Hidden In Plain Sight

*this is not my writing. Read it this morning, and just wanted to share. I like how she defines her boundaries between the external and the internal. Without realising until reading this, I’ve come to see that I do much the same. Hope you enjoy :)

………

Compromise it has been said, makes a good umbrella but a poor roof. Such an important fact for us all to remember when it comes to when and, when not to make a Compromise.

It is a fair question to ask ourselves when we are in a relationship ….

“When does the art of Compromise become Compromising?”

This question Sarah Jessica Parker prompts us all to ask ourselves, is not always easy to answer. Janis Joplin warns … “Don’t Compromise yourself, you’re allyou’ve got.” But dear old Janis did not have much success in quality long-term relationships either, with herself or anyone else.

We all have limits. Deal breakers and deal makers. But as we grow and evolve what was a deal breaker or maker for us in our 20’s changes dramatically by the time we reach our 40’s. Life changes, we mature and our nearest and dearest also make sometimes unpredictable choices .So it just makes sense that the art of Compromise is something we become emotionally fit at. Knowing when to do it, and when not to.

My suggestion is that always being open to Compromise and meeting someone half way when it comes to ego related matters is wise. What I mean is when it comes to the superficial, external realities of life Compromise can be a healthy skill. However when it comes to the internal realities of life, our passions, our dreams, our authentic selves, who we love and how we love consistent people pleasing based Compromise can be an unhealthy act to indulge in.

If we look to what the word actually means a Compromise is an agreement or settlement of a dispute that is reached by each side making concessions. So when it comes to what restaurant we might choose, what colour tie or shoes we wear or which television show we decide upon these are the types of ego based Compromises we may make, where we meet another half way. A Compromise is often just an efficient way to move forward with the mature understanding that what we are agreeing to is an acceptance of a standard that is a little lower than what is desirable if left to getting our own way.

We sometimes have to consciously choose in life whether it’s going to be:

All our way

All their way

Or a bit of both, an efficient Compromise

What is fairest is the agreement from time to time to give and take, to Compromise and remain flexible with issues that are not deal breakers nor deal makers. However if a loved one consistently pressures us to Compromise our deal breakers and deal makers this is unfair, and unhealthy in the long term. So it is up to us to be clear from the get go with anyone choosing to embark on an intimate, long-term relationship with us what our deal breakers and deal makers actually are.

Do you know what yours are?

Do those close to you know your limits, your breaking point?

Do you know theirs?

For me my top three deal makers and breakers with those in my intimate circle are:

1. No violence

2. No disloyalty

3. Emotional transparency

I ask this of myself towards myself and therefore of those who choose to build and maintain intimacy with me long-term. These are my limits. I get lost, confused and feel unsafe without this agreement in place. There is no half way for me when it comes to these three. It does not make me right nor wrong just me. I am clear with those I love what the consequences for crossing these boundaries would be, and we have a mutual understanding.

Do those who are closest to you agree with the consequences of dishonouring your personal boundaries and emotional limits?

Just a few questions to ponder when it comes to this complex word Compromise to ensure we remain emotionally fit, flexible, respected and safe.

“The difference between genius and stupidity is that the genius has limits,” Albert Einstein reminds us.

*there are a plethora of potential triggers scattered throughout this writing*

‘ Why won’t you just allow yourself to be beautiful?’ He asked. We were discussing my block around physical self-care.

I know when a sentence hits deep because everything inside just stops. An internal jolt that puts everything on pause… the constant chatter, the ever-present feeling of overstimulation and overwhelm… even, it feels at times, my organs.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way He said it. Almost a plea. Why couldn’t I just see what He sees when He looks at me… is what I heard Him really saying. I realised in that moment that He truly loves me. And He truly wants me to accept the beauty I have been rebelling against and hiding from others, and myself, almost as a punishment, for so long I had forgotten I was even doing it.

We hear spoken often of how painful the struggle is for girls who struggled to be noticed because they were never considered pretty. What we often don’t speak of is the struggle of girls who are only told throughout their whole lives how pretty they are. We are taught that we aren’t allowed to complain because we should be grateful that the world and life is “so much easier” for us, because of how our society views beauty.

From as early as I can remember I was told how beautiful my big blue eyes were. It was the only thing anyone ever noticed, and the only thing they ever spoke to me about. As a teen I was a professional athlete. A side-effect of that is a fit, healthy body. So, for the remainder of my growth into adulthood, I was told how hot I was. When I quit sport I put on weight. But I still couldn’t get away from it. From there into adulthood I was then told how beautiful I was. I dressed down, made myself as unnoticeable as possible, and finally as a last resort simply started withdrawing into myself.

“Beauty” became repulsive to me. The most repulsive thing anyone could say was to tell me I was beautiful. And the moment they did, I quietly and politely, slowly emotionally checked out.

Bizarre, I know.

…………..

He was pushing His cock against my ass and I was praying internally that He’d go in dry. He did. It hurt… a lot. I love that moment where it shifts from pain to pleasure. He was holding my hair back hard, my face pushed up to the bathroom mirror. ‘Look at yourself!’ He demanded.

I did. I looked at the writing on my face. “Fat cunt,” across my forehead, “Hole,” across my mouth, with the “o” being my mouth hole. “Slut pig,” across my chest and breasts as they bounced while He slammed Himself into me. I glanced at Him. I looked everywhere but in my eyes. And then I felt it coming. That wave. For a moment I resisted, and then decided, “No. No more running, no more hiding. Be brave, own the moment, just let go.” I looked into my eyes and looked at myself. Truly looked. 

The sobs came from so deep that at first I was shocked they were coming from me. Gutteral, is the only word that seems to come close to describing them. Something primordial coming from a place I’d never allowed myself to go before. I was embarrassed. Ashamed. And then, I just surrendered to it. To Him. I trusted that where He was taking me was exactly where I needed to go, and hoped that He could trust me enough to know that I needed to go there… and I have never loved anyone more than in that moment. Because He was right.

………….

As we sat together afterwards, discussing our experience, He asked why I had cried. As the tears welled up again I explained to Him that it was the first time I had truly seen myself. Truly.seen.my.self. As I am. As I feel. I finally saw, visually, who I always knew was there but just couldn’t find. I finally became… Real.
Exactly like that scene in the Peter Pan movie,

“Oh… there you are, Peter.”

I explained that after a lifetime of hiding, and then after such a painful journey of searching, in that moment, looking in that mirror, I finally saw my beauty as I see beauty to be. Unrestrained Wholeness… Free. He smiled such a beautiful smile. I looked at Him and thought, “where have You been?”

As we were lazing in bed, about to sleep, He pointed out the irony of “finding my beauty” amidst (I’d say, because of) one of our most degrading sessions, to which I couldn’t help but giggle at that observation… the absurdity of it on the spectrum of things. It made me realise that the journey to find ourselves really is just that… a journey. An adventure towards self acceptance in whatever unexpected form it may take.

I learned also that my love of degradation is the need for Someone who wants my “ugliness” just as much as my “beauty.” Someone willing to value each layer of who I am, and unbeknownst to me, help me accept the unexpectedly rejected layers. Someone willing to allow me to love and value His “ugliness” just as much as His “beauty,” and help Him to accept His unexpectedly rejected layers. Building the trust to create a space where we can be our raw selves and share the truth of who we are, in all forms, with each other. That, is what I have been searching for, and although we may struggle, and we’ve certainly had our hurdles, that is what I’ve found. Him. 

A friend said to Sir one day that what we have, is an unconventional love story. When Sir told me that I thought it was sweet, but didn’t really internally feel it. But now I see how very right he was. Our journey is exactly that…

I’ve had a lot of sex in my life. Well, in the first half anyway. I was very promiscuous and not at all selective. I believed my value came from being wanted. And I was not only wanted, I knew how to make myself wanted… the “ideal girl.”

Reading a book today, a paragraph stood out that made me realise something I hadn’t realised before. I have had a lot of sex, yes, however, he wrote about an experience that he considered to be a near perfect sexual encounter. I asked Sir if He had had an experience that He considered to be near perfect, or even simply amazing, to which He replied that yes, He had had a few.

My heart dropped, and familiar tears made their way to my eyes, followed by the old gang… inadequacy, envy, sadness and defeat. As I sat there with a heavy heart, thinking about how I’d never had an encounter that I’d consider to be anywhere near being even particularly amazing, let alone near perfection, I realised something. In all of those encounters, there was one common denominator. Me.

It came to my realisation that there is a very distinct possibility that my interactions have been mediocre simply because I am a mediocre lover. Stepping away from the pity party, something became very clear…

I don’t allow myself to receive. Therefore I don’t allow others to give. My interactions with others, especially in a sexual capacity, have always been one-sided. A safety mechanism. Me as the giver, them as the receiver. Me actively avoiding any possibility of being a receiver. Receiving, to me, is a vulnerability I’ve never been prepared to allow myself to acknowledge, let alone share with another. There is power in being the one who doesn’t lose control, even if momentarily in the throes of orgasm.

So how can I possibly be a lover who will experience great sex, if I won’t even allow proper connection? If I won’t allow someone to give me the gift of satisfying me?

I have waited all my life in the hope of finding someone who would simply take it upon themselves to unlock my sexual prowess, to unleash my inner sexual goddess, to help me overcome my fears and shortcomings and insecurities. To know my body and desires, and simply pluck them from my body with unreserved entitlement. Basically… a mind reader. Because I haven’t wanted to do the work myself. I realise now that satisfaction isn’t a one-way street. We all get satisfaction from knowing we are giving our other, regardless of how they identify, what it is that nourishes their soul.

Spreading your legs doesn’t make you a great lover. Opening your heart does. I have come to realise that there are more ways to give than by simply giving. Receiving is a way of allowing others the gift of giving to us, therefore giving them the gift of being receptive to their love and kindness and care and desire to make us feel good. I see so much more clearly now why I’ve had a lifetime of mediocre sex.

I will cease making it all about me and my giving. Almost making the other feel like they’re asking so much of me. The sacrificial martyr. Ugh.

Instead I will receive with a willingness that understands that I am being given a gift, and to allow the other to give that to me.

Whatever you look for, you will find.

Look for a lovely thing and you will find it…

Look for an ugly thing and you will find it…

So… this is way out of my comfort zone on so many levels. But… here’s to a clear diagnosis for my mammogram 🥂. My boobies aren’t trying to kill me! I’ve never loved them more than right now 💕

It has been a very stressful few months waiting to see what the lump was that I felt. A cyst. Apparently very common. If we pay attention, we can get in early when we notice changes.

Get your girls checked, ladies. If anything, it will bring you peace of mind.

And…

Here they are… a celebration of these lovely bits of me 😊🥳🙈

Love has been the theme for me this past week. This morning brought with it an interesting epiphany. Somewhere along the lines, I picked up the belief that “earned” love is more valuable than “freely-given” love. Interestingly though… at the same time, I made a promise that I wouldn’t be the type of person who made others need to earn my love… I wanted to give it freely.

A side thought… does this mean that I see my love as less valuable?

Receiving freely-given love has always felt unfamiliar and unsafe. And if I’m truly being honest, a little bit boring. There’s no drama if there’s no struggle… and the truth of the truth is that those of us with addictive personalities sure like (the) “passion” (of some good old drama). I always pined to be accepted and seen and loved for who I am… and yet I wanted to struggle and work and feel that I needed to earn that. Why? Because it seems somehow more “romantic”?

My last Master gave me the gift of experiencing being given love freely. At the time I rejected it and even fought against it. I also learned that my love wasn’t as freely given as I believed. It’s not until now that I even became capable of recognising that that’s one of the many gifts He gave me, as I now find myself in His position… learning to truly nurture that in myself and give that gift to another. I didn’t realise that above everything, He was actually teaching me how to love, in a real way, not the (I see now) childish way I had always thought was love. I now see too that this is why, confusingly, throughout all the struggles, my heart both rejected, and felt safe with Him.

It makes me wonder… will I still have the drive to be a slave if my drive doesn’t come from a place of needing to “earn” love? What if my slavery came from a place of strength? Of believing that I am already loved? That I am already enough? What if my slavery came from a place of trusting that I will always have enough to give? What if I learn that it is my purpose to help Him believe in Himself, simply by loving Him in a way that feels safe so that He too can believe He is loved and enough and doesn’t need to “earn” love?

But I need help to do that. I need the help of those whose guidance I trust. Is it wrong for me to go to Others to seek that guidance? They say it takes a village to raise a child. Perhaps too it takes a village to be a slave?

Maybe that’s our difference…

You seek perfection.

I seek quite the opposite.

“I want to look like I was never afraid to let the world take me by the hand and show me what it’s made of. I want to leave this place knowing I did something with my body other than trying to make it look perfect.” - Rupi Kaur.

As I knelt beside Him, my hair firmly in His grasp, I watched as she sucked His cock with a skill and focus that stirred in me a mixture of envy and absolute awe. A tenderness and kinship in the understanding of the small idiosyncrasies we share when experiencing these situations. Deep fascination at watching from the outside and seeing how everything occurs and looks when one is not amongst it all firsthand. And a warmth and  appreciation at how much pleasure she brought Him. Well… and the fact that it was very, very, hot.

What a wonderful beginning. Fingers crossed there are many more to come…

Being unwilling to move a muscle…

despite the growing aching in my joints,

Sandwiched between Sir and our puppy dog…

the best place in the world,

Because I’ve realised that I’m just as much Home for them…

as they both are for me.