Unspoken: A Journal of Submission

Finally.

It didn’t happen all at once. It wasn’t a single moment, but a series of them, each one loosening something I had held too tightly. A slow pull, a steady unravel, piece by piece over days, until today. Until now.

I felt it break open inside me, not with force, but with inevitability. The weight of her words, the reality of her claim, the truth of where I stand, it settled into me, and I had no choice but to feel it. No choice but to surrender completely.

And so I did. I let it go. Finally.

I unraveled. I shook. I burned. I came apart and let it happen, let it take me, let it hold me in a space. The weight of it crashed through me, leaving me trembling, breathless, stripped bare in ways I can’t yet explain. I cried, actually cried. Emotionally, I felt this release deeply, but also physically, the trembling, the ache in my chest, the way my heart pounded before it finally settled. Before I grasped for her in the chain, before I anchored.

And then she left me to sit in it. To absorb it. To feel it fully without rushing to fix or contain it. Without softening the edges or numbing the intensity. She gave me space to exist in the rawness of it, and I am grateful for that. So very grateful to have done this for her, for me.

And I know this wasn’t an accident. She intended this. Even in her absence, she was shaping me, leading me through this unraveling, guiding me toward something I needed to feel. She knew. She always knows.

Now, I lay in bed, mind quiet but exhausted, my body spent from emotions I didn’t know I was capable of feeling this deeply. But there is peace in it. A stillness in the aftermath. I trust she will reach me soon. I wait patiently. I touch the chain.

How perfect it feels to feel...nothing and to just wait. Like this is my purpose. With nothing to hold and just simply being.

And I know, when she beckons, I will rise. I will answer as hers.

Because I am hers. And I am ready.

It started with a struggle.

Fumbling, clasp slipping, my non-dominant hand failing me again and again. Something so simple in theory, yet this morning, it resisted. A test before the day even began. The more I tried, the more it reminded me: submission isn’t effortless. Even this, this small act, required patience, required me to work for it.

But then, finally, it was on.

At first, it was just metal. A weight against my wrist, foreign, something to adjust to. But not even an hour passed before it became something else. A tether. A thread. Light at first, barely there, like the feeling of someone watching before you even turn your head. I could ignore it if I wanted to. Pretend I don’t feel it. But I do.

It tugs, not hard, just enough to remind me it’s there. Just enough to make me want to pull against it, to see if it holds. To see if I do.

Then, the flame.

Not a wildfire, not something reckless. Just a slow, steady burn. The kind that doesn’t scream run but whispers stay. The kind that warms before it ever threatens to consume.

By midday, the chain no longer feels like an object. It moves when I move, presses when I shift, a presence as much as a thing. I don’t think of it as separate from me anymore. Instead, I notice its absence when I forget to think about it.

Her presence is like that. A quiet pull. Unseen, but felt. A flame catching at the wick, waiting for the right moment to burn. I have not been consumed yet, not fully, but the heat is there, waiting, licking at the edges of me.

And the longer I sit in it, the more I wonder

Is the thread pulling me closer?

Or is the fire what’s keeping me still?

Control isn’t always a heavy hand, a demand, or the certainty of restraint. I used to think it was, that it had to be something undeniable, something that left no room for choice. But I’m starting to understand it differently.

Sometimes, it’s quieter. Not about being held in place, but about choosing to stay.

I was told to write in blue. Just a pen, just a color. A simple thing. But simple things aren’t always what they seem. When something is given meaning, it shifts. It lingers. It holds.

I could have ignored it. Could have chosen not to feel it. But I didn’t  

Because maybe this is how it starts. Not just following, but feeling it. Not just staying, but understanding why I do.

And maybe, just maybe, this is something that should be followed.

Trust doesn’t always arrive in the places we expect. Sometimes, it appears like an open space, unfamiliar, uncertain, waiting. It doesn’t pull, doesn’t demand. It simply lingers, giving you the choice to step inside.

I was asked a question today. A simple one, really. “If I told you to sit on the floor, hands in your lap, eyes closed for three minutes, would you do it?” A test of trust. But simple things have a way of revealing what we don’t realize about ourselves.

At first, I thought about what it meant to answer. About how trust isn’t just about following, it’s about who is asking. Whether their voice holds the weight to quiet the world inside me. Whether they would place me somewhere and expect me to stay.

And then, something else.

“Sitting quietly and disconnected, when done in service to someone, can be a very freeing experience.”

I don’t know if I’ve ever had that kind of stillness. Not yet. But I know what it’s like to carry something for too long, to feel the weight of always being the steady one. The thought of putting it down, even for a moment, not because I decide to, but because someone else tells me to, that lingers.

“It’s almost like retreating into the safety of their arms when they can’t be with you.”

I don’t know if that’s what I’ll find when I sit tonight. Maybe it will feel like nothing. Or maybe it will feel like something I haven’t touched before.

“The more I know, the deeper I can go.”

I don’t know where this leads. But I know I’m still here, still listening. And maybe that says something.

I’ve been watching, reading, trying to understand. I know I want this, but what keeps me from stepping forward isn’t giving up control, isn’t the fear of what if I’m wrong,  it’s who I’d be giving it to. How do you know who’s safe? Who won’t just take what you give but actually care for it? Trust seems like the biggest thing in all of this, but how do you build it before it’s too late?

I don’t want to get this wrong. But I also can’t stay on the outside anymore. The weight for carrying this is becoming to heavy. Wanting but never acting has become too much. So, I’m done waiting. I’m making my moves, both online and in my community. I don’t know what will happen, but I know I can’t stand still anymore.

For those who’ve been here longer, how did you know who to trust?