Honesty

 It occurred to me earlier today that we are almost forced in life to be actors in a play. There is the student hat and the teacher hat, the therapist hat and the client hat; one person being in a hierarchy higher than the other. I noted twice earlier today mention of seeking wisdom, from one person further along the path of life or of growth than the other. It's all normal; all good.

But, what happens when we are forced to hold in thoughts just because the other doesn't want to hear them; or gets mad about hearing them?

It's all done for best practice a lot of the time - we don't want to offend or to pry or to overstep the mark. So, we keep our thoughts to ourselves.

Our thoughts, of course, aren't necessarily right or wrong. They are just thoughts and some aren't worthy of being shared. 

Some thoughts need to be corrected; modified; adapted. We are just learning. I think we try on thoughts to learn; to learn what is in our head.

Some people are like a wack a mole game; remember that? You say something and they wack you down without a thought. If you are lucky , they politely explain that that's a tender subject and they are a bit precious about it right now. Of course, you back off immediately.

I have spent a lifetime holding onto the vast number of my thoughts. You probably have too. We have thousands of thoughts every day and we couldn't express them all if we tried.

The problem for me is that my internal definition of intimacy is that I would be able to express nearly all my thoughts. I am not necessarily referring to a sexual relationship but rather to a relationship where we are safe enough with one another to share practically any thought.

Sometimes in my marriage we do share a thought where it gets close to the bone - could, in another moment, cause some upset - but it's said and shared and we respectfully register an intimacy of the mind and heart. We've tread close to a landmine and neither of us blew up.

We are not always so lucky.

So, here I sit with a trillion thoughts that I have held onto; unshared thoughts.

At times, I come into contact with people who work in odd spaces - past lives, for example. They say that that's my story, my lives - my keeping my thoughts to myself. If it was history, some period of time even more gender defined than now, chances are I had no choice.

I kept a lot of thoughts away from my parents too, especially my mother. 

As soon as you know it is not safe to share your thoughts, well, naturally enough, you safeguard them in a spot that is safe - deep inside.

I shared with someone recently that I sometimes write down my thoughts. I don't read them back. I tear them up and throw them away.

Why? Because, they aren't  sometimes that nice and not meant for the consumption of others. I might be registering anger; contempt; frustration. I could sit in meditation and let them pass through. That would be fine. But sometimes, writing them down very fast and furiously is very freeing.

Once upon a time, if I had these not nice feelings about my husband, on occasion I expressed them. It seemed honest. And, it seemed fair because it was his behaviour that led to those thoughts.

But I came to see that he saw them for what they were: passing through. It didn't alter him or make him do something at all. He dances to his own drum whether I speak my truth or not. So, often I don't bother. I don't need the whole 'fight or flight' circumstance for my body that would ensue.

The man in prison that I write to...I came to see that he is happy to speak his truth and I am a safe place (as safe as you can be knowing someone probably reads all our letters). That's a great honour to me; to be able to be that person for him.

When death might come knocking on your door by way of a court ruling, it really does focus the mind. There's so much less allowing one part of the mind to cover over another part of the mind, so that so many thoughts can't be thought, felt, shared, or heard. I love the honesty of the exchange.

I noticed in the last letter I wrote which I am about to walk up to the Post Office that I responded to his thoughts and at the last moment noted that all was well on my end. I can't imagine anyone really buys such a broad statement but in comparison, of course, of course I am fine. My job is to be fine: to be the vessel in which he pours his thoughts. At least, that's the way I see it.

Here on the blog? Well, I do monitor myself, yes, it's true. You know I have been at times that person who said of someone on the street, 'She would be so much prettier if she were a little thinner.' It's a true thought but one that my family felt I shouldn't say. So, I stopped sharing those thoughts.

In the Johnny Depp trial it was claimed that certain tests can pick up when someone is adjusting answers to make themselves look good. I wouldn't be surprised. Isn't that what we do on a daily basis ourselves?

Personally speaking, I find, more and more, complete honesty so refreshing. Maybe one day, it will be a thing.

Shame

Shame is a concept I've always struggled with. Guilt comes from a feeling that you have hurt another person or taken a wrong action. You've made a mistake. I have felt guilt and can speak to moments of guilt, no problem.

But, shame is so much more personal, so much more difficult to say out loud or even to write about in an anonymous online journal. Shame comes from the feeling that you are worthless, that you are a mistake, or that there is something wrong with you as a person. It's shame, I think, that keeps a person in a state of denial or lack of awareness.

Here are a few examples of shame:

'You think that others are judging you.' and 'You believe that you have to prove your worth to others'.

I can speak to this, bucket loads. I was living and working in the United States. I wanted to take leave to go home to Australia for a visit but was told I hadn't accrued enough time there. I asked if I could make up the time over the next several weeks to enable me to take the time off. They offered me secretarial work and after my job I'd stay back and type/send telexes (yep, I'm that antiquated!) off to various parts of the world.

This was entirely reasonable and in just about every way I was fine with the task. But, one evening, a wave of shame washed over me as I sat in front of a typewriter in what was the typist pool. What was I doing? Where was my life heading?

I had followed my very new husband to the other side of the world without a work visa (only he qualified for that) which meant that I had to take one of the only jobs in town - working for another country. Yes, I had qualifications to work there and doing this sort of job wasn't too far outside those specifications but I knew deep in my bones at that moment that I was selling myself short, hiding in a dead end job rather than having the guts to seek more. In a sense my circumstances were perfectly aligned with my lack of courage, and in that moment of shame all was revealed to me.

Thirty or so years later I found myself at my University College reunion. I was happy to attend the evening, although when arriving into the room for some time it felt like I knew no-one. People didn't look like themselves on first glance, but as we introduced ourselves to one another the memories came flooding back. They were, and are, such lovely people, very engaging, warm and welcoming. But, again that moment of shame early on in the evening was felt with such force that it nearly knocked me down. I felt dread at having to answer their questions, 'And, what do you do?'

These people had long careers in education, in science, in medicine. What did I have to show for the decades that had passed? I've been a mother, a devoted mother and a good one I think. I had volunteered at school, been a member of auxiliary groups, had some jobs along the way, but where was the career?

My introversion, or perhaps my shame - a fear that others will reject me, a fear of standing up for myself, an ability to hide my emotions, an inability to believe in myself and my worth - has held me back.

My most recent example of this utterly overwhelming sense of shame is when I was doing the Masters. There is a part of me that knows that I'm not stupid, but there is also a part of me that fears failure - the annihilating fear of being shown to be what I think I am inside, average.

I had determined to do one subject at a time. Each subject is 12 weeks long with plenty of work to get done and then the next subject starts immediately the next week. Still, I'd be traveling along all right and I thought I'd enroll for two subjects concurrently.

There reached a moment when panic set in. How was I going to keep the high marks rolling in at the faster pace? I pulled up a tutor's email and explained I'd have to drop out of her subject. She replied to say that there was absolutely no need. I was going along beautifully at a high standard and just keep going, not far to go now. The option to fail/hide/run away was taken away from me.

In fact, when the comments came back for the piece of writing I submitted towards a prospective novel she wrote, 'I'm sure your work will be published soon.' I didn't even let it wash over me and I still have not. I felt I must have conned her in some way, though I don't quite know how I would have done that.

There is no doubt that I am my harshest critic. It is a simple statement of fact that I am an introvert and don't really have the mental energy or desire for a career or full time work. I loved my work last week at the school but the thought of having to do it all over again the next day would not have been a happy thought. I use up a lot of resources to be around people, giving to people. I adore it but then afterward I need to spend time alone.

Writing is ideal because I can do that alone and then go out and be with the world when that is done. I can be quite hungry to interact with the world when I have had sufficient time alone. But, I struggle to believe that I have any ability, though I do have glimpses of feeling good about my work.

I can't deny that the shame sits in my bones, still. There is no-one in my family who wants me to work or expects me to work, except my mother who thinks I'd have fun working in a dress shop. Nope. I actually wouldn't enjoy that.

Another example of feeling shame is when someone doesn't stand up for herself/himself. This is a long and old story. I have assumed the Caretaker role in a number of capacities over my life. Whilst on some level it felt comfortable to do so, I did know deep down that it caused me deeply distressing feelings of shame. There's damage there, it's undeniable and obvious to me now, with unhealed wounds. I am working on it, working specifically with this element of shame, cognizant that  people who suffer with narcissistic tendencies have enveloped me through the years. I'm investigating this. It's two steps forward and one step back, but much progress is being made.

Margaret Fjelstad, a therapist who works with people who have taken on the Caretaker role such as myself writes, 'Letting go of shame happens simultaneously as you learn to care for and value yourself. When you come to the decision that you are the real judge of your life and that you belong on this earth as much as anyone else, you will find that you no longer feel there is something wrong with you..."

I look forward to that day.

Remembering Mary

I grew up on 'The Dick Van Dyke Show' and then 'The Mary Tyler Moore Show'. I loved Mary's ability to be funny, to be forthright, to be honest and hardworking. I admired her ability to get up and get on with life even when things weren't necessarily going her way. She was a mixture of standing up for what she believed was right and yet not rocking the boat too much that there was hurt. She 'got' Mr Grant, and now that I think about it, maybe some of 'Mary' rubbed off on me; finding something noble in trying to get into the shoes of the other person; really trying very hard to understand where the other person was coming from; the humor in that process.

Mary certainly made me laugh and particularly in those moments when the other person was so...wrong. Mary could see that. We could see that she saw it, and we loved her all the more for not pointing it out or making a fuss of that; just letting them be who they were and working with and around those people.

In reality I think Mary Tyler Moore didn't feel that Mary was her; that she didn't possess Mary's qualities, or at least not all of them. I have been watching today interviews she gave, because I'm processing her death by doing that, and in one interview she commented that she possessed some of the qualities of Beth Jarrett, the repressed mother in 'Ordinary People' who loses her eldest son. When asked why she refers to Beth's perfectionism and her high expectations, and that's one thing about Mary, the real Mary, that I did instinctively feel myself. It oozed out of her, I felt.

Roger Ebert referred to Beth Jarrett as "selfish" in a review and there's no doubt that Beth did have a hard time giving of herself, whether that was to her young son who was in so much turmoil over the death of his brother or whether it was her husband who wanted to reveal his own grief to her. So long as they pretended that they were not damaged people, all was well with Beth. It was when they refused to uphold this pretense that things went wrong.

I have immense respect for the Tyler Moore's honesty in her interviews and in her autobiography. I have not read it but the interviews about it make clear that she didn't shy away from the dark parts of her life, only leaving out those parts that would have hurt those still living. The alcoholism, she thought, related to her genetics. Maybe. She referred to the drink taking off the edges of a difficult day.What we do now know is that any addiction is used to medicate an intolerable reality. It is our way of 'coping'; of finding relief. All the success in the world, the affection of the world, isn't enough if one's inner world is intolerable.

It was said on the Larry King Show in an interview with Mary that those who haven't had enough love and affection in childhood tend to gravitate to show business. I don't know about that. Certainly, many 'show business' people are quite shy away from the stage or the camera but there are a host of ways to go when you don't feel that you got your fair share of love and attention as a child.

We were watching the Federer/Wawrinka tennis match last night when I cuddled up to my husband, sorta spleyed over him, looking for a dose of attention. He wasn't comfortable. He made that clear and I made a move to relieve myself of being a burden. He caught me with one arm and pulled me back and told me to lie still. I recognized the truth of the situation and I appreciated his demand that I stay where I was. He held me down with his arm and I felt secure. I am needy. I try not to be. I just am. This is an unconscious and a conscious need. All the knowledge in the world about self soothing doesn't change the fact that I want and crave particular attention.

So, this looking for love continues on. I'm loved. I know I am loved, but the need for regular reassurance of that love remains. I don't need the world to love me but I do need to know that I am loved  singularly to be secure in that love. I want to hear the words. I want to see the feelings in action. This is the insecurity from childhood still at work.

On the flip side, as much as I love to have regular contact with those I love, enough is enough. I need time alone. My summers find me surrounded by loved ones and there reaches this point, every year, when I think, 'if only they could all be out of the house at the one time.'

When things get too much, I walk, except I can't quite now due to a sore ankle. So, maybe I write here, like now. So, maybe I berate myself about my weaknesses, like now.

A few days ago, as I drove my son to a doctor's appointment, I revealed that his friend, who had been with us for 5 days straight, along with other friends who had visited for shorter periods, was driving me a little crazy.  He got a bit defensive, as people who are criticized tend to do.

'Please don't take it personally. It's not just one thing. It's everything. Your father tends to come and dump his frustrations on me too. 'Here, I'm frustrated. Catch!' I just want one hour to myself. Is that asking too much?'

'Mum, how don't you get this?! Dad is always saying that to get things done well you need to give them complete focus. So, use his logic back on him. That's what he understands. Explain that you need to sit and do your project for a while and you're going to need to give it your complete focus. It's that simple. I do that all the time.'

Of course, by now, I'm laughing. Like Mary, I get people's quirks and my own quirks when they are presented to me in that laughable way. We're all mad in our own ways. That's the thing. That's the thing I get, most of the time, and when I don't get it, I'm taking myself, and life, much too seriously.

Mary Tyler Moore was pretty hard on herself, I think. She really wanted to be her best self and she had trouble living up to her own high standards. I get it. It's endemic in my family. It doesn't feel particularly strange to be this way in this family. Fortunately, we marry that with humor; plenty of laughter. If you must be nuts at least be nuts and funny at the same time.

I do believe that the life you see and experience is a reflection of how you feel about yourself and how you are processing life internally. With love in your heart and a sense of comfort in your own skin the world is a far more beautiful place. I know this and I berate myself when I fall short of these standards I set.

'I am love.
I give love.
I receive love.
I let go.'

I say these lines to myself as I sit with myself on my cushion and when I rise the world is more beautiful.

There is no possession, no accomplishment, no skill, that can take the place of the feeling of love in one's heart. This is what we learn as time goes by.

Flaws in the power dynamic

Back in the day when I had a little CBT therapy it related to my central 'problem' that the psychologist identified as my being too empathic. I'll give an example. She asked me to tell her of  a time that morning when I had been ruminating about someone close; worrying about them. So, I told her that I'd been short tempered with a son about the fact that I couldn't necessarily always take him where he needed to go without disrupting my day. He said he'd take public transport instead and then I felt out of sorts that morning feeling that I may have upset his day.

"But, you wouldn't have upset his day at all," she responded. He probably put his headphones in and was blithely listening to music the moment he left the house, and didn't give the conversation another thought."

That's mostly true. And, totally true that she would have thought that, too.

So, here I am, a self-confessed and diagnosed 'empathically loaded person'. I'm not just thinking about what I think. I'm constantly getting into the heads of other people.

It's a bit shocking to me to realize, via some conversations with other people who reveal their state of mind at times, to realize that not all people concern themselves with how the other is interpreting events, words or conversations. That two-step that I do every few seconds in a conversation, wondering what the other person is thinking in their own skin - some people don't do that.

For example, if they didn't mean to upset the other, to suddenly disappear in the midst of an important conversation and actually had Internet connection difficulties, it doesn't occur to them to put themselves in the other person's body and wonder, "Gosh, I hope she didn't think that I intentionally disappeared at that crucial moment of the conversation. I'll just send a quick note so that she doesn't worry." They didn't intend upset and so, the logic seems to go, no upset occurred.

But, it did happen. Upset did occur.

And, then I could see his point of view. Based on his usual modus operandi, this was to be seen as an anomaly of his usual behavior and thus not to be judged as something sinister. In fact, the fault could be interpreted as mine, since this being unusual behavior for him, perhaps it is I who erred by not thinking about the Internet disruption!

Well, I did! I did think about the Internet as being a possibility for the sudden departure. However, since I would have followed up on what seemed rude behavior, I assumed that if that were the case, he would too. Nope, it wasn't seen that way.

We've been friends for years, but there are gaps in the communication due to this very different way of looking out onto the world. I am, perhaps, too concerned with how others are impacted by me and he is, perhaps, not concerned enough with how others are impacted by him.

I've experienced a similar, but not identical mismatch in my marriage. When my husband has made a decision that has had a negative impact on me he has wanted me to take into account the fact that he never intended me harm. I can trust in that: that he never wanted to intend me harm. That's what my friend seemed to be saying as well - that, however behavior might be interpreted, the good will was there.

Sometimes, his comnments come across as blunt, even rude, but honesty must prevail, he says.That said, I do skirt around honesty with him because he's sensitive to honesty. My husband is sensitive to honesty too. There a rule for the goose and a rule for the gander in regards to honesty. On my good days I can smile about that and on my bad days I wish that feminism went further, faster.

So, isn't it the case that these men who may not have an abundance of the empathy gene such that they can appreciate what effect their words and behavior might have on others, require the services of a woman who has an abundance of empathy? Who else could possibly understand them? Appreciate them?

When my husband was young , in his early teens, and living in a boarding school far from home, he wrote letters home to his parents. He wasn't a big time writer at that stage of his life and being homesick he asked a lot of questions, forgetting to give them much information about life at school. A comment was made about this. It is impossible to know how the comment was made but he was very upset about it. It closed his writing efforts down for a very long time. He's very disinclined to put his emotions down on paper and he has made reference to this criticism of his letter writing many times to explain this inhibition.

Generally speaking, I find that with men it pays not to criticize them, no matter how delicately one phrases the comment. I don't know why this should be so but it is a very tricky thing to offer them feedback, unless it is positive. This must make for some incredibly unhappy relationships at work where a female boss must make reference to a piece of work not well done, or a female professor must tell a male student that he isn't expressing himself eloquently. Or, maybe, I've just been incredibly attracted to men with a flash of arrogance and narcissism, or maybe just very sensitive men who don't see my role as one of giving them feedback. Let the world do that job, they may be thinking, because your job is to raise me up!

I harken back to this sentiment of improvement and progress that I have raised before. The dynamic I share with some male friends/husband is okay, but it could be so much better. When two people know one another so intimately, know the essence of each other, surely that sort of dynamic lends itself to honesty in a more profound way. If I'm willing to hear the criticisms, then why not the other?

In some ways, the role or title of 'dominant' and 'submissive' is a misnomer and doesn't serve us well in the long term. The energy that I seek, 'the gain', comes not from rigidly played out roles but a give and take that only remains in great shape when it is possible to discuss feelings and concerns in an intimate way. 'The gain' is not always available. It comes and goes and the best policy is to understand this; that we ebb and flow. The dominance and the surrender is dependent on energy from both people. It can, in fact, thrive on artificiality, but not in the long term. Love doesn't really understand the concept of power.

Unconditional love is a wondrous thing but to grow we must all surrender to the fact that we are all flawed - both the dominant and the submissive. Acknowledging that takes us farther, lifts us higher.

When not to submit

When I visited the UK last year with my husband, we bought tickets to see Blenheim Palace. Blenheim Palace is a stunning palace and the gardens are so very beautiful (we walked for hours in the grounds) but most special to me was that it was the birthplace of Sir Winston Churchill and in his honour there is a permanent exhibition.

I was able to read the original letters he wrote home to his parents whilst at a horrid boarding school where he was incredibly miserable. There is no mention of his misery; not a single word. Rather, he assures his parents that he is doing his best, trying hard to improve all the time and that he hopes that they are well, comfortable and enjoying life. I felt very touched to think of this little boy’s generosity of spirit.

Of course, we all remember him for his great rallying war speeches, although he was humble about that as well. As far as he was concerned it was the nation that had “the lion heart” whilst he simply had “the luck” to be called upon to give the roar.

Although we are aware of his “black dog” he had a lovely sense of humour, a variety of interests including a great skill for painting and a passionate devotion to his wife, Clementine.

Of all Churchill’s quotes, it is this one that resonates with me:

“One ought never to turn one's back on a threatened danger and try to run away from it. If you do that, you will double the danger. But if you meet it promptly and without flinching, you will reduce the danger by half. Never run away from anything. Never!”

As a woman with a submissive nature, there is an inclination to let life do with me what it will. I sometimes feel that I don’t have the strength to fight the dogged nature of those people who display narcissistic tendencies. Part of the reason that I live fairly quietly is that I feel so surrounded by people who are chasing more and more money, unperturbed by who they destroy to get at the next pot of gold. I question if these people have any understanding of the essence of life or that when they reach the end of their lives they will have learned anything at all.

Having said that, there have been times when I have refused to run away from danger. I’ve stood my ground, faced danger square in the face and refused to surrender to it. When a psychologist told me when my son was three years old that he would never go to a regular school, I vowed to prove him wrong. Not only did he go to a high achieving school and graduate, but he was Captain of one of the sports and is tackling university wonderfully well in the third year of a course highly suited to his interests and talents.

A dear friend said to me just yesterday, “I hate to feel a victim.” I hate to feel a victim too and I have turned disaster into success by meeting danger “promptly and without flinching”. Many, many women would have walked away from situations that I faced, accepted and turned around.

Although I do have a submissive nature I choose not to submit to those who behave dishonourably, wickedly or underhandedly. I have come out of my lovely ‘submissive bubble’, (where, frankly, I would much rather be) to take a hard look at the callous and devious behaviour of some bad men. I am not sure who said, “There is nothing to fear but fear itself” but the phrase was often quoted to me earlier in life and I draw on it now.

There are too many men who put on a white shirt and tie and go to the office to do heinous things; men who believe that their fortunes that they probably got in a variety of dubious ways, allow them to ride rough shod over people merely for sport.

If we are to be proud of our societies, we must challenge this behaviour and call for ethics in business to be revived. A good place to start would be to make the law available to all, instead of the very wealthy. I fear that greed is taking us over. If we don’t fight against greed and underhand tactics, where will it end? For these reasons, I have no choice but to leave my submissive nature at the front door.

Agnes makes lunch

Agnes brought Frederick’s keys up to the lock of his door. She located the apartment key, opened the front door and walked in. Without Frederick with her, everything felt very different to her. She was aware of the silence and she was conscious of the fact that she was alone, surrounded by all his possessions.

She had a task to complete and she was anxious to get on with it but first of all she wanted to take this opportunity to look around, uninhibited; to just let her eyes go where they would without Frederick possibly observing her as she did.

She tried to imagine Frederick within the framework of his life; a single man with a good many interests and no doubt, many friends and past lovers. Had he committed to remaining a bachelor? He seemed very settled in this singular life. Perhaps all he needed was already here, she pondered. He was comfortable. He had his books. He had sufficient technology to keep up with associates and friends. Every last chair or table or painting had been chosen and distributed around the apartment solely for his pleasure and comfort. Everything had a place and there was a place for everything. Perhaps he was a man who would always live this way and there was no place for a woman to live here permanently.

Agnes thought about her family home; all the comings and goings of a busy household. Her mother had a large pot of soup cooking on the stove most days to feed her growing children and the house was invariably in organized chaos. No matter how many times her mother requested that the boys leave their shoes in the mudroom, shoes and sweaters were often strewn about the house, along with homework and books and notes and movies to be returned to the video store. Invariably, somebody would be lounging on the couch reading the newspaper or one of her younger brothers would be absorbed in their Game boy, unaware of the existence of anybody else. She could not remember the last time she was in the house completely alone as she was now alone in Frederick’s apartment.

Agnes pulled herself out of her thoughts and reminded herself that she had a task to complete. She went to the kitchen and familiarized herself with the room, first opening the refrigerator and gathering all the contents she could find to make tasty sandwiches. She found some cooked chicken in a container; that was a good start. In another container was what appeared to be freshly made coleslaw. Then she opened a drawer and found lettuce, bean shoots, celery, cucumber. The smell of the vine ripened tomatoes had hit her nostrils the moment she walked into the kitchen and she took one from the lovely wooden bowl on the granite kitchen bench and a few sprigs of the basil plant next to it.

From the bread container, also on the bench, Agnes cut four slices of bread and carefully she began to cut and prepare the food and then pile it onto the bread. She was beginning to enjoy the task of creating an appetising lunch for them. She took care to find some mustard and to sprinkle some salt and pepper onto the food before she closed the sandwiches with the other slices of bread and cut them diagonally both ways to make eight pretty quarter sandwiches that she could display on the plates when she got down to the courtyard.

Bit by bit, Agnes gathered what they would need; plates, glasses, wrap for the sandwiches, a peach and an apple, a bottle of mineral water and some napkins. She placed all the items in the wicker basket which was exactly where Frederick said it would be. Then, she returned the kitchen to exactly the state in which she had found it. Her inner instinct told her that Frederick would want her to do that and not to leave anything out of place.

Agnes was ready to collect the picnic basket and return to him when she wondered if she might take this chance to look about his apartment just a minute longer. As quietly as a mouse she moved out of the kitchen and towards Frederick’s bedroom, noticing his choice of paintings along the hall as she went – modern and rather angular. She approved of his choices and her photographer’s eye felt that he had a keen eye himself.

She entered the bedroom. She wanted to understand him and to know him in a way that she only could when she saw how he lived and what choices he made. She walked about the room surveying it all at her leisure and at close range. The book on the top of the small pile of books on his bed was a biography of Francois Mitterrand. She read the spines of the other books in the pile and noted that one book was about design, ‘Bringing Tuscany Home’ and another, a novel, ‘Consequences’ by Penelope Lively. She thought she might have seen that one in the book store. He appeared to be an avid and wide reader and she approved of that, books being one of her great joys.

She knew she should not, but she could not resist the temptation and she opened his cupboard doors to reveal his clothes, perfectly aligned and presented. His crisp white shirts were all hung beside one another and next to them were his pants and then his dark suits. There was a pile of sweaters – a light blue one, a navy one and two black. She opened the drawers to discover that he had several pairs of the same socks, some black, some brown and two beige; perhaps a dozen pairs of the same style underpants. His shoes were neatly displayed on the shoe rack.

She was surprised to note that he clearly loved his leather boots; a black pair and a brown pair to the ankle and a high pair too; shiny black to the knee and with laces. She smiled for boots were something that Agnes adored too. She had her eye on a gorgeous black leather pair in a store close to work. She was hoping that there might be a sale soon for the price was the equivalent of two weeks’ wages and she simply could not afford them no matter how in love she had fallen.

He was a most orderly man, she realized, but not extravagant with himself either. Here was what he needed but not at all to excess. Agnes thought about the mess in her wardrobe and realized that before she could ever have him over to her little apartment she would need to sort herself out. He would be appalled to see the state of her wardrobe in its current state. She closed the wardrobe carefully. He would never know she had been snooping.

Agnes’ eye returned to the odd shaped chair and she wondered again about the shape. She was well aware that modern, urban furniture sometimes meant that chairs were unusual shapes but she had never seen anything quite like Frederick’s chair. She had an impulse to sit on the chair but moving towards the side of it that was straight and higher than the other but with a curved finish, she bent over it instead. The palms of her hands found their way onto the seat. Her mind was filled with thoughts as to how Frederick may have used this chair with women; if he was still using this chair with women; how recently he had made love to a woman in this chair.

Agnes thought to look on his desk. Perhaps there were photographs there that would give her some clues. She was right. There were a few group photos; possibly one was a family shot with siblings and their children and the other, perhaps a group of male friends. There were three separate photographs of women. They were all pretty and they all seemed more sophisticated and older than her. It didn’t make her feel any more secure. She picked up a photograph of one woman; blonde with brown eyes and a lovely smile. She was very pretty and soft looking and Agnes was curious as to who she was and what she meant to Frederick; surely she was important if her photograph was so prominently displayed in his every day eyesight.

She moved closer to the desk to be sure to put the photo frame back just as she had found it but she unwittingly brushed against the side of the desk and in so doing disturbed a pile of papers on his desk. They fell to the floor in a jumble. Her heart lurched and she went down on her knees to gather them, trying to figure their original order. She did her best but the facts were she had no idea at all which papers were on the top of the pile and which on the bottom.

She suddenly had an urgent desire to leave the apartment and be on her way. She wanted to rid her mind of these thoughts immediately. She collected the picnic basket and the keys and made her way out of the apartment and back to Frederick, doing her best to expunge the thought that Frederick should ever find out what she had been doing in his apartment all alone.

She needed to settle her mind before she returned to Frederick and so as she moved the foliage aside to make her way down the stairway, she again found herself in the intrepid jungle, this time a foreigner with her medical supplies and equipment in her basket looking for an, as yet, undiscovered specie. When she spied Frederick in the distance, she smiled. Ah, there he was! Her undiscovered specie; a man she very much wanted to explore herself.

Feelings

Controversially, my husband has noted on several occasions that the biggest difficulty with dealing with young women out there in the workforce at this time is their feelings. He might call the bank to have an issue corrected only to find that the conversation has launched from the facts of the matter to the girl at the bank's feelings. My husband has not agreed with her findings, has told her so and somehow they are in the land of her feelings. He's too long in the tooth for this sort of thing now. He just wants the job done and move on. Trust me when I say that he can be an absolutely charming man whom women think adorable but if you use the feelings card with him when he wants something done, he won't have any time for it any more.

He is not alone. His associates complain of this matter and when I asked women at a lunch recently how they felt about this, they all agreed. The young woman today was very inclined to take umbrage at simple expression of insistence that the task be done to the customer's satisfaction. My husband has taken to hanging up the phone only to dial the same company until a man answers. He explains the issue and moments later he hears "Not a problem, Sir. Done." Ah! No mention of feelings!

My feelings has been an issue of contention with us over the years. When my husband is in a go-get-it mood, and he often is, he just wants things done and at times he can be short with me. On my good days, and most of them are good, I snuff it off. I can even enjoy it, in an odd sort of masochistic let's -get-the-girl-going sort of way. (I am not on these pages for nothing!) Occasionally, I get upset and I tell him that my feelings are hurt. Or, I might just snap back which always has him look at me as if to say, 'where did that come from?' I wonder!

In any event, a great deal of effort on my part has gone into getting control of my feelings. It is an exceptionally odd moment that this is ever an issue for me out there in the big wide world. My feelings being out of kilter and destructive to me and loved ones occur in the private domain. I might be upset with my husband's tone or my children's inconsideration. My challenge is to stay calm, and not allow the flood of adrenaline to overtake my brain allowing me to react in an out of control way. My task is to stay in control. It's the task I have given myself.

Whilst I have a pass rate on this task, I don't have a High Distinction and that really bothers me. Instead of waiting for the right moment to say something like, "I'd like to talk to you about..... I am a little confused as to why you said..." I tend to feel extreme agitation inside my body and I tend to make hasty decisions, finding it a virtual necessity to react instantaneously. I read lately that this is why people might eat foods they know they should not when they are upset. They are looking to change how they feel. I too am looking to change how I feel but instead of reaching for a chocolate teddy bear, I launch a Scud missile instead and get a momentary improvement in how I feel.

Of course, it only takes minutes for me to question my action but the deed has been done and of course, I have my "righteous indignation" to keep me warm for quite a while. There are moments of sanity. I sent off an email on Saturday (yeah, it's on my mind) and on Sunday I was wandering about the garden when I thought, 'Did I really write I was "humiliated"? Oh boy, that was over the top!!'

It gets worse. It turns out that it was a total misunderstanding on my part and by Sunday evening, I felt very, very silly. And, shameful. The whole day of upset could easily have been avoided for both parties if I had just taken control of my feelings and thought it through and acted sensibly with the end in mine.

I have read enough blogs of submissive women and know enough submissives to feel that my challenges are not uniquely mine. And, it says something of the value, integrity and warmth of the relationship that even amongst all this hullabaloo over the weekend that we managed to find a little humour in the next exchange and I like to think, brought us a little closer. Yes, some things should never have been said, but then some things were said that cleared the air, too.

I do know from long experience that feelings are not just the domain of the female or the submissive. I can most certainly hurt my husband's feelings and an argument with me can leave him terribly upset. Rupert Murdoch once said that the only person who could make him feel like a fool was Anna (his first wife). It is those we care about who have the ability to upset us the most. Our feelings are most hurt when the person (or people) who provide the most stability for us take the ground from under our feet (or at least, we momentarily think they do).

In essence this returns to what Mary said to me - that a passionate relationship is going to have push and pull. It is not a well received idea in BDSM circles but nonetheless it is true. People who care about one another are meant to challenge one another in some ways, to get the best out of one another and that includes the dominant and the submissive.

This whole emotional mine field of our feelings takes place amidst the formality of the power exchange relationship where one leads and one follows; one feeds and one serves, making feelings a very complicated issue to handle. I think there are just moments when in amongst those roles, the issues related to hurt feelings must be addressed and resolved. The skilled dominant will know how to get the submissive back in line and the true submissive will fall back into line without any further ado. Meanwhile, I stay calm. Of course!

Advice

Writing the blog and leaving comments for other blog writers makes for online friends and some of those have become my good friends. Friends support friends in fair times and foul and one of my friends is going through a rough patch right now. Rough patches are not meant to happen this time of year but alas, they do. A couple of times now she has asked me to write a post with my thoughts. We can't chat often but she does read the blog. I have a few readers who write to me, too, sharing their lives with me and I feel privileged that they do this. I always hope that I give them some words back that might help.

Once upon a time, I was in the position of desperately needing advice and I wrote to my on line friend. He gave me some advice and I wish to share that here on the blog in the hope that it will help my dear friend and maybe one or two other readers, too....

In this BDSM space, people come to all sorts of arrangements. Maybe the man wants to spank another girl as well as his wife. Maybe, the guy wants to switch roles occasionally. Maybe, the girl wants to be mentored, or perhaps the man wants to have a three-some. There is not a right or wrong way to love or have a relationship, necessarily.

But, there is a wrong way to go about it and that is to tell lies. If people have needs, the best thing to do is to put them on the table and discuss them like adults. In this way, a conversation can take place, adult to adult, wherein needs and wants are expressed.

At the time, this was advice I needed to hear. I wanted things so much but I wasn't being entirely honest with my husband. It was the dishonesty that appalled him; not my needs and wants at all. My friend has experienced that dishonesty and it is incumbent that her partner sit down calmly and maturely and express his needs to her in an honest way. She deserves that and she is a big enough girl to cope with that, if given the opportunity to understand what the needs are and where she fits in. She only wants to be loved and to love. Deceit doesn't fit it into equation.

Both my mentors have been sticklers for the truth and I have learned never to lie. If I did the crime, I admit it and accept the correction. It is a whole lot better than walking around with the lie, I think. Of course, we are taught in nursery school not to lie and we know what is right and what is wrong. But, it is a not a lesson easy to learn.

In the past week, my behaviour was not good. Confused and alarmed about something, instead of asking questions and clarifying the situation, I did the emotional girl thing and threw a spanner in the works by sending a hurtful and confusing email. I resolved nothing by doing this except to hurt myself and him. Of course, I came to my senses within 24 hours and did a fast 'backtrack', but I regret that I still can't always be relied on to behave as I know I should.

Alas, even when we are all grown up, acting like grown ups is not always easy. But, an honest conversation is the right place to start to plan the future together, and in most cases, that is all it takes to get a relationship back on track.

So, my darling friend, meet up at a little bistro for lunch, talk calmly and honestly about what you want and need. Listen carefully to what he says, as well. You both care about each other and this could be resolved to both your satisfaction. Play nice, good luck and I send you my love. XO

The truth shall set you free

I am controlled in large measure by the expectations of my husband and children. But, what of my thought processes? Do I, in fact, impose control on myself?

When I was a young girl, it seemed to me that my role was to be the ‘good child’. My sibling was not ‘wild’ but comparatively speaking, he was. So, I think I tried to make up for this. I saw my mother suffered when he was uncooperative and that made me want to co-operate, if only for her sake. In any case, I did not want to be bad. I had no desire to be at all rebellious. When I began to explore my sexuality I did it without confronting my family. As far as parenting me goes, they had a dream run.

I married fairly young. Almost immediately, we fell into a mode where I took responsibility for many household responsibilities. I don’t think we ever sat down with me suggesting that I would do all the cooking, cleaning, washing, shopping and so on. In fact, it never entered my mind that I would not be responsible for those things. Certainly, my husband never fought the notion.

When the children came into our lives, I saw the vast majority of their parenting as my responsibility, too. It just never occurred to me that I would be anywhere else of an evening than looking after my family. I rejected evening classes, or socializing with girlfriends of an evening on all but a handful of occasions.

I remember when we lived in another country; the next door neighbour suggested that we walk in the neighbourhood together directly after dinner. Her husband was prepared to do the dishes whilst she was away. But, I made an excuse immediately. I just couldn’t imagine such a situation in my household.

Last week, my daughter came down the back staircase and as I heard her coming, I moved away from the desk and my writing, to get busy in the kitchen. I have done this many times before. Late last week, she took me to lunch, and she talked to me quietly.

“Mum, when you hear one of us coming, you immediately move away from your desk and do something. But, you are entitled to some happiness, to do something that pleases you. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

Oh my! My daughter was onto me! Finally, someone had seen that my reactions were so often related to guilt. Was my house clean enough? Were my children and husband happy? Was I a good mother? A good wife? Could I keep all the balls in the air and perhaps in the few quiet moments of my life, eek out some personal happiness of my own? Did I deserve to take the time to write? Did I, in fact, deserve to be happy?

Janus and I had a chat yesterday, and he said that he thinks that I worry about telling the truth about myself. He thinks that I worry that people won't accept it.

“You may need practice telling things that aren't comfortable, aren't acceptable. You may need some experience talking about your feelings where you aren't going to get punished for it.”

I think he may be right. I know that I do keep my feelings to myself for fear of being punished; not fear of the cane or some other implement; fear of being rejected.

One facet of D/s relationships that is so appealing to me is that the girl is supposed to be open with her man and that this leads to a closer connection. It has not always worked out that way for us. My husband wants a happy girl and sometimes the truth implies that is not entirely so. It challenges him and the conversation can end badly. Yet, I believe in D/s. I believe in the power of it to make for much happiness and contentment. “The truth shall set you free.” I’m going to put my faith in that statement, and like Indiana Jones take that giant leap of faith. I honestly don't think I would be doing this without Janus, for I do this knowing that, should I fall, he will be there to catch me.

Confusion

I have just finished reading an email from one of my readers. It was a lovely insightful email and I greatly appreciate receiving it.

It seems that I have been confusing the hell out of readers. I didn't actually realize that but I think I know why that may be the case.

A blog is an opportunity to put one's thoughts out there on paper. It is also an opportunity to have a dialogue with one's readers and I'd like to take this opportunity to say to those who read here that I'd greatly appreciate your questions and challenging comments. Your support is greatly appreciated, but if you have something challenging to say, be my guest!

All my life, I have prescribed to the theory that words on paper are risky. Yes, I tell you some of the things on my mind, but I hold back, too.

If I were to say to you, as I will say now, that I am disappointed in my husband's lack of commitment to my submission, will the sky fall? Will it help us or will it destroy us? That is my dilemma. Honesty is a two-edged sword.

I appreciate my dear reader's feedback more than I can say. How often in life does one have this opportunity to receive such honest and meaningful feedback?

I am going to try harder to tell you readers, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I can only hope that such 'openness' leads to good things.

And, you be honest and open with me, too! Okay?

Being Bad

Does the sub sometimes get away with bad behaviour?

She may get one past her dom. It is entirely possible. After all, he is not watching her for every minute of the day, and when he asks her a question, he is expecting that her response is honest. So, there is room for her to get away with bad behaviour.

The real question is, 'Does she want to get away with the bad behaviour herself?'

In the short term, she may. She may know, full well, that her behaviour is below par, and she may also know that her dom would take a dim view of the situation, if he knew. So, in the short term, she may be looking to get away with 'it'.

But, looking now beyond the short term, I suspect that the sub has no interest whatsoever in getting away with bad behaviour.

Why should I think that?

Simple. It feels awful.

Now, a few doms I happen to know, think I was a little cheeky a few days ago, in writing a scene about a girl who had thoughts of getting away with 'it'.

Maybe it is news, maybe it is not, but the fact is that girls do have these thoughts. It takes real 'guts' to advise one's dom that one has broken an important rule. The doms I know are not of the inclination to say, "That's all right, dear. I like the fact that you were honest. So, I'm not going to punish you."

No. No. No! The doms I know believe that it is their responsibility to punish the girl and teach her a lesson.

And, rightly so. For such is the mind of the sub, that to get away with the breaking of a rule is nothing less than confusing and even disappointing.

There are a number of reasons for breaking a rule, but one that comes to mind, is that the sub is not happy about the amount of attention she is receiving. He is not paying attention, and if he is not going to pay attention, then she may as well do as she pleases. I suppose you might equate it to the mice who play when the cat goes away.

But, she does not really want to break the rule. She just wants her dom to pay attention to her. Now, in this frame of mind, any old attention will do - good or bad.

Naturally enough, this sort of mind set is simply a slippery slope that will lead her down the garden path to select a switch with which to improve her thinking.

Does she want that? I suggest she does not. It hurts like hell. However, once she has been corrected, her mind is unfrozen, and a proper mind set restored. What the hell was she thinking to have disobeyed in the first place?

Honesty is a two edged sword. Here I am being the honest one, and getting into trouble for it!

So, let me assure the dom, that this sub knows her place, and even if she enjoys a little joke, she knows where the power lies. Happy now?

Fantasy v. Reality

She stands at his study door. She looks a little nervous.

"Master, may I speak with you a moment?"

He looks up from his lap top at her.

"Of course."

She comes around and stands in front of his desk. She puts her hands behind her back, in the small of her back, one wrist above the other. She seems hesitant.

"What is it, my dear? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well, Master...I have a confession to make. I am sorry to say that I have been very bad."

"Oh dear, dear. That's not good news, is it?"

"No, Master."

"Go ahead, girl, confess."

"Well, Master, do you remember the day, a week ago, when I sent you an email asking for permission to touch myself?"

"Yes, dear, I do. I remember telling you how sorry I was that I was not there to receive it."

"Yes, well....."

Her voice drifts off. She is having trouble mouthing the words that she knows will disappoint him so deeply.

"You told me that evening, as I recall, that the urge passed."

"Yes well, that was a bit of a fib."

"So, you lied to me!"

"Yes, Sir, I did. I feel terrible about it. I have lived with my guilt for a week and I have felt terrible about it for every minute of every day, and I am here to confess and receive my punishment. I am so terribly, terribly sorry."

She looks miserable, as if her little world is crumbling.

"Well, what you have done is very, very bad. You know this, don't you?

"Yes, Master."

"And, you certainly deserve to be punished, soundly."

"Yes, Master, I agree."

She could see he was thinking, thinking very deeply as to how to manage the situation, how best to deal with her, and her errant ways."

"Whilst you are deserving of severe punishment for your breaking of a rule, I am impressed by your honesty, girl. It takes a lot of backbone to come to me, a week later, and confess. You could have got away with it, and yet you chose to come and confess to me. I can see that you are very contrite, and that the guilt has played on your mind, and I am of the mind to...forgive you."

She can hardly believe the words she is hearing. She had expected a sound lashing.

"Oh...oh...thank you, Sir. You are so good to me. I promise I will never let you down again. I will never break the rule again."

"I have every confidence in you, my dear. You are nearly always my good girl, and I know that you will try very hard to always be good. Won't you?"

"Yes, Master. Yes, I will."

"I know you will. I trust you and I believe in you."

"You are such a good master. I am so happy."

"All right, my dear. Run along now and finish your tasks."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

She smiles and begins to leave the room.

"My dear..."

She stops and turns around.

"Yes master?"

"You do know, if there should a reoccurence of the breaking of this most important rule, that I would have no choice but to punish you...in a multiplicity of ways. You do understand that?"

She looks pensive, not sure if it was such a good idea to have not received her punishment today, after all.

"Yes, Sir, I do understand that."

"Excellent. It is important that we understand one another."

"Yes Master."

"Very well. Off you go."


"Mum....mum, are you listening to me?"

"Oh...oh...sorry, darling what was that?"

"You seemed to be dreaming..."

"Yes, darling, lost in my thoughts again..."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, it was just a little fantasy..."

Have you been a good girl?

"Have you been a good girl? Have you been keeping your hands where they belong, on the bar, for example, and all the other necessities? I hope so. You can be such a good girl when you put your mind to it. It is a great pleasure to have an obedient girl, one that comes when called and will mind if you talk to her. I imagine that your eyes flash even if your hands are behind your back."

And, of course, she writes back that she has indeed been a very good girl.

Praise is so nice, isn't it? Just what we crave! The ultimate goal.

But...but...what if there was a little slip?

What if she wasn't entirely a good girl?

Should she...should she...confess?

But, if she confesses...she won't be called a good girl, will she?

And....and....she might get the strap! The awful strap!

What to do? What to do?

Maybe she could tell a...fib. Okay, okay...a lie!

Oh, but lying is so bad!

What to do? What to do?

She thinks....she thinks...