*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…
