I've been working on the basis that to heal an emotional wound you have to trace it back to the event or events that happened.
I am starting to think that there are two elements in place, not one; that one is a harmless sort of thing and the other is a wound that needs to be healed, as best I can.
First, the kinkiness: light, fun, harmless play. I think I probably developed it at a very young age. Remember when I was young, in the 1950s, spanking was a normal sort of thing, though not for me.
I think I was curious. I think I connected it with a sort of loving approach, to the extent that the child received attention. I think I was starved for attention and so maybe that resonated for me.
I saw movies. I noticed my reaction to the scenes where there was a power dynamic of some sort.
In short, spanking was a turn on for me. Still is.
For whatever reason, feeling helpless, in a good way, is a lovely letting go response for me.
Much later, I got hooked into an objectification sort of kink, which fed me in some way at the same time as it was a power dynamic that humiliated me. It could leave me feeling heavy and damaged; angry and flawed.
Feeling a need to try to remember my childhood, I began to realize, piece by piece, that I carry a great deal of shame for my early years and probably carried even more then.
It isn't just that the circumstances of my exterior life involved shame. That's about 20% of it.
The major part of the shame comes from the fact that my parents spent very little time with me; an incredibly small amount. And, that I was so different to them in nearly every way. That I had no belief in the value of expressing my feelings. That I felt it a waste of time to have needs.
On the contrary, I developed a strong need to aid my mother in her emotional life, to prop her up when needed. Seeing clearly that my father had a great many needs, needs that he seemed to feel that only my mother could fulfill, that left me to handle life on my own, and to do for my younger brother whatever I possibly could.
It wasn't that they looked out for me but rather at a tender age, I looked out for them.
This seemed to set me up for an adult life where I didn't feel it my place to have needs or to express them. I looked after other people. I was even proud of my ability to do so.
At the same time, giving and giving, I worked on the basis that if I gave over my agency to another, he would do the right thing by me. If I was brave enough to express my needs, he'd do his best to fulfill them.
Eventually, I did express my needs.
But, I learned that over the long haul, that wasn't enough, for the special people in my life had wounds of their own; needed to control their world, and me.
Somewhere in there, my needs got prioritized further down on the list, rarely to make it to the top of the pile.
This is when I started to pay attention.
Why was I carrying around these days a great big boulder, a heavy heart?
The experts say that I have to develop more self love and self esteem. I have to understand that people rarely change and that I have been putting my faith in the wrong people. That I need to be assertive. Mostly they say it is best to go my own way.
I'm astounded at the depth and intensity of this wound. I don't really expect it to ever heal completely.
I wonder what my untapped potential would have been, if my life had been different from the beginning.
It's tempting to think this is one of several lives; that there is a lesson in all of this, preparing for the next merry go round.
Or, maybe, life will unfold from here in wonderful and positive ways; open up for me like the petals of a flower. It's a bold statement, but I think I deserve that outcome.
I am starting to think that there are two elements in place, not one; that one is a harmless sort of thing and the other is a wound that needs to be healed, as best I can.
First, the kinkiness: light, fun, harmless play. I think I probably developed it at a very young age. Remember when I was young, in the 1950s, spanking was a normal sort of thing, though not for me.
I think I was curious. I think I connected it with a sort of loving approach, to the extent that the child received attention. I think I was starved for attention and so maybe that resonated for me.
I saw movies. I noticed my reaction to the scenes where there was a power dynamic of some sort.
In short, spanking was a turn on for me. Still is.
For whatever reason, feeling helpless, in a good way, is a lovely letting go response for me.
Much later, I got hooked into an objectification sort of kink, which fed me in some way at the same time as it was a power dynamic that humiliated me. It could leave me feeling heavy and damaged; angry and flawed.
Feeling a need to try to remember my childhood, I began to realize, piece by piece, that I carry a great deal of shame for my early years and probably carried even more then.
It isn't just that the circumstances of my exterior life involved shame. That's about 20% of it.
The major part of the shame comes from the fact that my parents spent very little time with me; an incredibly small amount. And, that I was so different to them in nearly every way. That I had no belief in the value of expressing my feelings. That I felt it a waste of time to have needs.
On the contrary, I developed a strong need to aid my mother in her emotional life, to prop her up when needed. Seeing clearly that my father had a great many needs, needs that he seemed to feel that only my mother could fulfill, that left me to handle life on my own, and to do for my younger brother whatever I possibly could.
It wasn't that they looked out for me but rather at a tender age, I looked out for them.
This seemed to set me up for an adult life where I didn't feel it my place to have needs or to express them. I looked after other people. I was even proud of my ability to do so.
At the same time, giving and giving, I worked on the basis that if I gave over my agency to another, he would do the right thing by me. If I was brave enough to express my needs, he'd do his best to fulfill them.
Eventually, I did express my needs.
But, I learned that over the long haul, that wasn't enough, for the special people in my life had wounds of their own; needed to control their world, and me.
Somewhere in there, my needs got prioritized further down on the list, rarely to make it to the top of the pile.
This is when I started to pay attention.
Why was I carrying around these days a great big boulder, a heavy heart?
The experts say that I have to develop more self love and self esteem. I have to understand that people rarely change and that I have been putting my faith in the wrong people. That I need to be assertive. Mostly they say it is best to go my own way.
I'm astounded at the depth and intensity of this wound. I don't really expect it to ever heal completely.
I wonder what my untapped potential would have been, if my life had been different from the beginning.
It's tempting to think this is one of several lives; that there is a lesson in all of this, preparing for the next merry go round.
Or, maybe, life will unfold from here in wonderful and positive ways; open up for me like the petals of a flower. It's a bold statement, but I think I deserve that outcome.
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