Hidden In Plain Sight

‘You’re so kind,’ He says to me.

I’ve been told this a lot. In awe. Like it’s some kind of superpower. It’s not. And the fact that people seem to believe it is, makes me sad.

We can all be kind. It’s a choice.

Always.

When given the choice of how to respond to anything, I always try to choose kindness. I don’t always succeed, however, that’s a gift in itself of showing me where I still need work.

Now, some tend to believe that to choose to be kind means we must lie. I don’t lend to that belief. We can speak truth gently and with kindness. All it takes is a few ingredients: a little thought, a little heart, and some understanding that we’re all human and doing the best we can with what we have.

Like anything, kindness simply takes learning and practice. It’s not a superpower. It’s not special. It’s choosing the hard road. The one that honours both you and me, in a world that tells us that the only way to survive and get ahead is at the cost of others. The cost of another’s dignity to prove you’re “right,” or “smarter,” or “better looking,” or “more successful,” or “more loveable,” or “more deserving.” All this competition of stepping on one another to prove you’re worth more as a human. Everyone has worth. Everyone has value. Everyone has something to contribute. And everyone has something to learn.

Something that has haunted me since ending my marriage and realising in hindsight that I could’ve stayed and tried much longer than I did, is knowing when to give up. I never wanted to give up too soon again. But it brought with it the question… how does one know when it’s truly over? I don’t think there’s a “one answer” to this. I believe it’s as much of an individual answer as there are people.

So then… when is my “moment,” and would I recognise it when it arrived?

“I need You to tell me to give up,” I said.

‘But I still want cuddles and affection,’ He said. 
‘I’m just making it harder on you aren’t I.’

I pause. I can’t keep doing this. 
“It’s simple,” I say. “Do I give up?”

‘FUCK.’ 
‘I don’t think I can say those words today to you.’

“Ok.” The usual flicker of hope reignites inside me.

‘But that’s not fair either. And I don’t want to torture you. I want to protect you and keep you safe.’

‘He didn’t say it,’ whispers the flicker.

“I know,” I say to Him.

“You don’t need to say it today.” 
“When you’re ready, that’s what I need.”

Sitting in heartbreak is horrendous. Trying to navigate that heartbreak with the person breaking your heart, is even worse. Especially when you know they’re essentially a good person, and really truly don’t actually want to be hurting you. The lack of control at being able to understand why something broken can’t be fixed, is soul shattering.

Somewhere throughout last night and this morning I realised something. We’ve been travelling different paths. I have been thinking we were trying to work out how we could make this work. He’s been trying to decide if He loves me. Ouch.

There’s no room for hope left in the space between us. There’s nothing to be angry about. He’s a good man. Great, actually. He stayed and tried so hard. I tried so hard too.

Sometimes trying isn’t enough.

I realised today that I don’t need to hear those words… and He can’t say them. It’s not His responsibility to tell me to let go. It’s mine to own.

So, I have given *myself* permission to give up… to let go.

How do I know it’s time?

Because I am at peace with the decision. It’s not made out of anger. It’s not made out of fear. It’s not made from a desire to inflict hurt. It’s made out of love and respect and understanding for U/us both.

My heart is full of grief and sadness for all of the hope that was. But that’s ok. Hope is a beautiful thing. It never ceases unless we choose for it to.

This journey has shown me so many areas of healing I still need, and so many areas in which I’ve come so far. It has been such a blessing of growth and companionship and friendship and care. But it’s time to stop flogging a dead horse, and face the reality. 

This seems like a good song to our ending: 

Ugh. I’m always scared posting these ones. The “outside the box” blogs. There’s always a fear of revealing too much and opening myself up to being attacked, or judged, or both. However, I am learning to sit with that fear, and do it anyway…

Accepting my desire to suffer has been probably the most difficult aspect of coming to know myself. I say “desire to suffer,” because oftentimes I feel like “masochism” doesn’t quite represent what it’s about for me. I don’t get direct pleasure from pain. In fact, I hate pain. However, what I do love, is enduring pain despite hating it… that is where I find my suffering. And that satisfies a deep part of me that I cannot explain.

As someone who strives for growth though, oftentimes I struggle with this aspect. More often than not I find myself falling into a belief that this desire comes from damage and brokenness. So I try to step away from it and into my intellect so I can figure out the “why’s” and “should’s” so maybe I can “heal” it. 
However, other times, especially when I read about our long, historical relationship as humans, with pain and suffering and martyrdom, I can’t help but feel that it runs deeper than trauma. Somehow it feels visceral. 

As an overthinker, this is where I get stuck. Am I missing something? Or am I simply unwilling to accept something because it’s uncomfortable? 
I don’t know. And I don’t know how to know. Perhaps it’s something my mind and heart can’t understand and call dibs on. Perhaps this one’s just for my soul.

Reading something recently that very much resonated, I’m back at the place of feeling like it’s more. More than just me. More than just this flesh. More than just what we see and feel and touch and smell and taste and think. A place that exists beyond. Beyond fear. Beyond ourselves. (Not beyond common sense).

I can’t help feeling that this is a part of my journey, a part of my healing, a part of my growth, a part of all that is… a part of life, rather than something that stands alone. 
I have found my most beautiful self in my suffering. It is when I have been most open and receptive and accepting, managing to sit softly in my feminine and simply be. Yet, whilst also feeling the passion and chaos that resides there. It is when I have seen and experienced life in its most raw, innately beautiful form. Connected. Seeing all of us in the fragile humanity we share. The bonds that unite us. The chains that imprison us.

For me there is a magic in suffering. A love. A reverence. I can understand why some see “religious” aspects to it. However, I also recognise my privilege in being able to choose it. That must never be forgotten or overlooked. I am lucky enough to be in a position to “choose” my suffering to a degree, and my heart breaks for those who cannot.

Although it’s something I don’t yet understand, and am beginning to ponder the possibility that I may never, one thing I am beginning to learn in the full context of this journey we call life, is that denial certainly never brings us any closer to having answers. So perhaps it’s time to let go of the urge to carry denial around this aspect of myself, and see what it has to say…

All of my turmoil is born of resistance.

Life is such a great parent. Yet like any child, I don’t want to listen lol. I want to steam ahead to get my “wants” fulfilled… thinking I know best what those wants are. Getting fixated on the superficial wants… perhaps more aptly named the “nows.”

What I forget is that life is guiding me towards my true wants. I forget sometimes because all the nows are just so damn shiny :b

I am on a journey. A journey of unveiling. It originally began as a journey of unraveling… undoing all of that which I am not, however, recently there has been a shift. A softening. An acceptance. I no longer feel the desire to push so hard, or sit in the chaos that comes with “unraveling.” There is nothing left to unravel.

Instead, it has shifted into a journey of being receptive. Receiving. Letting go. Embracing. Allowing what is simply there, to emerge.

Putting into place some guidance for this new aspect of my journey, everything feels right. I feel ready. I am ready to open.

This of course has brought to mind where my journey will go within the realms of BDSM. How does softness correlate with pain? With degradation. With cruelty. With all the “darker” things I’ve always associated with and loved.

… with being a slave. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. One thing I cannot do is stall my growth because of fear. I have come to care enough, that I will no longer prevent my growth into becoming who I am meant to be. The wheels are turning… the curiosity of unfolding has shifted from a flicker to a flame.

Sitting within this tonight, a realisation came to mind. Actually it began with a sentence that was going to become a poem.

“Invite Yourself into me.”

And then I thought, no…

“Knock. And wait to be invited.”

A thought occurred. I looked back over every sexual encounter I have ever had. Have I ever been approached sexually in this way? Has anyone ever asked gently if they can enter into my sexual boundaries? Have I ever invited someone in to my sexual boundaries in this way? Sadly, the answer is no. I do not place blame anywhere. The reality is that I didn’t know that sexual boundaries were even a thing. I didn’t realise I could have the option of asking people to approach and knock. I didn’t realise it was an option to wait until I was ready to receive them into my sexual space. I didn’t realise that I need time to nurture that space so that I can be receptive. I simply didn’t know until this very moment. I always thought a simple “yes” of consent was all that was required. Sound familiar? It seems my body felt otherwise…

All this time trampling over my own sexual boundaries, frustrated, wondering why I couldn’t connect. Not realising there was a part that was firmly locked closed to protect something special. It’s moments like this that I revel at how wise we are. A knowing beyond knowing that protects us, even from ourselves, until we reach a point of being responsible enough to be given the gift that has been kept as a keepsake. The truly important parts of who we are.

Suddenly the urge to stop punishing myself for being (all of the things I have spent a lifetime telling myself I am because I’ve always felt so sexually dysfunctional), came forward. In this moment I can forgive myself. That girl who has wandered so lost for so long. My heart holds her. And I am excited for her.

Great challenge @SatinDragon, thank you ?

Apt timing. Thursdays are the day I actually allocated to be a self-care day. It began a few weeks ago when I realised that between clients and Sir, I was being stretched in all directions, and it was wearing me thin. So, I did something super uncomfortable…

after explaining that it wasn’t personal, I asked Sir for a day to myself. A day that W/we will both (all) benefit from. A day to simply sit in my own space, and recharge. Thankfully, He understood and has granted me this… even adapting His work schedule and all (swoon ?).

Thursday is that day. Today. 

So, today began with a coffee and walk along the beach with Sir and O/our puppy dog (a daily ritual). I met an amazing woman who feels like someone who will become a friend. 

Now, I’m off to a Pilates class, which is tough but very rewarding, and although I secretly think that all chirpy instructors are hidden Sadists, it’s also super fun, which gives me a sense of social interaction in a way that I enjoy. 

Back home now to potter around and hang out with the puppy dog, simply doing as I like, with some tidying here and there, of course, with some music playing. An opportunity to reach out and catch up with some friends. And then relax back, read some of my book, and pop on a new face mask I bought to try. 

I have come to realise it’s not so much about what I do. It’s about having an opportunity to have that empty space around me. Sometimes, no doubt I’ll do a lot. Sometimes, as little as possible. Whatever the day may bring ☺️

Reading that sentence hit hard. Sitting with it brought the realisation that I compare love. I compare how “well” someone loves me based on how I love them. If they don’t love me as I love them, I question if they love me at all. 

This was a huge eye-opener. It helped me to realise also that what I seek from a relationship (connection), may be (most likely is) different to what an Other seeks. Overall, it seems that I measure how others show up based on how I do. And if it’s not the same, I measure it as a “failure” on Their part. Ouch.

This is super unfair. And very self-centred.

I can’t decide if someone is loving me at their capacity… only they can determine that. The only thing I can determine is whether or not that capacity meets my needs.

I also can’t decide how someone meets me in the space between us… again, that is only for them to determine, and for me to decide if it’s what I want.

This overall realisation has brought to light how much I try to force things. How much I try to force love, to force connection, to force getting what I want. But is it really what I want? Somehow it seems I don’t even know what I want. I don’t know my own heart. So how can I know another’s?

I have taken a step back. Allowed space. Allowed breathing room between U/us. Allowing Him to give as He gives. Trying to receive simply what is given, as it is given… and honouring that. 
It’s really difficult. It’s difficult to maintain. The fear (?) in me wants to push forward and “work hard” to get what I (think I) want. 
Surrendering to that which is, is scary. My heart fears that there will be pain and neglect and that I will be forgotten. Will He forget that I exist if I let go? Will it fall apart if I’m not fighting for it? Will He still think I’m devoted if I’m not struggling?

These are all whispers that flow through my veins.

I want to be a puppet on Your string.

I want you to rip my orgasms from my body as though they’re Yours to Own. To take as You wish.

I want to feel violated.

By You. By Your hands. By Your fingers. By Your cock.

By Your words... penetrating the places Your hands can’t reach.

I want You to take everything from me. All that I have. All that I am.

As though You don’t have permission.

As though it’s Your god-given right.

And then I want to lay in Your arms.

Loving You.

Thanking You for giving me this gift.

My life changed when I learned to close doors behind me. I once stayed in touch with everyone I had ever considered as a relationship, as well as the “near misses” and “could have beens.” Forever keeping doors open. Unable to let go. Unable to face endings or finality. The subtle “what if” forever lingering. Once upon a time I didn’t see it that way. I prided myself on my ability to “remain friends” with ex’s, and those I’d connected with. I didn’t understand how people simply moved on… and to be honest, I thought there was something wrong with people who did.

As I become more aware of how much energy and attention is required to create deep bonds with those I care about, I am realising how important it is to be selective about where I spend my energy. How I use that energy. Who I give that energy to. Thankfully, somewhere along the lines I realised that if I was spreading all of my energy around, I was actually only capable of giving each person a little. Nowadays I see that as beneficial to no one. I find no substance in maintaining such shallow connections. As someone who wants depth, to achieve that depth, my focus has shifted. I began closing doors to those no longer in my inner circle. To those from my past. I began to focus on letting go.

These days, as I watch others scurrying around trying to maintain those “what if” connections, I feel for them. I remember that exhaustion. That people pleasing need to make sure I still “looked ok” in the eyes of those I’d known. Forever working at maintaining my “image.” Or perhaps more accurately, facade. That baggage is heavy. I remember that too. But I didn’t realise until just now… sitting here feeling so much lighter. So much less burdened. So much more at peace with having an understanding of where I want to spend my energy. I no longer feel as much the need to try to control how people see me, neither now nor in the past. There is still that worry of not being accepted, however, I try to remember that grace is about respecting and allowing them their experience, their truth, as they see it. It is not my place to interfere with their perceptions of me. I have learned/am learning, to simply close the door. And use that extra time for those in my here and now. Being present. Being available.

As I go through and tidy up, I’m on a mission. What needs to get done? What needs to go where? Constantly making mental notes as to things needing to be replaced. It’s not until I am standing at the sink washing the dishes that I truly stop for a moment and my heart swells at the thought of how much I truly love being a home-maker.

Submissive, slave, babygirl, masochist, rope bunny. These titles have all been handed to me.

Home-maker is one I choose for myself. A nester. Few things give me more pleasure than making our space feel like a home. His space. The space I know He will come home to and just feel good simply by walking through the door. I am good at making a space feel this way. What I’m still working on is making myself a part of that. Making myself feel like home too. Making myself a part of that feeling that will help Him feel good as He walks through that door. I try. But I do still fall very short. It’s always a work in progress… and I’ve come to accept that. Almost… almost… begin to enjoy the journey of coming to know what’s there, both the good and bad. A curiosity. 
Of course, having Someone create that safe space for exploration with much less of a fear these days that they’ll simply give up and leave, helps make that process much easier to digest.

Cleaning and tending to, and nurturing our home brings that connection to gratitude I so easily overlook in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. It reminds me of how much I love Him and how much He truly provides me. It reminds me that I am good at something. It reconnects me to my heart and my goodness. It re-energises me so that when those close to me need me, I can be available to them in the ways they need. Such joy and fulfilment from something most people hate!

There are hard days, of course. Sometimes I look at the washing piling up and the dishes at the sink and just feel overwhelmed. But feeling accountable to Someone else has really kicked my butt into gear of being able to make myself do things even if I don’t feel like it to begin with. And afterwards… I always come back to that same place. Gratitude.

Some people may read this and feel nauseated lol. Some may fully understand. But it’s something I have taken the time to slowly learn to nurture and accept about myself, and have come to love and flourish in. Many see me as many things. And I’m ok with that. To them, I am that thing. But to me… I’ll always be that girl who just wants to nurture that space for us to have somewhere where we can hide away from the world, relax into ourselves, and just be U/us.