It is what it is

 I would like to think that the sky is the limit; that two people can get so close that they can reveal themselves, perhaps not in entirety, but close enough.

We keep secrets from one another, don't we? We keep the secrets that we must. We shelter the other not just from parts of ourselves, but from parts of themselves. We understand that complete disclosure wouldn't be in anyone's interests.

What happened in childhood, the attachment issues that may have appeared back then, potentially even in the preverbal stage are enduring.  They leave marks on the psyche. It's territory that should be explored only with a well-trained therapist, not a partner, so sometimes one just adapts and makes allowance for, and compromises with a partner, in the overarching interests of what is.

I do believe that an attachment style is able to be adjusted; that is, that one can go from an insecure attachment style to one that is secure. I am testament to that.

I have taken a test a few times to ascertain my attachment style. It focused on asking me questions about my mother, my father and my husband. I came out as having a disorganized attachment style. In one case, I was said to be 'avoidant' with similar questions. But I noticed just yesterday when I was whiling away time awaiting the cooking of the vegetables that the test score revealed I was actually quite close to the category of secure if you took away the result of the attachment to my mother. It was the result of the relationship with my mother that had statistically reduced my overall score.

I suddenly realized how flawed this logic was. Sure, no doubt, I needed to look after myself as a child whilst, of course, wanting to be nurtured, but should that affect my functioning score now? So, I went elsewhere and immediately noticed that there were no questions about my parents - one dead for over 30 years and the other one at death's door - bur rather lots of questions about my thought patterns and daily patterns now. What do you know, I came out as Secure.

This was delightful news and signified buckets of growth. I have been feeling it, especially recently. It comes down to those few words - It is what it is. Acceptance.

It's really important, I believe, to have plenty of empathy for the people with insecure attachment. Sometimes they are obvious in their presentation but often they are not. Even well trained and highly experienced therapists need months if not years to figure them out, so it's not so much a job for us to figure them out, as it is to accept that there is some trauma there. 

Try your best to stay emotionally regulated yourself. Stay calm. Maintain appropriate boundaries for yourself. When you hit their brick (emotional) wall, and you will feel it when you do - recognize you have gone as far into that neck of the woods as you can today and let that expedition go. Only ever do what you can do without there being harm done. 

No matter what defences a person puts up, we are all fundamentally the same in that we all want to get close. Sometimes, people just don't know how. It just doesn't feel safe. You do what you can do. It's all we can do. There's peace in knowing that.

This too shall pass

The end of a relationship, particularly a relationship in which a power dynamic has been played out, is never easy. I think there are reasons why these sorts of relationships are particularly painful when they come to an end. A power dynamic assumes that one person is in charge; one person is the authority figure, and thus the other person is the humbled entity; the child, if you will; the vulnerable soul. The submissive partner is not just losing a union with another person. She is losing the opportunity to express her self in a way she can't do in other relationships.

I'm not implying for a second that the dominant member of the union doesn't suffer at the end of such intense couplings. I think that they too are vulnerable to suffering and pain when the submissive is no longer under their care and guidance. But my point is that since it is the submissive partner who may have spent years learning how to yield and 'let go' to the other, it's a particularly hard task for her to find her own personal power; to stand on her own two feet. There's a very strong possibility that she (or he) will remain in a sort of grief state for a prolonged period of time.

It was interesting then to hear Oprah talk to Stanford Graduate School of Business students and mention a time when she sat with Dr Phil and a grieving mother whose child had died. This mother didn't want to go on living.

'Why,' asked Dr Phil, 'do you spend time in grief rather than celebrating the life of your child and the love  you shared?' (words to that effect).

Ophrah said she could feel a shift; a transformation of mindset. It gave me tingles to hear that.

I immediately thought about my submissively inclined friend in her grief at the end of her power dynamic with her partner. I thought about how she needed to reframe what had happened to her; that they had had a wonderful opportunity, the two of them, to explore themselves through a relationship that had lasted years and years, and that whilst it was now sad, very sad, it had been a glorious time in their lives, and one they would not have missed for the world.

Oprah was especially impressive that day talking to the students. You don't hang about with people like Maya Angelou and Nelson Mandela and not gain some wisdom. She said this:

'Your life is your greatest teacher...to bring you home to yourself...connect to your energy force and then you are your best.'

She also said this:

'When the personality comes to serve the energy of your soul that is authentic empowerment.'

She believes that we are walking towards our 'supreme moment of destiny'. How incredible that after all she has achieved she believes she is still walking that path! Still, she understands that on her path she has the opportunity to connect people to ideas and stories and to help them live better lives. Oh yes, I get that!

After all her years of interviewing every kind of person from every walk of life she believes that every person in the world wants the same thing and asks the same questions:

'Can you hear me? Do you see me? Are you fully here with me?'

There is no question that a power dynamic is an opportunity to explore these very deep, universal questions and themes. We tend to bare our soul to one another in such a dynamic in a way that we can't do with other relationships. Or, we try.

'Here are my failings. Here are my needs and my wants. Here is my hurt and pain left over from childhood. Here's what I haven't got a handle on yet. Touch my vulnerabilities. Look deep into my heart and my soul and get close to the shadow that follows me relentlessly. Embrace the darkness. Love me. Love the whole me with your whole heart. Be a whole hearted person. I'm vulnerable, show me your vulnerability too. Show me your fear. Open up. Be free. Safe, with me.'

This is what we are saying, perhaps not in words but in actions and deeds; in our efforts to reach the core and embrace the core, imperfect as it may be.

Is it any wonder we feel pain when that very special person in our lives is suddenly not there?

Yet, if it is true, and I believe it to be true, that every experience is a step closer to coming home to ourselves, what an amazing opportunity to get so close!

The waves above the water may induce a tempest, a storm of life threatening proportions at any given moment in our lives. An hour later the waves may settle; perhaps only ripples are noticeable. Yet, underneath the sea, there is always calm. The waves of our lives don't effect that which is always there, steady. That's home.

This too shall pass.

When I'm happy

I have been noticing something about myself,  which is a good thing in itself. There is no value in going about living one's life oblivious to things. Noticing things is a good thing. I've noticed that when I feel unhappy or that something isn't right, I dwell on it and when I am feeling happy I don't dwell on that happiness, almost as if to dwell on it is to jinx it in some way, or as if I am 'entitled' to feel this way and not any other way, or as if it is my 'default' position and doesn't need to be noticed. This isn't right.

I am happy. I am happy for various reasons but most of all I am happy to be giving and receiving love in my life. I am happy to feel content with my life (regardless of the fact that things aren't 'perfect'). I'm happy to have time to myself after such a hectic festive holiday period. Time to myself is vital to my happiness. There is no way I can't 'notice' this. Time writing here is part of that private time that I covet.

I know when I am happy and in tune with my inner being. When I feel like this I settle into my husband's body in bed. Sure, "sooner or later you sleep in your own space" but I spend part of the nights locked in my husband's arms. That the true test of the pudding for me, the desire to connect; to feel 'at one'; to know where and to whom I belong.

I am happy when we are happy. That's worth noticing.

Stories

Christopher Koch remarked in an interview that there was a natural order to things that meant that the number three was important: beginning, middle and end; childhood, middle age and old age. When writing a novel, it was important, he felt, to keep that thought firmly in mind to enable the reader to feel connected with the rhythm of life; the natural order of life. He didn't use those words exactly but loving being in nature as he did, I think he'd be all right with them.

My first thought was about the age thing. If I am middle aged, at what point am I classified as 'old'?  Then, I thought about how his comment related to the craft of writing. I thought about my own 'story' as told on this blog and I realized that I had been in the middle of something. Lately, I've felt that I've moved out of the middle stage and have moved onto resolution and conclusion; conceivably 'the end'.

Well then, what was the 'climax' of the story? At what point did we leave the 'old world' forever, making room for the new one to form? If the 'crisis' was that I was losing my sense of belief in an ongoing 'forever type' union was there a 'climax' of some sort? (Well, actually, yes there was but I won't be writing about that here. Let's just say that was a deeply revelatory moment brought on by a piece of literature that prompted a union with my 'best self'. And, just to make it more complicated, what if the climax was that he had a revelatory moment of his own unbeknownst to me where he elected to be his 'best self'??)

How does the new world look, feel and function differently to the way it did before? And, how exactly did I move from the middle, through the crisis (you can't go back, under or around a crisis; you can only go through it) towards 'the end'/denouement of the story? It's a little hard to say and that is why novelists take 'life' and massage it, much like a plasterer works with putty to make some form and shape.

For many, many months there I felt that I was going through something very profound; something challenging and potentially crippling; that I was stuck in some sort of holding pattern much like a captive is held hostage and awaits the next move, never at all sure if there will be a next move. Much like anyone who faces a crisis, whether it be an external or internal crisis (or both), there is an immense sense of struggle, confusion, angst and dismay, to the point where there are moments when it feels that something has to 'give'; something has to change; someone has to change. Whatever. It can't stay this way for too much longer. That's the thought one has. You see characters reach this point in movies all the time until...something gives.

I watched The Upside of Anger last night and looked forward to my favorite moment. Costner, until now angelically patient with the woman who he has befriended (at the point where her husband has gone missing, presumably with his Swedish secretary), kicks down the bathroom door and tells her that he is sick of being her "bitch". It's a great moment. It's the moment when things change. He leaves and he refuses to take her calls. The boot is suddenly on the other foot and she's the one making the advances. She's the one making the calls to him; calls that he refuses to take. When he returns finally it is on his terms; a new sense of respect for his place in her life has evolved. It's enabled her to soften a little. She's still angry and sad at this point of the movie, but she's learning to take control of her emotions, step by step - a step critical to her progress.

In the process of coming to terms with my husband's illness the first instinct was simply to survive. I needed to find a way to stay as whole as I could whilst he was absent from me; absent in the sense that it was clear that I needed to take care of my self. As I learned to do this, I was angry sometimes for sure. Except towards the beginning when I was so confused I had to emote several times, the anger was silent. I didn't talk to him about it, since it was clear he wasn't in a position to hear my pain.

So, I talked a little with others and ultimately I talked to myself - in the shower, on paper, in diaries; here. I did what I knew to do to aid myself, not in the least sure how long I might need to do that, but knowing that I could do only what I could do. I put one foot in front of the other and trusted in the great unknown that there would one day come a 'peace'. In what form that 'peace' would come, I did not know for sure.

The honest truth is that I considered a path alone, if need be. My pain was immense and the thought of remaining in this 'middle' troubled me a great deal. I doubted my fortitude to remain in the middle endlessly. Many 'characters' do you may notice, because the alternative to some sort of 'change' or resolution is to continue to climb to higher and higher levels of crisis management, and no-one can sustain that sort of activity forever.

I read, and then I read some more. I figured by immersing myself in ideas of philosophy and psychology, and by reading novels, some 'truth' would help me. It seemed a better idea than giving up. Somewhere in there, things started to shift. My husband began to come closer to me. I started to become closer to him. We had wonderful conversations; conversations that opened us up to one another and left the vulnerability exposed, in a good way. As silly as it sounds, we 'found' one another; noticed that we were still, in fact, 'there'.

I read in the past few days that in some grief/crises type processes, the behavior of someone can almost insist that others remove themselves. It's not a choice thing on the part of a person but rather a reaction to the other. This happened. Who moved back to the other first? It's almost impossible to say at this juncture. I can't necessarily see it that clearly. I think I learned how to be empathic to him and he began to understand/'see' that I needed him in a particular way. We learned to dance smoothly again and to accept one another for the people that we are. Perhaps, he healed, too. Perhaps he learned to look at life in a new way and to choose life. Perhaps the rest from the rigors of his life invigorated him and he simply did what he needed to do for himself before he could go about healing me. Perhaps, in the interim, I learned skills that enabled me to work on my own for a time. It's all entirely plausible.

 Now, are we still 'in the middle'? I don't believe that we are. 'The end' relates, I suppose, to the end of the novel or the movie, or the story or the end of a life. So, in real life we're not at the end. Yet, we have moved from the middle of the crisis, for sure. For there to be an end to a story, either there is a reversal or a recognition; that is, either there is a new status quo or somebody learns something. In real life, we're sweet together again; accommodating, kind and loving. Not all the time, mind you, thank goodness. He's begun to be quite the top again now and I just love it. It suits me dandy to give up control; to do as told. It arouses him to throw me about the bed, to mitigate my senses; to roar in my ear. It's a life force for me.

How, indeed, do you tell the story when the story has not reached its end? If I were writing the script I could write up scenes of my life, of this 'crisis', and there would be a suitable, satisfying and sustaining conclusion. The changes in the status quo would be subtle for sure, but the changes in the characters would be more profound. You don't go through the eye of the storm and not learn important lessons. Stories demand this sort of reversal and/or recognition. In real life, of course, the story continues, which is why this web journal goes on and on and on...

Connection

I closed the blog to readers for about half a day yesterday. I am sure it sounds a little silly but I was looking for completely neutral time to think. I have to say that overnight I felt a bit disconnected. This writing space of mine is very precious to me at the same time as I think I sometimes abuse the privilege and spill out stuff onto the page that shouldn't go there. It's a spillage of my emotions and I'm never proud of those moments.

At the same time, I think that when you attempt to just be very good the way that I do attempt to be very good and to please others, there does come a time when emotions are going to seep out. As uncomfortable as it was to have some very honest conversations with my husband on the weekend I think it did us both good in the end.

I think we're both very sure, quite certain really, that I do best and thus we do best if we keep to the plan - if we go about life under the sure knowledge that I need to feel some containment. I can do quite a lot by myself but I can't give myself a spanking, for example. I do best when I feel that sense of 'letting go' that comes when I'm spanked rather soundly.

It's a bit unfortunate that I got upset when he was actually giving me some nice attention but I have to say that when I'm in a lot of need, a light spanking isn't going to do the job. I want something longer; something more intense, because I want to submit to the experience; to feel the struggle and to have these words go off in my head - 'you can't do anything about it'; 'you have to bunker down and accept';  'just let go'. It's then that I feel very cared for; very owned; very free and at peace.

I think you can get that experience in various ways. Spanking is one way; a daily demand of a fairly challenging kind, such as anal training is another and dare I mention being told that I can't pleasure myself is another. That's why photographs of chastity belts and rings through the clitoris keeping the lips locked can throw me into a deep state of arousal. Should I see such a photograph I may instinctively wake up squeezing, because the very thought of such containment is so very arousing to me.

On another matter, I'd like to say that it was very sweet of a handful of people to write to me immediately and ask what had happened when they found my blog closed, because they read my blog every day and could they please go on reading. And, when I wrote back to them to say the blog would be back up soon, they wrote to say thank you. I must say that I am impressed to have such very polite readers, reminding me that behind this screen I am actually connecting with people (most of whom remain anonymous, of course) who actually care about my words. Gosh, that's such a lovely thought because my blog and my words are really all about making connections. I'm never happier than when I feel very close to people. That's what it is all about.

Abandonment, again

When my youngest son came home from school I suggested we watch Good Will Hunting together. He'd been asked to be Will in a drama scene recently and was really curious about the character and the film. I had bought it years ago and so down we sat to watch this fabulous movie.

In my previous post, Rollymo mentioned abandonment in his comment and it is a theme that I play around with a bit because I know that I'm inclined to feel abandoned at times. Possibly, that's my dramatic nature at work.

Of course, Will suffers from fear of abandonment, He's an orphan and his foster father was a mean, cruel and violent man. Sean Macguire (Robin Williams) who plays his therapist may not be as brilliant as Will but he knows how to get around Will and we learn through him that Will rejects people before they reject him. He fears more abandonment in his life.

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"Don't fuck with me Sean, not you."

(as Sean walks, inch by inch, closer and closer to Will)

"It's not your fault."

And, Will, hearing these words and finally registering them, collapses into his arms and sobs.

(I've not lost sight of the fact Rollymo, that when I felt abandoned you said exactly those words to me!)

Sean teaches Will to trust him and he teaches Will to trust himself. He needs to do what is right for him. Chuckie, his best friend,  (Ben Afflick) gives him permission to get on with his life when he tells him to go and live the life he was meant to live, "for me". They'd all give their right arm to have Will's mind and it would be insulting them if he didn't go and do that, he says.

Of course, what Will needs more than anything is love and we're completely satisfied when we learn that he had to go "see about a girl".  We feel certain that Skylar (Minnie Driver) is able to give him the unconditional love he needs to thrive.

At the final session with Sean, Will hugs Sean and says "Thank you" and Sean replies, "Thank you". They have healed one another.  The circle is closed. We, as an audience are deeply satisfied on every level; an absolutely brilliant script there.

The issue of abandonment is not really my issue but our issue. We all, at various stages of life, can feel abandoned. and it can make us closed to potential opportunities. Perhaps it is best, we think, if we walk away first to avoid the pain of being abandoned, or we just don't make the connection in the first place and thus we can be assured of not being rejected or abandoned again.  It's scary, I know this, but we must forge connections. It is what human beings are designed to do.

I'm not entirely sure that we have endless opportunities to connect with other people.  Real connections are relatively rare but when they do occur they must be nurtured; one can afford to take the risk of pushing forward and getting closer because nothing sustains the spirit quite like recognition of human frailty and efforts made to reach out. 

Courage

As I learn more and grow, progress and alter, I feel I know quite clearly what I would want to have. This, in fact, makes for far more challenge than I have ever had before because I know better than ever before that there is a big gap between what I would like to have and what I can have.

I see my husband trying to give me what I want and in his efforts to do so I also see that it is an effort he puts in for me. His focus isn't in it. He does (and probably must) maintain his focus on getting better. Ideally, he'd prefer that I look after myself and demonstrate empathy; be strong and stoic; patient and understanding; just that. This is not a time for a wanting and needy submissive but a time for a wife to exhibit strength.

I do wonder if it is time I 'let go' of what I want and focus more on what is. There is this sense that the writing here and the tendency to want something too much is causing me too much angst; far too much distress. It doesn't mean that my desires have changed but the relentless beating of my reality is so at odds with my dreams and fantasies that it has simply begun to hurt.

It is one thing to know that you heart beats faster and there is a lighter spring in your step when you feel your nature and can express that nature -  that you can live as you were meant to live - and another to understand that this part of your nature has no real current place to exist. To know that nature and what the expression of that nature can do and to not be able to express that nature is too incongruous for my mind to handle right now.

We have briefly discussed this and there is no easily identifiable answer except to say that first of all, he needs to get well. In his own mind the solution lies in his insisting that I become more involved. He very much wants me to come to him and tell me when I am in need; when I need him. I see his point of view and it may well work but I feel the hugest reluctance to do this and I have told him this. Still he insists. He says it is what he wants but I register this thought with heavy heart. I have only ever wanted what people have wanted to give to me. This directive goes against the grain of everything I know about myself - to go away and bleed alone when I am hurt.

Perhaps what I am experiencing is what all women experience when their husbands alter or grow unwell. As much as you want to aid them and empathize with them, your heart is in mourning for the life you once had and the man you once had and abject fear controls your responses and the thoughts in your mind.

In my mind, one must always have hope that things will turn around. I have always woken up feeling hopeful. Yet, in the past weeks I have woken only half aware that my mouth is forming the word hopeless. Is this now hopeless? Is it time to give up?

Well, I'm better than that and stronger than that but there are some days when I do wonder where this journey has taken me and whether the price I have had to pay is too high. But then we're in the final days of a three week  school holiday vacation where I have had precious little time to get on with my own work and maybe you are reading the words of someone who is desperate for some privacy and a little peace.

This life

I love my husband profoundly, deeply, absolutely, eternally and with passion. I want that to be absolutely clear. I can't imagine life without him. We fit together very well in every way: our bodies, our minds, our world view, our morality; everything.

Now that I have made that clear let me say that I can't imagine anything in this world more erotic, more fulfilling or more arousing than if my husband had had the mindset of an owner from the first day that we knew one another.

In some ways, he did have the mindset of an owner. I was always his girl. We were always a team. He expected that I'd follow him and that he'd have the ultimate decision making powers. That was all in place early on.

But, the business of training a girl just wasn't on the radar. For one thing, we were young and for another he had no yearning or natural desire to lead me to that life. He displayed no sadistic yearning and since I kept my masochistic desires well within me, he had no sense that anything was missing from my life.

I am prepared to say that there have been probably three occasions, perhaps more, when I have told him of my love and devotion but that I felt in some way that there was something missing, as if there was this need within me that wasn't being addressed.

In the early years, I could give him little detail about this feeling except that I felt I needed something more intense than we had. He loved me passionately and he always tried to allay my concern. He said that we belonged together and that we would always be together. I would try to forget about the longings and get on with enjoying life, but the feeling would return that in some way a part of me was not alive.

Eventually, I told him more about what I needed and he didn't hesitate to change for me as much as he possibly could. He read material and learned about the sort of dominance that I craved and more and more, I began to feel a whole human being; someone who was living according to their nature.

The truth is that some of the desires I told him about made him feel uncomfortable; or perhaps that I wasn't sure what I really wanted; the old story that 'you think you want it but when you get it you won't like it'. It was before children on a trip to Europe and in a town on the border of Switzerland and France (Chamonix, to be exact) that I first told him some things.

I can't remember how or when I told him about my spanking craving, or perhaps I didn't tell him and he gathered that to be the case from little hints here and there. I just can't reconstruct that period of time. What I do know is that he left the hotel room and when he returned it was with a switch. I was beside myself with lust and somewhere in that love making I did call out, "Please...please...take me up the ass." He didn't think I really meant it. He couldn't imagine that I could possibly mean it and it wasn't until two decades later (at least) that I assured him that I did definitely want that.

It wouldn't work for him to be the sort of dominant that I read about and to some extent crave in my fantasies and in my ideal world within my head. Our way of life has more of an ease to it than that. Over time, I have adapted to accept him as someone who has very high expectations of my responses to him. I no longer questions his decisions on any level or even attempt to answer without a respectful response (unless it is said in jest, at times). Our relationship is much more that of an owner/owned girl in many respects. It is all a part of me and him now and how we operate together.

But, I'd be lying if I said that life didn't shortchange  me there for a little bit. I would have loved to experience the full Monty. I would have loved to have experienced the fullness of having met a man  so dominant in his nature and with a hint of sadism that he pushed me and made me grow according to his own needs. Perhaps he wanted to mark me or insist on nipple rings or a small tattoo. Or, perhaps he insisted that I wear only certain clothes of which he approved, or that he told the hairdresser how my hair was to be worn, or how long my fingernails were to be. Perhaps, he had me perform a certain ritual each day or had me call him at a certain time each day with my thoughts. Perhaps he monitored what I ate or how often I exercised or what  I did with my time. All or any of this would have been insisted upon and demanded regardless of what I had to say about it.

I imagine that he wanted to educate me. He'd have me read certain books and he'd want me to express my feelings about them to him. He'd want me to achieve something for myself in this world and to this end he'd insist that I not put myself down, that I take myself seriously and that I have the courage to go out there and try. He'd believe in me completely and insist that I make use of my god-given skills to have the pleasure of succeeding by using them. He'd be stern about that and any efforts to put myself down would be met with a stern rebuke.

He would take me and use me in line with his own desires and my connection to him would mean that I wouldn't hesitate to oblige. If this meant accepting the pain he offered, this would be part of my life and it would be an expression of our love and my acceptance of him as my owner. I know I would flourish in this life because on the occasions that my husband has done this, I've experienced a heavenly rush of endorphins; a profound sense of adoration and happiness that I have experienced in no other way.

In my life, I've met his needs of a wife and he has now met all my needs of a husband. But in an ideal world, from the very first day my life would have focused around his life in every conceivable way, thereby feeding my intensely experienced desires. I would have molded into him and accepted his training of me as the richest and most prized of gifts and never known what it felt like to feel a hole in my heart; a desperate longing for I knew not what.

Loving me as he does, he wanted me to have what I so richly craved and concessions were made to grant me the gift of experiencing that sort of training; to know what it was to have a dress code formulated; to be trained to respond as an owned girl should. He knew that I was his well enough to allow me to experience the fulfillment of this need in a safe and respectable way and with a man I trusted and who has my trust to this day. His confidence in himself and in me and in our union is abundant and made that possible.

I write in this Internet space in some respects as an interloper. I come to this life late and I come to it in as complete a way as I can but with the knowledge that I will never know the life that some girls have. I am not jealous, but I am in awe.Yet, the pleasures I have experienced are entirely whole and complete. I have never been happier than in the past five years; never believed that I might have the opportunity to be this happy. If I were to die in my sleep tonight, the truth would be that I have lived completely; happily and according to my purpose.

Silence

The top of a relationship needs to think about what corrective/disciplinary measures he might take with his girl (or boy). It's inevitable that situations will crop up and he's going to want to have thought out what he plans to do about that. It seems clear that there are a wide range of measures available to him. He might want to just talk to her in a clear, concise way that whatever she did, he doesn't want her to do it again. Perhaps this measure is adequate. Some tops raise their voice (Oh come on, you know you do!) and that's not at all pleasant. I know it often stops me in my tracks because I don't want to spin that situation any further out than it already is. I don't like him being cross with me at all.

There are so many measures a top could take that it’s hard to know where to go from here. Of course, he might want to provide some corporal discipline; not the type she likes, but the type she doesn't like. If he isn't at all happy and she knows that, there's an atmosphere that goes with that that is entirely corrective. I get spanked (or whatever) as a correction but not when he's angry, thank goodness.

Growling at her; giving her a good telling off; a lecture; giving her a last warning before you turn her over your knee is usually more than enough, in my opinion. Your angry face or your angry words will have her whistling another tune quick smart. And, that's the whole idea, right?

He might ask her to write lines. I've been asked to do that but it was soon determined that I didn't find that a punishment. I enjoy writing lines. It's the sort of humiliating punishment that goes straight to my fantasies. Interestingly, once a top knows that you enjoy a punishment, he stops issuing it. I can't imagine why this is so...

There's corner time and I do hate this but fortunately it's not used, except on some very random occasions. It was used when I didn't have control of my responses and wouldn't be silent when I was told to be silent.

A top could use the strategy of taking a girl’s words away for a time. This is also fantasy material but I think it is a very useful measure to use when a girl just needs to settle herself down for a time. When used, say, for a day it goes beyond corrective and can lead to a deep peace, if all goes well.

Some tops prefer to put a girl under a cold shower for a minute or two, to restrain them in some way...The list goes on. I'm aware that some girls are put into chastity belts, corsets, made to wear an anal plug that is too small, rather big; perhaps coated in shampoo rather than lube. All of these measures can be corrective and at the same time, pleasurable. I don't deny that it can be tough to correct a girl when her perversions/fantasies can mean that she attains some pleasure in these directives.

I return to the thought that being in trouble is really the issue. The bottom doesn't want to be in trouble; to be in the bad books and that's really the correction; that he is not happy with you. It's a very vulnerable feeling; that the world isn't spinning around in a correct fashion.

I'm familiar with the technique of being dismissed when my behaviour has been thought to be wanting. "Leave the room," I will be told. "I don't wish your presence right now." "cindi can go away and think about that!". Or, simply silence.  I've never enjoyed that. I find it completely horrible. Most of the time, I'm given an opportunity fairly quickly to redeem myself. It might relate to my owner wanting an apology and when I am ready to apologize, he's ready to receive it and all is well.

My training with a mentor has found itself in this neck of the woods and whilst the words seem tame "talk wif da bimbo l8r", they are not. I know what they mean. I know that I didn't impress and that time is being 'granted' to think about that and decide if I want to pursue that line of action, or do things according to the D/s statutes. Since I hate the kind of silence that comes as a form of correction, I do what I need to do to return to good grace.

When dismissal lasts for a few hours or even a few days, I don't think any harm is done. It's a very effective way of telling a girl that she has crossed the line and I accept that sort of consequence. I don't need long to determine that I don't care at all for this outcome and I am happy to sort matters out to the satisfaction of the top. I'm very much a girl that wants to stay in the good books.

Having said that, I must say that ‘dismissal’ used over a period of years has led me to a place where I find uncertainty as to my status (good or bad books?) and silence without an understanding as to why there is silence, extremely upsetting. So upset did I become the last time I felt placed in this quandary that I determined an ending of the relationship was better than enduring this emotional pain.

That's a highly emotional reaction, I know, and not the best one at that. But, I distinctly recall at the time I had that feeling that I simply could endure it not a minute longer.  Perhaps, I had found my 'limit'; that measure or behaviour that I refused to and could not endure. I may have been wrong (was wrong) as to intention. I may have been (was wrong) to not have adequate trust. Yet, at the time, a long silence without full understanding as to whether this was corrective or simply entirely unavoidable was too much to bear.

This is the point I want to make loud and clear to any tops out there reading. If you determine that you must remove yourself from your submissive for some reason, it needs to be absolutely clear why your removal is occurring. Perhaps the silence has nothing to do with her. So, tell her. She needs to know if this is a correction, or not. What did she do wrong and what do you want her to think about while silence reigns? How long is this likely to take, do you think? If you want her to learn a lesson, go for it. But, be aware that she will suffer and how much emotional suffering do you want her to endure? There is a limit as to what the human heart can take.

All bottoms need to feel a connection to their tops. Even if the relationship is not romantic, even if it is a teacher/student relationship, for example, we submissive types must feel that we have pleased. When we know we haven't pleased, all we want to do is to make up for that. Silence is okay for a short burst of 'pull yourself together!' therapy but not okay for long bursts. She'll be tormented. When you decide to end her agony, you can't be sure you haven't broken her spirit; her heart.

I’m not blind to the fact that a connection can be so strong it can bear almost anything. It can be ripped apart and regrow. It can endure even after death. The human heart is very strong. Trust is a prerequisite for this sort of life as is forgiveness. Where there is a will, there is a way, but why take the risk?

Relating

A relationship with a person of the opposite sex is a tricky thing. If nothing else, there are those cycles of coming together and growing apart, only to come together again. A girl doesn't know when he may feel the need to distance himself again; to tire of her and her needs and feel the need to go 'walkabout'. Yet another walkabout...

In a similar way, some friendships go through rocky times. I've a long standing friendship with someone. I don't think he quite understands me and I certainly don't entirely understand him. And, this is after sharing a great many intimacies; many more intimacies than hardly anyone else knows. He wanted to know me; me in all the shades of me and that's a very precious thing. But, we had a stupid, dumb falling out one time and there was quite a lot of time before we really spoke to one another in a real way.

I remember him saying (how could I ever forget!?) "I have so missed you, Vesta." And, I said, "Why didn't you say so silly?" And, he said, "It is all in the timing." Well, I don't think that's quite right. If he had said that at any other time, my heart would have melted, for sure.

The thing is we all tip toe around one another and maybe especially so we 'control freaks' and 'giving up control freaks'. "Does he want to talk to me anymore?" "Maybe I am just a burden to him..." "Maybe he only wants what he wants and isn't interested in me at all." These are the thoughts that run through our heads.

On both ends of the stick we are incredibly vulnerable souls, neither sure of the other. He worries that he may be seen to be giving up any control or we worry about interjecting on what seems to be his funk.

Men do have funks, you know: dominant men. Don't let them tell you anything different. They feel they can't reveal their insecurities for fear we will think less of them or that their insecurities will derail us. And, they do. The honest answer is that their insecurities will derail us a little because we seem to need them to read the map; to know where we are going and how we will get there. It isn't that we are so useless at sorting out problems as that we don't read  life maps so well as them. We are not really sure and even though they are not always sure either, at least they are better at being 'not sure' than us.

I remember being told in my 20s that I needed a man to tell me where we were going and how we would go about getting there and that was a good analysis of me. It isn't that I couldn't sort that out myself if I needed to - maybe better at times than he could (whoever he was) but I do best as the support system.

As the support system, when he isn't functioning well as the leader...well, it feels scattered and I feel scattered. If I seem scattered, then that throws him off his game. It isn't my place or my role to criticize (or even comment such that it is interpreted as a criticism) and now we both feel out of sorts.

It is a fine, fine thing we do; a delicate mission.

"Woman needs man and man must have his mate..."

There are the issues of control, to be sure, but at the heart of these engagements is a sense of vulnerability; role, place, support; the fitness of things.

I remember these words from someone I knew: "You fuck them and fuck them and love them and love them and they turn on you."

This was his interpretation of her words to him, whatever they were.

We want to be heard but words are so often misinterpreted. A momentary bout of frustration becomes in the other's mind, the status quo; proof of her dissatisfaction. Is that was it was? Or, a momentary bout of frustration?

We are all so delicate...

What we do is no different to what people have been doing since we evolved from the apes. We inter-relate. We get it wrong. We distance ourselves. Sometimes, we come together again. Sometimes, we don't.

If age has taught me anything it has taught me that I don't want to squander opportunities to understand and know another person completely. These opportunities are rare. They must not be squandered. But, it is not easy to understand some people. Trust me. Some people are much more complicated than me.

This is life. We do what we do.

I burrow down deeper to understand those who seem to make every effort to refuse to be understood, fearful that in doing so I give up all semblance of dignity. If only I could read minds; understand the motivations of men better. Perhaps the future is in the tea leaves after all.

The self in writing

Consider this definition of autoethnography: Autoethnography is a form or method of social research that explores the researcher's personal experience and connects this autobiographical story to wider cultural, political, and social meanings and understandings.

We write here in web journals exploring our own minds, actions and behaviours. This allows other people to read our words on a day to day basis and we are, of course, at risk of becoming the leading lady (or man) in a soap opera of our own creation.

What makes the writing valid is not just authenticity (assuming we shoot for telling 'the truth') but some sort of overall 'truth' - some sort of consideration of other people.

Quite naturally, it seems, the individual writer sitting at her kitchen table in Toronto, or at his desk in Chicago or under a gum tree next to a billabong in Australia sets up an account and begins to write about his or her life, his or her thoughts and impressions. In no time, someone comments; someone links one journal to another and in a matter of weeks (or less), the individual is part of a wider community of like-minded people.

Over time, we probably all ask the same questions: 'Why am I writing here?' 'Am I writing here now for me or them? 'Am I writing here still to attain some validation for my thoughts from them? And, if they don't validate my thoughts, what then?'

Are these our stories or merely data for stories? Collectively, are we merely a group of deviants or a group of people whose inner lives are rich; whose alter egos demand a voice; whose inner desires to live in a way that seems authentic to them (but deviant to most of the community) have driven them to find a voice.

It occurred to me this past week that the people connected with a certain blog were the most astounding characters for a story. Yet, I only felt that when I actually knew the back story of their lives and even then, I was using my imagination to fill in what I didn't still know.These glimpses of our lives are really just a small part of the story of our lives and to the casual observer we must seem deviant indeed. In fact, we are good people going about living our lives lawfully, ethically; taking care of our families, our loved ones and helping little old ladies across the street.

In this era, social networking has encouraged an enormous amount of emphasis on the self, as opposed to people in a collective way. Yet, I'd argue that amongst all this introspection and outpouring of the ego there remains an effort to connect with others. It reminds me of the early days of the radio when radio enthusiasts sat in their garages and waited in the still of the night to hook up with someone, anyone out there in the void.

Our desire to connect with the other is vast and refuses to be quieted. In my writings here, there is a two edged ambition: the opportunity to express my 'self' in a way I cannot do in real life hardly at all and a desire to connect with like minded souls. The desire to connect is less to do with self validation as it is to gain sustenance from those folk who can offer me energy. Reading a submissive woman's words is always interesting but I confess I long for the dominant man's introspection. I long to read words quite unlike my own; the polar opposite, in fact. I seek to understand and thus I write and read.

Affectionately

You created a blank page on which I could write my deepest and most sacred thoughts.
You are responsible for crafting these cherished moments by permitting me to experience my own desires.
You are the witness to my state of satisfaction and bliss,
having insisted that I do what I most want.

Aren't you the clever one!
Granting wishes, gifting me your generosity;
Demanding  that I grow and learn in the name of sadism,
when all along it was the work of a fine magician.

Somewhere deep inside I always knew that,
But pennies drop randomly,
And today I saw what I had not completely before;
a very fine connection, not without affection.

A Big Day

It had been an extraordinary beginning to the day for me; nothing less than transformational, physically and emotionally. I could have done with some time to process it alone. However, I had asked my youngest son the day before if we might go to the movies together and I didn't want to back out of that commitment.

The evening before, my eldest son had arrived with my husband's late Christmas present. How that evolved was that on Christmas Eve my eldest son came to me with the idea of ordering my husband a new set of golf clubs from America and I immediately agreed. If we had the money we would have gone out and bought a motorbike but short of that, a new set of clubs and bag would tickle his fancy, we felt sure.

And, they did. He was absolutely delighted with the clubs but I think he was especially touched that we did this for him. He considers himself the breadwinner (which he is) and that money ought to be spent on us and not him. So, that we should go to this effort for him meant a great deal to him. It was very clear to see that.

My eldest son has left today for another very remote location as his business life demands and my husband said, on receiving the golf clubs that when he got back they would play together. But, we both said to him, "Why not tomorrow?" And, that's when I said to my youngest son, "Why don't we see a film together, while they play golf?"

It was his choice of film. It was always going to be this way and when he said that 'War Horse' was his choice I did my best to prepare myself. I had seen the promos and knew that this was going to be hard emotional work.

And, it was. For well over 2 hours he and I worked hard to get Joey home safe, emotionally travelling with him over every obstacle in life he encountered; being taken on that journey and all the high and low moments of that amazing life of his. The film explored areas of trust, loyalty, courage, strength and good training and after my morning - those extraordinary highs and moments of happiness - this film was eating into every raw nerve; literally, in certain ways.

When the movie ended my son turned to me and said, "Can I have a hug?" And, that's when people started climbing over us to get out of their seats, not wanting to interfere with these two oddballs who were hugging one another tightly, wrapped in their own emotional space.

We were the last to leave the movie theatre and when we did neither one of us was ready to go home. We checked in at a restaurant walking distance away, ordered some food and began the process of discussing the movie; the elements of the film, the themes, the strategies Spielberg had used. It was with a great sense of pride that I realized that I had missed a symbolic element of the final scene and my son explained his theory to me. He will one day be a great creative force in this world. Watch this space!

As we discussed together, one big element of this very fine movie is the use of the words "big day". "Some days are big days, Joey, and this is your big day" said the boy to his horse.

And, what providence it should be that I should be sitting in a movie theatre watching a movie about Joey's big day on the very same day I had a big day of my own.

Faith

I can rarely catch my dreams. Sometimes, I can catch a feeling; perhaps fright or concern or confusion. If I am really lucky I can capture a scene, but on the whole I don’t know what I dream, other than I feel sure that I do dream.

This morning I woke up feeling quite rested but again: nothing. No dream was remembered. However, Psalm 23 was running through my head: 

“Though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death I will fear no evil for thou art with me.”

I lay there on my side with the words of the psalm running through my head over and over and the words conjured a memory.

It was rather a long time ago. My children were little; one of them not yet born. I was living in the United States but I had returned to Australia to spend some time with my family: a little holiday for me and the children over the American summer. I’d put the children to bed and my very sick father was asleep. My mother and I were sitting by the fire and the night was very still. Out of nowhere she said to me that she knew that something was wrong. She could feel it, she said and she wanted to know what was troubling me.

I remember feeling that the issue was so buried inside me that no words would rise to the surface that  would enable me to share my sorrow with anyone, but as we sat in silence I heard words coming from my mouth; not my voice in the slightest, but my words emanating from somewhere very deep within me.

She listened and she said to me that I had been through something that must have nearly torn me in two but she was glad that she knew; that she could understand my failure to engage with her completely now. She told me that I was very strong and that she knew that I would be all right.

Although nothing had really changed and my situation was still exactly as it had been half an hour before, I felt much better. Perhaps it was the sharing that made a difference; that I had “unburdened myself”, as they say.

When I was back in my home in the United States, I received a letter from my mother and in the letter was a cutting from the newspaper. It was this poem:

I Had a Dream

One night I had a dream
I was walking along the beach with my Lord.
Across the sky flashed scenes from my life.
For each scene I noticed two sets
of footprints in the sand,
one belonging to me
and the other to my Lord.
When the last scene of my life shot before me
I looked back at the footprints in the sand.
There was only one set of footprints.
I realized that this was at the lowest
and saddest times in my life.
This always bothered me
and I questioned the Lord
about my dilemma.
"Lord, you told me when I decided to follow You,
You would walk and talk with me all the way.
But I'm aware that during the most troublesome
times of my life there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why, when I needed You most,
you leave me."
He whispered,”My precious, precious child,
I love you and will never leave you
never, ever during your times of trial and testings.
When you saw only one set of footprints
It was then that I carried you."

Margaret Fishback Powers.

The gesture meant a great deal to me; not only that she had thought of me and felt the words would help but because the words were exactly right. I had been to the beaches close to where she lived all my life and the image of there being only one set of footprints because I had been carried by ‘the Lord’ in my hour of need, truly resonated with me. I kept the cutting close; referred to it often. (I think to myself at this moment, that I never told her...never told her how much the little gift meant to me...)

When it was time to pack and return to my homeland, the cutting came with me. And, when something happened where I again needed a great deal of strength and faith that this too shall pass, that I was again walking through the shadow of the valley of death, I retrieved my cutting, taped it all over for fear it would disintegrate and kept it beside me on my desk.

One day, my husband saw the little cutting and asked about it and I simply said without fanfare that my mother had sent it to me years ago. My relationship with the poem was just too private to say any more.

This morning I realized that I have not only walked through the shadow of the valley of death but I have come out the other side intact. Perhaps, this is what I had dreamt...

I would not say that I am a particularly religious person. I don’t attend church regularly although I love it when I do; get a great deal from it. I was brought up Church of England even though my mother was Catholic because when my father heard the stories of how terrified the priests had made my mother during confessions, he said he didn’t want his children going through that.

That I am not particularly religious in any organized way makes my sense of faith all the more intriguing, I think. For it is faith that has sustained me in my hour of need; faith that I am not alone and that I have the inner reserves to walk through as many shadows of the valley of death that I may need to traverse.

A few years ago, I received a call that my aunt was dying and my mother and my sister were on their way to the hospital. I dropped everything to go to be with them but I was too late and when I arrived at the hospital they told me she had passed away.

We went for coffee. To be honest, my mother and aunt were not close to their sister but I had always found she touched me in some way. On the other end of politics, a trade union person through and through, she signified for me “the battler”; that person who doesn’t have an easy life but keeps on going. My mother and aunt told me that in her final moments on this earth she had sat up from a deep sleep, thrust her arms into the air and said, “Take me”. I have thought of her often since and what her inner world must have been like.

I cannot put into words; this sense of things that one is not alone; that there is someone walking beside me. I feel it; feel it sustaining me.

It is said often, on tumblr sites and the like that if someone chooses not to be in your life, you should forget him or her. I get the point but I am not prepared to be so rigid about absence. The spirit lives on sometimes; connections are felt; nothing is over until it is over, unless you choose to end it in your heart.

Family ties

I went up north for the weekend - without my husband and with my mother and aunt. It was totally exhausting - all that talking, all that being nice and all that checking about what they wanted to do and how they wanted to do it! But, it was incredibly worthwhile. My brother was in a show and I would not have missed seeing him for the world. Most importantly, I know it meant a great deal to him to have us there.

Just before we left the theatre and said our goodbyes, for we were leaving for the airport the next morning, I gave him a big hug and whispered in his ear that I was very proud of him and happy for him that he is so happy. We don't see a lot of one another but growing up, there was just the two of us and I feel very close to him on some deep, emotional level that I find hard to put into words. Of course, I teared up when I said that and tried to move on before anybody could be aware of that. More vulnerability on display; more uncomfortableness with that...

I'm operating on so little sleep, by my standards anyway. I lay there in my big empty bed listening to the waves of the Pacific Ocean and I found myself with an over thinking brain. I was thinking about my brother and my Dad; my mother; my husband and I; my daughter and her new man...well, I was thinking about everything really well into the night.

I confess I felt sad. My brother has built a good life up there: one where he works hard (and he enjoys what he does) but one where he enjoys simple pursuits to the max. He has a caravan (trailer) that he loves to take into the outback with his wife. He has a truck. So excited about this truck was he that he pointed out to us on the way to show us his house (simple but comfortable) exactly where he had bought the truck. He has also bought a motor bike. Well, he didn't show us that. My youngest niece spilled the beans there because I am sure he had no intention of my mother knowing that he had bought a machine that only "one way men" ride.

I'm not remotely jealous. He's my young brother and I have never felt that emotion about him. I am overwhelmingly happy that he is happy. What I felt myself experiencing was a wish that we could embrace this rather simple notion of living.

When I returned home I raced over to my older son's house to collect my youngest son from there and I was sufficiently antsy about things to mention my concerns to my eldest son. It is most unlike me to do this. In typical fashion, I keep those concerns to myself, or else I tell you. I asked him if he could reiterate to my husband that he needed to be less hard on himself; to be less demanding of himself and to enjoy himself more. My husband would adore a motor bike but the question is, would he ever allow himself such an indulgent luxury? 

Later, I felt tremendous guilt about having done that. My husband told me that our son was preparing this weekend, all weekend, for a very important business meeting with a client and on reflection I recalled the passing thought that my eldest son had seemed haggard and fraught looking.

I sent him an email smoothing things over and wishing him well for the meeting and he replied right back that on the contrary, it was good to talk and he had made a mental note of what I said. He admitted that he worries about work too and that as a older person now he can understand that just as "Dad" feels the weight of the responsibility of the family, he can feel torn when his girlfriend is about the house and  he feels the need to prepare for meetings. He also said that he knew for certain that "what Dad wants most in the world is for you to be happy". What I want most in the world is for my husband to be happy. Quite the co-incidence!

Then, there was the conversation with my daughter to consider. I said to her on Skype that I wondered if she would spend more time at the boyfriend's house once they are home (very soon!) or would he spend more time with us. She replied that she hoped that he would consider our house the base but she felt it would probably be the other way around.

It is silly but in that moment I felt that I had lost her. That's just a silly thought because we will always be very close. But, this man is the real deal, I think: "the one", and what he says goes. I can hardly believe the changes in her. She uses totally different words."He would not allow it" is one of the sentences she has typed lately. Their dynamic is well in place and totally agreeable and complementary to both of them.

As much as I adore her and am proud of her I must admit she did have a temper when she left for Europe 18 months ago and I got the brunt of it quite often. Not now! The new man put her straight. If she was tired or not feeling in a good mood, that was okay, he told her. But, she had no right to transfer her mood onto him. And, if she didn't like his suggestion as to what they would do on the weekend that was okay too. She was welcome to reject it, so long as she verbalized what she did want to do.

We were talking on Skype recently when she sort of cut me off quick and said, "Mum, I better clean up the apartment before P gets home." And, she has started painting and drawing again, at his suggestion: something I couldn't motivate her to do for the love of money. In short, she is besotted with him and could not be more poor right now, or more happy!

We are all very, very close and my marriage is very close; very intense. It sometimes gets off kilter and maybe that is because I have a sense that my husband could be happier and he has a sense that I could be happier and then we get a little unbalanced for a time until we take in again in a conscious way that our happiness depends on us both feeling that we are taking care of one another sufficiently well; that each  of us is happy with the other.

We talked a little with each other around these sentiments and my husband happened to say at one point that he was cross with himself about something. That gave me the opportunity to repeat those particular words; to point out that he was much harder on himself than anyone else and that sometimes in life we just needed to let things go; to give ourselves a break and accept that we were not perfect; never would be perfect.

I only have so much opportunity to effect change. We are who we are. We all look through our eyes but what we see is very different. It is the best reason I can think of that man should find a mate: so that we can save one another from ourselves - at least, as far as that is possible.

Thank you

Some readers will be aware that recently I was unsure as to whether to continue writing here and that I made a determination to keep writing. As one reader rightly pointed out,  I would stop writing when the need to write here went away. Of course, there is no knowing about the timing of such things in advance. It happens when it happens.

Some readers may also be aware that the anniversary of my birth day is a difficult day for me. I have never really come to terms with this. I can offer no plausible explanation. I have just come to accept it as a fact.

Today is my birthday. Today, I am fifty five years old. Curiously, I have written 555 posts here. For reasons I can't fully explain, today is the day I have decided to write my last post here on Vesta.

It seems only fair to offer those readers who have read here over time and come to know me through these pages, some sort of explanation. Generally speaking, I feel that "Vesta" has said all that she should say. For a long time, I worked on the basis that I could combine Vesta and cindi into one entity: thus they are both on these pages. I was wrong. They are really two quite separate entities and the entity that needs a voice from now on is not Vesta but cindi. I am most happy and most myself when cindi  is at the forefront of my mind.

For a long time, I held onto independence of thought (Vesta) at the same time as I craved (and continue to crave) that state of grace that is cindi. I am most happy when I have a very deep connection; when I accept my nature; my place and the limitations and advantages of that place. Both my heart and my head tell me that this place of grace is most easily attained in a quiet place; that as long as I hold onto the position of hosting this site I won't reach the place that I seek.

I want you to know that I leave here in excellent shape. I have just returned from having lunch with my husband in the city. I lost count of the times he told me how beautiful I looked; how "hot" I still am; how lucky he is to have me; how happy I have made him; how much he has revelled in the places I have taken him on this journey (and whilst journeys have no end if you are a wanderer, the lucky ones do reach moments when they feel they have arrived).

I am rich in love. A loving husband, the soul mate of my life and four handsome, intelligent and loving children have made my life abundantly rich.

I don't discount either the great feelings of warmth I have felt here. I felt truly wrapped in your care a few weeks ago when you wrote in to speak with me. I had thought perhaps I no longer resonated with you.

Although he will forever be anonymous, I give huge credit to my mentor of the past few years. I don't know how he did it but he tapped into my soul, my heart and the very essence of me to truly transform my mind. Words cannot convey my gratitude. Words cannot convey how sorry I am for the times I disappointed him.

For me, submission is synonymous with connection: a connection between people that is felt in one's heart, one's soul and the deepest recesses of the mind. It is not for everyone but it is very much for me. Whilst I no longer will write here, nothing has really changed. I still believe in love. I still believe in being true to one's nature. I will still live as I was meant to live.

The blog will remain. You are welcome to read here as it pleases you, whenever it pleases you. I wish you all the very best and shall think of you fondly. Thank you for having me and for taking such good care of me. You were very kind.

With love,
Vesta
xo

The greatest thing...

I saw my psychologist for the last time this week . We hadn't had a session since August but she wanted to know that I was all right before we went our separate ways. And, you know how I like to please people... So, we did that and she asked how I felt and I answered her questions.

Then, she told me how well I had done; how hard I had worked and how well it had all gone and feeling the need to reciprocate (that's what well mannered people do after all) I thanked her for her assistance and she said it was entirely her pleasure...she photocopied something she wanted to give me...I wrote her the cheque, she gave me the receipt and we were drawing things to a close. She wanted me to know that it was never entirely over between us...that if I ever wanted an emergency session to ring her mobile...that if I wanted to talk over something next year that she would be here. Very sweet; very reassuring. Very caring and kind.

I felt moved to ask her something about her life. I asked if she was still very busy and she said it was hectic; that before Medicare changed the rules people had come to her for the classic problems - anxiety and depression. But, now that Medicare paid the bulk of 12 (now 10 sessions) people presented with other issues.

"What sort of issues are they," I asked
"Existential issues."
"Like, what is the meaning of life?"
"Yes."
"Oh dear."
"I hate it. I don't have the answers."
"No. Do you think people are placing too much emphasis on performance? Forgetting that at the end of the day all that matters is the connections we make?"
"Yes. Connections is all that really matters. Nobody dies worried about much else than if they loved and were loved adequately."

How about that! All that time I was seeing Michelle I was not sure we were enough alike and it turns out we were entirely the same.

Devotion

I received your call and knowing how much it meant to you I retrieved your precious gloves and travelled to you.

You were indistinguishable, one of hundreds of young men in camouflage. I understood that if you could have come to me you would.

I hung about for a while; tried to look unobtrusive; as if I had a good reason for being there but as a mother, I knew I stuck out as the one object that did not belong.

I returned to the car and sat and thought through my options. Every one of them returned to the fact that you relied on me; that I was obligated to solve this; to get to you.

I began to see boys older than you make their way to the waiting buses and so I moved closer to them in the vain hope that one of them might be you.

Closer to the oval again where you most likely were, I made my way up to the top of the crescent and then slightly down it.

All the boys were on their feet and lined up now and I felt my chances slipping away. Yet, I stood there with the faintest of hopes that somehow you were watching me and that something would give.

The oval felt very still to me. I wondered if this was the sort of hush that occurs before battle. The thought fleeted through my mind when I caught hold of a move in the ranks. I suddenly saw you, tall and thin as a beanpole, as handsome as all get out and as quiet as a mouse, make your way towards me. I, in turn made my way towards you.

“I can’t thank you enough,” you said.

“That’s all right.”

I desperately wanted to hug you but I knew the rules. No displays of love in school uniform and especially not in cadet gear.

“Have a good time,” I offered.

As I moved away you reached out to me and caught me with your impossibly long fingers, kissed me on the cheek and wrapped your arms around me.

“God, but I love you so much,” I said.

“I love you too, Mum. Thank you.  See you soon.”

 You walked your way and I walked mine.

They were just a set of gloves but so much more than a set of gloves.