Hidden In Plain Sight

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.

I’m sure in their own way, most of our parents loved us… however, how many people can say that their emotional needs were met in a way that made them truly *feel* loved?

To me, love isn’t enough. I see it more as about building a bridge towards each other so that we can actually *experience* the intention of love that is being offered. The bummer in that regard is that that’s truly hard work. Work that many either don’t seem to recognise is necessary, or perhaps don’t even believe is necessary. 

Fairytales tell us that love conquers all… and as a romantic, I do believe in that. However, as mentioned… I don’t believe that love simply falls into our hands and drops our heart open like a flower. If you’re anything like me, love is terrifying. It points out every flaw, every weakness, every wound, every hope, dream and vulnerability. It makes the little girl in me believe in angels and demons both at the same time. I wish love was easy. I always wish everything was easy. Because hard stuff sucks. However, life has taught me that it’s ok for things to be difficult. I’m not particularly one to believe in “this will make you stronger” or “struggle forges diamonds” or whatever. In my eyes, it’s an acceptance of a simple reality… if I want to open my heart and allow myself to be receptive to, and give, love… I need to do the work to allow that to occur. 

It’s easy to blame others. Until I look deeper. There’s always more to it… my own stuff. Always. Sometimes that realisation occurs straight away. Sometimes it takes weeks. Sometimes it takes years. And sometimes it takes the loss of something special. I’m reluctant to give up so easily these days. I’m reluctant to blame so readily these days. My heart has become so much more flexible. So much more resilient. So much more fearless. Although there’s certainly still a lot of fear, still so much struggle, I have found that as I better learn my heart, it’s much easier to listen to the hearts of others. 

Opening to the enormity of what love can truly be, I realise that it doesn’t have to be defined, or trapped, or sought. In building bridges, I find those who wish to meet me there. There’s a joy in that. Building and creating something together. Understanding. Finding how we each give and receive and feel nourished by our intentions of how we love, by working towards a common goal of meeting somewhere in the space between us, and tending to it with ongoing patience, care and unity. 

“I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet.”

- Mahatma Gandhi -

We speak of truth a lot. I came across a quote this morning that stated:

“The truth does not require your participation to exist. Bullshit does.”

At face value I thought, yes, so true.

However, upon pondering, as I do lol, it occurred to me that truth also requires participation to exist. Do we ourselves not create truth, and nurture it into becoming something “real”?

Nature doesn’t seem to ponder the “truth” of anything… it simply is.

Truth is simply our way of rounding off the edges, so that we can be satisfied that it fits well into our little treasure trove of collected beliefs. As time wears the edges of our truth, we re-shape it so that it keeps fitting. Those with truly blessed minds can reach a point of determining that after years of polishing, perhaps it’s time to let go of that one because it simply is no longer what it first seemed. It either becomes a whole new truth, or slowly becomes bullshit.

Our little human minds need so much to make sense of everything around us to feel safe. To the point of trapping ourselves. We don’t often seem to even realise. Or maybe deep down we do, but it’s better to have something than to simply float adrift a sea of uncertainty. Such an uncomfortable concept for us to have no direction or purpose or grounding or “real.”

It’s not a popular concept, however, I can’t help coming back to the thought that truth is ever-shifting. As we learn and grow and experience, what we consider to be “real,” grows and shifts with us, regardless if we choose that or not. Nothing is stagnant.

We hope and pray that something bad will leave/end quickly. Yet we try with such might to hang on to that which feels good. And yet, it too must flow.

At this point in time it seems my lesson is to learn to be less possessive. Perhaps it’s this that is showing up right now. How odd to discover how possessive I am of truth. My truth. Your truth. The truth. Perhaps truth doesn’t exist at all. Perhaps truth is simply bullshit with a fancier hat.

*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…