...without even knowing what that “something” is.

But when I do slow down, I notice other things too. Like how my thighs feel when I'm sitting cross-legged. How the fabric of my shirt brushes against my arms. How my breath gets shallow when I’m anxious, and how I can feel my heartbeat in my throat when I get excited. Or how I slightly stick out my tongue when I am focusing.

I’m learning that these sensations are messengers. That my body has a whole language, and I’ve just been ignoring the vocabulary. The goal isn’t to control the sensations...but more so to notice them. To let them tell me what I need. And then maybe… to actually listen. I think realising that my body is BODY (like it's a living thing...if that makes sense)...i think i was just living in some sort of limbo or disconnect from my body. I did not realise that it is MY body and it feels things...tells me what it needs etc. 

Tuesday: How do I nurture myself emotionally?
That’s still a work in progress. LOTS of it. I, for one, am still teaching myself not to dismiss my own emotions. Which is proving to be rather difficult but we push forward. 

Sometimes I nurture myself by just saying, “Yeah… this is hard,” instead of trying to force myself to be okay. I let myself cry when it builds up. I journal. I vent. I let my voice notes be messy and long and full of thoughts that don’t connect perfectly...and I send them anyway. I comfort myself...which feels so validating...in that instance, I allow myself to be sad/angry/mean/frustrated and i feel much better than i would have had i i tried to tell myself that i am overeating or it is not a big deal, etc. 

I also give myself softness in practical ways. Cleaning my room when my mind is chaotic. Making something nice to eat, not because I have to, but because it makes me feel cared for. Taking naps when I know I’m emotionally exhausted, not just physically. Allowing myself to take breaks from people/friends/family without feeling guilty or the need to explain why. 

Nurturing myself emotionally means not abandoning myself when I’m triggered. It means saying, “You’re allowed to feel this” instead of, “You should’ve known better.” And I don’t always get it right...But I notice the shift when I do. My whole body thanks me. i feel better...even though the situation is not resolved or anything, but me simply feeling better helps me handle it better.

Wednesday: What fears do I have around intimacy?
Whew. Deep breath. I am not a fan of this one...*womp womp*...I think my biggest fear is being fully seen and then... being left. That someone will witness the softest, most tender parts of me and decide it’s “too much.” Or worse...not enough. Intimacy is so fuzzy for me...i have a lot of mostly fearful thoughts about it. I think mainly because of past experiences.

I’m scared of opening up and then being met with silence...rejection. I fear repeating the past...where I gave too much, loved too loudly, trusted too soon. Where I tried to be easy to love, and still wasn’t chosen....There’s also a fear of being trapped. That if I get too close, I won’t be able to leave even if something doesn’t feel right. That I’ll stay out of loyalty or fear of starting over.

So yeah...intimacy feels beautiful and terrifying. I want it so badly...I want to be known, seen, and heard in deeply profound intimate way… but it’s wrapped in all these quiet fears I’m still unlearning. I’m working on holding those fears gently. Not letting them run the show. Just noticing them… and choosing softness anyway.

Thursday: How do I feel about being vulnerable with my partner?
If I had to sum it up in one word? Scared. But also craving it. It is along the same lines of my sentiment to intimacy.

Vulnerability used to feel natural to me. Now it feels earned. Like I need to test the waters first, make sure they’re really safe before I open up. And sometimes, by the time I feel “safe,” the moment has passed. And I’m left wondering if I missed out by guarding myself...But I want to be vulnerable. I want to be able to say, “This hurt me” without feeling dramatic. To say, “I need you” without feeling weak. To show the unfiltered, messy parts of myself and still be held.

So, how do I feel? Hesitant. Hopeful. And still learning what it looks like to let someone see me without needing to manage how they receive it. That is my biggest thing how the person will receive it...i am scared of being vulnerable because i am scared of what the person i am telling will think. "What if it offends them...what if i sound needy...what i come across as someone with a lot of baggage". That’s the edge I’m standing on...wanting to be met there, without flinching.

Friday: What does "sacred sexuality" mean to me?
Sacred sexuality, for me, isn’t about aesthetics or performance. It’s about presence...The intimacy that feels honest. Where I don’t have to suck in my stomach or arch my back just right. Where I can laugh, cry, moan, breathe, and still feel desired...It’s when sex becomes a meeting place...not just of bodies, but of energy... intention...mutual care.

Sacred sexuality is when I feel safe enough to let go. When the experience isn’t about doing things to each other, but with each other. Where I’m not performing softness, I am softness. I’m not chasing connection...I’m in it. And even though I’m not always in that space right now, it’s what I’m working toward. A version of intimacy that honors both me and the moment.

Saturday: How do I connect to my breathing during intimacy?
To be honest? I forget to. I want to....but I often get too in my head, too focused on the other person, too worried about how I look or sound. My breath gets shallow, stuck in my chest. Sometimes I even hold it without realizing. I am so in my head...there are so many thoughts floating around in there..and i am trying to get myself to be present that I miss the breathing part altogether. 

But when I do remember to breathe? Everything shifts. My body softens. My mind quiets. I feel more… here. And I think that’s the goal...not perfect performance, just presence. Breathing is what brings me back into the moment when my mind tries to run ahead. So I’m working on that...on *cumming* (wink wink) back to breath during intimacy, not just when I meditate or do breathwork.  But it is where I can remember that I’m not just in the act....I’m in my body, too.

A Little Softer Every Day:

Week Two is done, and honestly? I’m proud of myself.

This week felt deeper. More intimate. Not just with others, but with me. These questions pulled things out of me I didn’t even know I was holding. They reminded me that I’m still learning what it means to slow down, to trust my body, and to allow pleasure and softness to show up in ways I don’t always expect. Some days felt light. Some felt heavier. But through it all, I felt present. That’s progress.

Here's to week 2 and onto week 3

Xoxo

Nirvana

I need to be told to kneel.

6

Not gently. Not lovingly. I need it said with weight, with finality. A command that cuts through the static in my chest and drops me to the floor before I even realize I’ve moved.

I need the scrape of concrete or tile beneath my knees, the bite of discomfort anchoring me to the present. I need to feel it...physically so I remember I’m here. So I remember I’m yours.

I want my posture corrected. Not with kindness...with firm purpose. Your hand at the back of my neck, pressing me straighter. Fingers curled under my chin, dragging my gaze up when I try to look away. “Eyes on me,” you growl and my thighs clench. I’m shaking, not from fear, but from relief.

I need structure. I need to be told what to do. How to breathe. How to hold myself. I need to be spoken to like I belong to someone... because right now, I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.

I want rules. Sharp ones. Edges I can bruise myself against. I want to be contained, bracketed, owned. I want to cry because you’re not soft....but cry harder when you are.

I need to be brought to heel. Put in line. I want to be made small in the way that makes me feel safe. In the way that says, “You don’t have to hold everything anymore. I’ve got you. Now. Kneel.”

Reduce me to nothing except Yours...

I need to be stripped of this noise in my head. The overthinking. The pretending. The tightness in my throat that I carry through every damn day like it’s a job. I want to be undone by the sound of your voice alone.

I want the world narrowed down to your breath at my ear, the taste of your skin on my tongue, the sting of your palm on my ass, and the dizzying stillness that follows when you say, “Good girl.”

I need to be dominated. Thoroughly. Completely. Not because I want to feel sexy, but because I need to feel real.

Right now... I just want to kneel and finally, finally stop running.

Xoxo
A Submissive

WEEK 1

Sunday: How do I feel in my body today?
Heavy. Like emotionally bloated, if that makes sense? I’m not in physical pain or anything, but my body feels... dense. My shoulders feel like they’ve been carrying something all week, and my jaw? Tight as hell. I catch myself clenching without realizing it. My stomach feels tight too...like it’s bracing for something even though nothing’s happening. That’s the part that confuses me... because on the surface, everything’s okay. But my body clearly doesn’t believe that.

I think I’ve been holding tension for so long that I don’t even notice when it creeps in anymore. It’s like my body is always on alert, expecting something to go wrong. And I’m tired of that. I want to feel safe me. I want softness to come back...not just emotionally, but physically. I want to wake up and feel light. Not disconnected or guarded. Just... here.

But I also get that it’s a process. So I’m not rushing it. Just naming it. Breathing through it. Giving myself credit for noticing. Because that’s where it starts, right? Noticing.

Monday: What emotions am I holding onto right now?
Whew. Where do I even start?(the beginning lol)

There’s definitely some resentment buried under my calm. I can feel it when I think about how certain people treated me and how I kept showing up for them anyway. And there’s shame too...not loud or obvious, but that quiet kind of shame that says things like, “Why didn’t you listen to your gut?” or “Why did you let that slide?”

I’m also holding fear. Not the kind that stops me from living, but the kind that makes me hold back emotionally. The fear of being too open again. Of getting vulnerable with the wrong person. Of doing all this inner work and still ending up in the same place I started. It’s exhausting. But I’m also holding hope. I don’t always admit it, but I am. Hope that maybe, this time, softness won’t get me hurt. That maybe I can create safety within instead of waiting for someone else to do it for me. That maybe I’m learning to protect my heart without having to lock it away.

So yeah, there’s a lot in here. But the fact that I’m feeling it, noticing it, and writing it out without sugarcoating it? That’s a win.

Tuesday: How do I define sensuality for myself?
Sensuality, for me, isn’t something performative. It’s not about being sexy or trying to “look” sensual. It’s when I’m fully in my body...tuned in.  It’s when I put on lotion slowly and actually feel my own skin. It’s when I’m combing my hair with care instead of just rushing to get out the door. It’s when I let my hips sway to music in my room with no audience, no pressure, no choreography. Just me, being with me.

It’s softness. It’s presence. It’s knowing I don’t need to perform to feel it. I don’t need to be in someone else’s arms to feel wanted. I just need to slow down enough to notice how my body speaks to me. How it responds to warmth, to rhythm, to stillness. How it softens when I stop judging it.

It is so freeing to define sensuality for myself, about choosing it on my own terms, in my own timing, without apology. It reminds me that being in my body can be sacred, even if no one else is watching. Especially if no one else is watching.

Wednesday: What does sexual energy feel like in my body today?
Today? Mmm, it’s like background music...there, but low. Not buzzing. Not urgent. Just... humming quietly. It feels like warmth behind my ribs. Like my body’s reminding me I still have that fire, even if I’m not actively using it. And honestly, I kind of like that. I like that my sexuality doesn’t need to be this big, loud thing all the time. That it can be subtle. Slow. Private.

There used to be a time when I confused sexual energy with pressure. Like, if I felt it, I had to do something with it. Touch myself. Text someone. Find an outlet. But now? I just sit with it. Let it rise. Let it pass. Sometimes I breathe into it and smile, like “oh hey…you’re still here.” That, on its own, is powerful.

I don’t need to act on it to know it’s real. I don’t need it validated by someone else. Just feeling it...letting it move in me, without fear or shame...

Thursday: How can I honor my body today?
Honestly? By listening to it. Like really listening...not just when it’s screaming in pain or exhaustion, but when it whispers. When it says, “Hey, we need rest,” or “Please drink some water before that third cup of coffee.” I’ve ignored those whispers way too many times. Pushed through, smiled through, dressed up, showed up, performed....and meanwhile, my body was just trying to get my attention.

Today, honoring my body might look like staying in bed an extra 30 minutes. Or taking a longer shower. Or stretching my hips before bed. It might be choosing food that actually nourishes me, not just distracts me. It might mean not going out when my energy’s tapped...even if I feel guilty for saying no.

Sometimes, honoring my body means being gentle. Other times, it means being firm. But either way, it means not abandoning myself just to be liked, wanted, or productive. My body is not an afterthought. It’s home. And I’m trying...really trying...to treat it like one.

Friday: Am I fully present during intimacy? Why or why not?
If I’m being dead honest… not really. I want to be. I crave those moments of deep connection, where everything feels raw and real and nothing else matters. But most of the time, my brain is somewhere else. Watching myself. I wonder how I sound, how I look, what they’re thinking. Overanalyzing every touch. Too scared to speak up if I am not enjoying myself.  And half the time, I’m so deep in my head that I miss the actual moment.

And I hate that. Because when I am present, when I do let myself be soft and vulnerable and messy, it feels like magic. But that takes trust. And that’s something I’m still rebuilding....not just with other people, but with myself, firstly. 

I think I’m still learning how to feel safe in my own skin. To stop performing and start receiving. To breathe, instead of brace. But I’m working on it. Slowly. With intention. I want to get to a point where intimacy doesn’t feel like something I have to survive, but something I get to enjoy. Something I get to feel. Fully.

Saturday: What is one thing about my body that I love?
My smile. Hands down.

Not just because it’s cute (even though it is, okay?), but because it’s honest. When I smile for real...like laugh-out-loud, full-cheek, nose-wrinkled kind of smile...it feels like freedom. Like I’m not holding back. Like my softness is spilling out, even if just for a second. That smile has survived heartbreaks, breakdowns, disappointments, and still shows up. That smile has comforted friends, made babies giggle, and brought strangers into little moments of connection.

It’s proof that the soft version of me still exists. My smile is my rebellion. My reminder. My softness, loud and proud...So yeah. I love her.

Conclusion

This past week? It actually went better than I expected.

I started this four-week Tantra journaling challenge as a way to slow down and reconnect with myself...my body, my breath, my softness. Every day came with one question, and every answer helped me check in, reflect, and just be with whatever came up.

I didn’t go into it trying to fix anything, just trying to feel again. And honestly? I’m excited. Week One felt good...gentle, honest, grounding. I’m curious to see what the next three weeks unfold. 

Which question was your fav and what would your answer have been?

Xoxo

Nirvana

After a long, punishing day, she finally stepped through the door, body heavy with exhaustion and mind frayed at the edges. All she wanted was to collapse into his arms … to melt into his warmth, bury her face in his chest, and forget the world existed. But that would have to wait. Daddy had messaged earlier … running late tonight, princess. Be home soon. No time to talk today. Just that message. And now the silence in the house felt even louder.

She sighed, dragging herself through the living room, dropping her bag onto the couch with a dull thud. The day clung to her skin like dust, and her feet carried her toward the bathroom on autopilot. Clothes peeled off one by one, falling to the floor like shed armour. She needed the water. Needed to wash off the weight. The moment the hot stream hit her skin, her body sagged. The shower filled with steam and the sound of her soft sighs. She stood there for what felt like forever, letting the heat undo her tension, soften her edges, and coax her back to herself.

Eventually, she stepped out…skin flushed, heart quieter. She slipped into his shirt without thinking. Creamy white. Oversized. It hung mid-thigh and draped off one shoulder, still faintly holding his scent. She ran her fingers across the hem, comforted by the way it swallowed her body.

But when she opened the bathroom door…She froze.

The curtains … once open … were now drawn. Candles glowed warm in every corner, flickering softly against the walls. And the smell...chamomile and lavender. Her favourite. Familiar. Calming.

And there he was. Sitting on the couch. Waiting for her.

He looked up the moment she stepped into the room, and something in his expression changed. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, forearms flexing slightly as he leaned forward. His tie loosened. Hair a bit mussed from the day. But his eyes … God, his eyes … softened like he’d just come home.

He drank her in, gaze crawling over her bare thighs, the way his shirt clung to her still-damp skin, the way her breath caught in her throat when their eyes met.

“You look...” he started, voice low, eyes tracing the edge of her shoulder where the shirt had slipped, “...like you need me.”

She didn’t answer…She ran…Straight to him. Her knees hit the couch before her body hit his… arms wrapping around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder like she could disappear into him. He caught her instantly, one arm around her waist, the other hand cupping the back of her head like he’d been waiting for this exact moment all damn day.

“You set this all up?” she murmured, voice muffled against his skin.

He kissed her temple. “I came home and heard the shower running. Thought about joining you,” he chuckled, “but you looked so peaceful in there, baby… I figured I’d make you feel even more loved when you stepped out.”…Her heart flipped. “Also…” he added with a grin against her ear, “I may or may not have made a quick run to grab your favourite snacks.” She pulled back just enough to look at him … cheeks warm, eyes glassy. “You spoil me.”…“You let me,” he said simply.

She straddled him without thinking, thighs settling on either side of his lap as her arms stayed looped around his neck. The t-shirt hitched up high on her thighs, the hem barely covering anything now that she was perched on top of him. He noticed. Oh, he noticed.

His hands slid down to her hips, fingers splaying wide, thumbs grazing the soft skin just under the hem of her shirt. “You wore this just for me, didn’t you?” he murmured, eyes darkening as he looked down, then slowly back up at her. “My good girl… walking out here looking like that, expecting me to behave.”

She bit her lip, hips instinctively rocking forward just a little … teasing, testing…“Maybe I wasn’t expecting you to behave,” she whispered, mouth barely an inch from his. His grip on her hips tightened. And just like that, the air between them shifted … the room pulsed with unspoken promises. She felt it. The hunger beneath his calm. The way his eyes locked on her like she was both a gift and a storm.

His finger barely moved between her thighs. Just enough to tease. To taunt. He traced the slickness there like he had all the time in the world, like the ache between her legs wasn’t begging to be undone. “You're so wet already,” he whispered, lips brushing her cheek as he watched the way her breath hitched, her thighs twitched, her eyes fluttered. “And I haven’t even touched you properly yet.” Her hips rolled instinctively, trying to grind down onto his hand…but he pulled back with a warning grip at her waist.

“No, no…” he said, voice low, firm, laced with that commanding warmth that made her body obey without thought. “You don’t get to chase it, baby. You’re gonna sit right there and let me take everything at my pace.” Her whimper was soft. Needy…She felt completely undone already…straddling him in his shirt, skin warm from the shower and flushed from the need that had only been growing since she stepped out and saw him waiting there.

He leaned in close again, kissing her slowly, deeply. His tongue slid into her mouth with the kind of control that made her toes curl…not fast or rough, but deliberate. Like he was tasting her. Memorizing her. Claiming her. As they kissed, his hand slid up her back, fingertips trailing under the fabric of the shirt. He lifted it slowly…exposing her inch by inch. He didn’t pull it off. No. He wanted it on her. His shirt. His girl. On his lap.

“You have no idea how fucking pretty you look in this,” he murmured, mouth brushing her ear. “Thick  thighs out, tits brushing against my chest, your cunt dripping for me while you pretend to sit still.” She moaned into his neck, her body trembling against his. Her core ached…empty, throbbing, desperate. But he wasn’t giving her anything yet. Just fingertips. Just words. Just heat.

And it was driving her insane…“I want you so bad,” she breathed, eyes pleading now. “I know you do,” he said, cupping her cheek again. “And I want you too, princess. But I’m not gonna rush it. You don’t need fast.” He kissed her again. Softer now. His hand moved between her thighs again, fingers slipping over her folds, slick and warm. Still teasing. Still light. But this time… he didn’t pull away.

His fingers circled again, slower this time. More deliberate. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the tip of her nose. “You’ve had a long day,” he whispered. “So tonight… I’m gonna take my time. I’m gonna kiss every part of you. I’m gonna feel every twitch, every moan, every fucking breath you give me. And you’re not gonna lift a finger unless I tell you to.” She could barely nod. Her eyes were glassy. Her body soft and open in his hands. “That’s it,” he whispered, voice barely audible now as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Let me love you slow tonight.”

And so she let go.

She was already trembling by the time his fingers slid away…soaked, flushed, panting into the curve of his neck like she’d forgotten how to speak. Her thighs ached from straddling him, but she didn’t dare move. Not until he told her to. “Look at you,” he murmured, fingers still slick from her arousal as he cupped her face again. “All messy and needy in my lap. You’d let me ruin you right here, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, dazed. Barely holding it together. “Mmm. I know you would,” he smirked, planting one final kiss on her lips. “But not here. I want you on the bed. Spread out. Quiet. Sweet. Just how I like you.” And with that, he shifted. In one smooth motion, he stood…carrying her with him…strong arms under her thighs, her body instinctively clinging to him, legs locked around his waist. His shirt rode high on her hips now, her slick centre pressed hot against the front of his trousers. She gasped at the friction, at how effortlessly he held her, how safe she felt in those arms.

“You feel that?” he whispered as he walked slowly toward the bedroom. “That’s how hard you’ve got me, baby. And I haven’t even been inside you yet.” Her breath hitched. The door opened with a soft push of his foot, and the bedroom greeted them like a dream…dimly lit with the same warm candlelight, the sheets turned down, the air thick with heat and anticipation. He set her down on the bed like she was fragile…precious. Like if he handled her too roughly, she might fall apart too soon.

“Lie back,” he ordered, voice low and heavy. She obeyed without hesitation, legs still slightly open, the shirt now completely bunched up around her hips. Her chest rose and fell fast, nipples hard under the thin cotton, her eyes never leaving his. He stood at the edge of the bed, eyes roaming her like she was art. Hands slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt, revealing tan skin, broad chest, veins along his forearms…everything she ached for.

But he didn’t rush.

Not with her.

He stripped for her like he wanted her to watch. Like every inch he exposed was a promise. A warning. A gift. And when he finally crawled over her…strong arms caging her in, lips ghosting over hers…she arched into him like her body couldn’t stand the distance anymore.

“First…” He lowered himself between her thighs, eyes locking on hers as he said the words that made her heart stop:

“Let Daddy taste what’s his.”

His breath hovered just above her core…warm, teasing, deliberate. One hand hooked beneath her thigh, spreading her open wider, the other trailing slowly over her stomach, reminding her he was still in control of every inch. She whimpered when she felt the first brush of his breath against her slick folds. He hadn’t even touched her yet.

“Look at you…” he murmured, voice husky and low. “All this for me. So wet. So ready. You’d let me taste you all night if I wanted to, wouldn’t you?” She nodded, eyes wide and pleading, her fingers gripping the sheets like she could hold herself together. He didn’t wait for another answer.

His mouth finally met her…hot, slow, devastating.

She gasped…back arching, thighs twitching…But he held her still…That same steady grip on her thigh tightened as he sucked her clit into his mouth, slow and rhythmic, the soft slurp of his tongue the only sound between her shaky moans and the faint crackle of candlelight nearby.

“Daddy…” she breathed, voice cracking on the edge of ruin. He growled low…the sound vibrating against her, making her whole body tremble. “Mm-mm. Use your words, baby. Tell me what you need.” Her voice barely worked. Her mind barely functioned. But she choked it out between gasps. “Please... don’t stop. Please... I need you... I-I’m so close…”His smile was wicked against her heat.

“Good,” he said, voice rough now. “You’re not cumming until I say so.” And then he buried his tongue inside her. He groaned like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted…Like he’d been dying to be between her thighs again.

She was shaking. Legs trembling. Voice caught in her chest as her orgasm built…high, hot, urgent. She tried to warn him. Tried to breathe. But all she could do was feel. “Daddy I—please—I can’t—” He pulled back, face slick, mouth swollen, eyes dark and wild. “Yes. You can.” And just like that, he sucked her clit between his lips again, slow and rhythmic, his fingers slipping inside her now…two thick, strong fingers pressing deep while his tongue circled and teased.

That was it. That broke her.

Her orgasm hit like a wave crashing too hard into the shore…sudden, loud, violent in its intensity. He didn’t let go until she was whining from overstimulation, body twitching, fingers still fisted in his hair while he kissed her softly…little licks and nuzzles like he couldn’t bear to stop. When he finally pulled back, his lips were shiny. His beard soaked. His expression smug and feral.

“God damn,” he whispered, crawling back up her body, pressing a line of slow kisses from her belly to her chest, up her throat, until he hovered over her mouth again. “You taste even sweeter when you cum for me.” She blinked up at him, dazed. Ruined. Glowing. And then he kissed her…deep, filthy, full of her own taste. “Now,” he murmured against her lips, grinding his cock against her soaked entrance, “you’re gonna let Daddy inside this pussy.”

“Slow…” she whispered.

He smiled.

“Oh, baby…
I’m gonna take my time."

His lips hovered over hers, both of them still breathless, bodies pulsing in sync. Her thighs lay open beneath him, glistening from the orgasm he dragged out of her with his mouth. His shirt was bunched around her waist, clinging to her skin in the candlelit warmth of the room. And his cock was hard, heavy, pressed against her soaked entrance…aching for her. She could feel him there, just teasing her folds, not yet inside, not yet giving her what she needed, what she begged for.

Her eyes met his…glassy, dazed, desperate.

“Daddy…” she whispered, voice barely working, “please…”

His hand cradled her face, thumb stroking her cheek with the softest reverence. “You sure you’re ready?” he asked, and God, even his voice made her melt…deep and low, rough with restraint. She nodded, hips tilting up toward him.

“I need you. Inside. Now.”

His lips curled in a slow smile. “Good girl.”

He guided himself to her entrance, dragging the head of his cock slowly through her slick folds, just barely nudging her opening…teasing, taunting. She gasped, her fingers curling into the sheets as her body strained to pull him in.

But he didn’t thrust. Not yet.

He pushed inch by inch, letting her feel the stretch…the slow, perfect invasion of his thick length pressing into her soaked heat. Her mouth dropped open in a silent moan, her back arching off the mattress as he filled her with a deliberate slowness that made every nerve light up like fire.

“Oh my God…” she breathed, already trembling.

He groaned low in his throat…deep and guttural…the sound of a man trying to hold back everything he wanted to give her. “So fucking tight,” he muttered, eyes locked on the way her body swallowed him whole. “You feel that, baby? You feel how perfect this is?”

She could only nod, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes…the stretch, the depth, the way he slid in so slow, like he wanted to memorize every inch of her from the inside out. When he bottomed out, fully seated inside her, both of them just paused. Breathing. Shaking. Sinking into the feeling of being joined like that…no space left, no air between them, just heat and pressure and need.

“Stay still,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.

She whimpered, body twitching, walls fluttering around him.

But she obeyed.

She didn’t move.
She didn’t beg.

She just felt.

And Daddy just held her there…buried inside, his hands cradling her hips, his cock throbbing deep within her soaked cunt, the tension between them unbearable in its stillness.

Then, slowly…so slowly…he pulled back. Only halfway. And pushed back in with a deep, slow grind that made her eyes roll back and her nails claw at his back.

He did it again.

And again.

Slow, full thrusts. Deep and deliberate. No rush. No pounding. Just heavy, thick strokes that filled her to the brim and made her whole body pulse with every drag of his cock along her walls.

“Let me love you slow,” he whispered into her ear, each word thrust deeper into her body than his cock. “Let me fuck you the way no one ever has. Let me show you how it feels to be owned.” She cried out…a quiet, strangled moan that spilled from somewhere between worship and desperation. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist. Her arms around his shoulders. And she began to move with him…slow rhythm, hips rising to meet each thrust like her body was made for his.

The sound of slick heat, soft moans, and the occasional gasp filled the room.

He kissed her…long, wet, drugging kisses that made her toes curl…while his cock fucked into her with aching care, dragging along every sweet spot she had until she was shaking again.

“Daddy…”

“Mmhm?”

“I’m gonna—”

“Not yet.”

He pulled almost all the way out. And then slammed back in deep.

Her whole body arched, a sob of pleasure tearing from her throat. “You’re gonna wait for me,” he growled against her neck. “You’re gonna cum with me. You’re gonna feel every part of me until I tell you it’s time.”

And she obeyed.

Because when he was inside her like that…slow, deep, worshipful …there was nothing else. No thoughts. No words.

“You feel that?” he whispered, forehead resting against hers. “That’s me. All of me. Buried inside my good little girl.”

She nodded weakly, tears pricking her eyes…not from pain. From the intensity. From the fullness. “You fit me so perfectly,” he murmured, kissing her temple, “like your body was made for this. Made for me.” And then…finally…he began to move.

Not fast. Not rough…Just a slow, deep grind. His hips pulling back a few inches… before rolling forward again, dragging his cock along her fluttering walls until she was moaning into his mouth.

Every thrust was deliberate. Heavy. A full-body experience. He stayed close…chests touching, lips brushing, his arms caging her in while he made love to her with slow, rhythmical possession.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice barely holding together. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me…” Her fingers slid into his hair, holding him there, her hips lifting to meet every stroke, chasing each deep thrust like it was her oxygen.

The way her walls clung to him?
The way she whispered “Daddy” like a prayer?

It wrecked him.

“You like that?” he growled softly. “You like being full of Daddy’s cock?” She nodded, breath catching, lips parted. “Tell me.”…“I love it… I love how you feel inside me…”

“Mmm. That’s right.”

His hips moved with a measured patience, each thrust deliberate and heavy, dragging deep enough to make her gasp but slow enough to keep her teetering on the edge of complete surrender. She was trembling beneath him, heat pooling in her belly, her breath catching with every inch he pressed inside. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and rough, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “So fucking good for me, letting me fill you up like this. You’re mine, all the way.”

“Say it,” he growled against her mouth. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“Daddy,” she whispered, voice trembling, “I belong to you.”

“Good girl,” he growled, thrusting deeper, hands gripping her hips tight as he drove into her with slow, crushing power. The room filled with their sounds…breathless moans, skin slapping, whispered names…and the sweet torture of being held so completely that all that mattered was this…them.

She was drowning in him, in his voice, in the slow, relentless rhythm that promised nothing but pleasure and ownership. And he finally spoke the words, sending them both over the edge into the beautiful bliss

The room was quiet now…Candlelight flickered against the walls, casting soft shadows over tangled sheets and flushed skin. The air still smelled like chamomile and sex…heady, warm, comforting. She lay there boneless, chest pressed to his side, her thighs still trembling from everything he’d wrung out of her. His shirt clung to her damp skin, bunched awkwardly around her waist, but she didn’t have the energy to fix it.

And she didn’t need to…Because Daddy’s arms were already around her.

Holding her tight. One hand stroking her back in slow, grounding circles. The other brushing through her hair with that steady rhythm that made her chest unclench.

“You with me, baby?” he asked softly, lips close to her temple. She nodded against him, nuzzling his chest, her voice too small and sweet to do anything but melt him.

“Mmhmm.” He exhaled slowly, fingers tucking her hair behind her ear, trailing down to her jaw.

“You did so well for me tonight. So fucking good.” A soft hum left her throat. Not quite a word, just the sound of safe. He kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then the tip of her nose. Tiny, affectionate things that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with devotion.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmured. She tried to protest…something soft and slurred, but he was already moving. Lifting her gently, whispering “I’ve got you” as he carried her to the bathroom. She clung to him without thinking, face pressed into his shoulder like the world outside his arms didn’t exist. He sat her down on the edge of the tub and turned on the water…warm, not too hot — checking the temperature with his hand before glancing over at her.

“You want bubbles, baby?”

She blinked, a lazy smile pulling at her lips. “Always.”

He chuckled, that deep Daddy laugh that made her belly flutter no matter how fucked out she was.

“Of course you do.”

He poured the lavender bubbles…her favourite…and the room slowly filled with soft steam and floral calm. Once the water was ready, he helped her in, keeping one hand on her the whole time, making sure she was steady, comfortable, held. She sank into the water with a quiet sigh.

But he didn’t leave.

He stripped out of his clothes and entered the bathtub sitting behind her, taking a soft cloth and dipping it into the water. He started at her neck, gently running it over her shoulders, down her arms, across her chest, tender, slow, reverent.

Her eyes now glossy with tears followed his hands as he washed her…her voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you always take such good care of me?” He stayed silent but his hands still moved…“Because you’re mine.”…“And when something belongs to me, I protect it. I care for it. I love it. Always.”

She blinked hard. Like she didn’t know whether to cry or crawl back into his lap.

And when she finally whispered, “I love you too, Daddy…”

I didn’t realize how far I’d drifted from myself until I tried to come back. Until I sat still, placed my hand over my chest, and really tried to breathe…without distraction, without a goal, without trying to be anything but present.

After everything that happened this year …the people I trusted, the parts of me I gave away, the softness I thought I had to earn. I have ended up in a place where softness feels like something I can’t reach anymore. I want it, miss it, crave it… But also don’t feel like I can trust it. So I shut it down. I stopped allowing myself to be open. I am moving through the world guarded, cautious. And with that, I have slowly stopped connecting to the parts of myself that used to feel the most like me…the warm, silly, affectionate girl.

I want to find my way back to her.
Not by force.
Not by pretending nothing happened.
But by creating space for her to come back gently…on her terms.

That’s what led me to Tantra.

Some mornings, I lie on my bed and place one hand on my heart and the other on my belly. I close my eyes and breathe. Just to feel myself again. Just to remember that I’m still here.

Other times, I sit in complete stillness....no music, no phone, no voice in my ear telling me what to do. I just let myself be quiet. And in that silence, sometimes I hear things I forgot I needed. Little truths that get buried in the noise. Sometimes I whisper them out loud: “You’re safe to soften now.” Or, “You’re allowed to be here.” And maybe I don’t fully believe them yet. But I say them anyway.

These moments aren’t dramatic. They’re not big breakthroughs. But they matter. They’re helping me feel more grounded, more aware, more connected. They’ve reminded me that softness doesn’t have to come from someone else. That I can offer it to myself in tiny ways, and that’s still valid. That’s still enough.

So, for the next four weeks, I’ve set myself a little challenge. I found a series of Tantra-related questions...one for each day, that I’ll be answering through journaling and reflection. Just like I do with all my other healing work, I’ll be documenting the process, checking in, and staying curious. I’m genuinely excited to see what unfolds. Not because I expect some magical transformation, but because I know something shifts every time I give myself permission to go inward. I want to use this time to fall in line with myself again, to reconnect, to feel safe in my body again. And I’m hopeful. Really hopeful.

Tantra, for me, has become less about technique and more about intention. It’s been about creating small rituals of care and connection. About reminding my nervous system that it’s okay to soften. That I’m allowed to feel safe in my own hands. That I don’t need to wait for someone else to make me feel held…I can offer that to myself.

I am slowly starting to feel like myself again….

Xoxo
Nirvana

There was a time when I would stop and pet EVERY cat I saw and go up to pet it despite my severe cat allergy. I’d smile at random old ladies, make silly faces at babies in line to hear them laugh. I used to blush when someone looked at me in that soft, lingering kind of way. I giggled at voice notes, happy-cried over the smallest thing, and sent “I miss you” texts without shame. I was emotionally open…maybe even too open sometimes. But that version of me? She’s MIA.

I don’t look up anymore. I keep my headphones in even when nothing’s playing, just to avoid interaction. I avoid eye contact. I don’t linger. I don’t initiate. I don’t trust. Not fully, not easily, and definitely not the way I used to. It’s like my default setting switched from “welcome” to “don’t get too close.” Not because I don’t want connection, but because I’ve stopped believing that it’s safe to want it.

The shift didn’t happen overnight. It started with “Him”, and then it got worse after Miss ended things abruptly. Both of those situations changed something in me. They didn’t just hurt me…they rewired me. I started questioning my own instincts. I’d get that tight feeling in my chest, that inner knowing, but I’d ignore it. Because I was trying so hard to be patient, understanding. I didn’t want to be “too much.” I didn’t want to cause problems. So I swallowed my feelings, shrank a little more, and made space for people who weren’t making any for me. And now… I just don’t show up at all.

At some point, I became cold. I didn’t even notice it at first. I thought I was evolving. I thought I was becoming wise, emotionally mature, above the chaos. I told myself that pulling away from people before they could hurt me was protecting myself. I thought I was strong. Independent. Emotionally intelligent. But I am secretly grieving the version of me that used to be able to just feel things without having sleepless nights about it.

The truth is, I miss softness. Not the fake kind. I miss the softness that felt natural. I miss laughing so hard I snort. I miss random compliments. I miss caring out loud. I miss reaching out to someone and not immediately regretting it. I miss crying and not feeling weak for it. I miss the twinkle I used to have…but I am just so scared. Scared to connect…in the back of mind, there is an imaginary clock ticking away at the countdown to their inevitable departure.

Being soft comes with risk…and boy, have I been burned. So now, I overthink everything. I hesitate. I double-check my own tone. I analyse people’s words, their silence, and their pauses. I feel safest when I’m detached, when I don’t need anything from anyone. And yeah, there’s power in that. But there’s also loneliness. A kind that’s hard to explain because it’s not about being alone physically but rather about realizing that even when people are around, you’re never fully letting yourself be seen anymore.

I want her back. Not the naïve version. Not the one who tolerated red flags and gave out trust like candy. But the version who felt deeply and didn’t apologize for it. The one who didn’t carry shame around softness. The one who knew how to be vulnerable and safe at the same time. The one who didn’t think twice about making a small gesture of care, even if no one noticed it. The one who felt proud to love people out loud.

I want to flirt without analysing every word. I want to say “I miss you” without panicking about whether they’ll say it back. I want to stop building backup plans in my head just in case someone disappoints me. I want to stop holding my breath emotionally, waiting for the next disappointment. I want to trust again. Not blindly…but fully.

And no, I’m not there yet. I still flinch. Still hold back. Still pretend I’m okay even when I’m unravelling inside. Still give BOMBASTIC SIDE EYE. Still use humor and sarcasm to cover up how badly I want someone to just see me. But sometimes, on a good day, I catch a glimpse. Maybe I smile at a baby in the taxi. Maybe I send a voice note without rerecording it. Maybe I let myself be soft, just for a moment.

All of this is soooo cliché….but oh well

Being soft was never my problem…Maybe I just gave it to the wrong people, and I want to take the time to forgive myself for that.. My softness is what makes Nirvana Nirvana. She isn’t gone, she is just taking a break, and I will give her that time.

That part of me isn’t gone. She’s tired. She’s healing…recuperating. And when she’s ready to come back…I’ll be ready to receive her with open arms and yummy chocolate.

Xoxo

Nirvana