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.

Tolerance

I'm a person who has considerable ability to endure. That's a relative statement, of course. I was saying to my son in the car this morning that I'd have died long before Hugh Glass (The Reverant), right about the time the bear mauled Glass. That I wouldn't have thought to eat a fish live, or the inwards of a bison, or sleep inside the carcass of a horse would be quite immaterial since I'd already be dead. But, relatively speaking, I can endure difficult situations. That my husband has wanted to live in a way that isn't in my comfort zone, well, I endure it. I tolerate it. (Note: Perhaps I should explain that the word 'tolerate' is one of my favourite words lately, in honour of a comedian who did a hilarious routine telling people with food intolerances to "tolerate it".)

Of course, when we hold in frustration, it comes out at the most unexpected moments. We were sitting outside in the gardens of the National Gallery sipping on a coffee when my husband made the statement, 'You don't want to make any decisions about business'. I went quiet. When he tried to engage me in discussion later I said, 'Of course I want a voice, why wouldn't I want a voice? You don't want me to have a voice.' Over the weekend we got into this a bit further, and guess what was the outcome? No change. Like always, no change.

Years ago, I said to my boss one day when he wanted to do something his way as per usual, 'Well why bother expressing an opinion since I don't have a vote.' And he replied, 'No. No. I want to discuss it with you at length. (Pause) And then we'll do it my way.' (Another note: Then, he smirked, loving the fact that he could have this repartee with me without me chuckling a wobbly.)

My eldest son who is up there at the Partner level of his firm made a similar statement to me one day, that he recognizes that people need to have their say, to feel listened to, and once he very respectfully does that listening, he explains that as good as their ideas are, things are going to happen the way he has determined them.

A friend of mine tried, genuinely and empathically, to convince her partner for a more rounded relationship. When the discussions completely faltered, in other words when he made the declaration that he wanted things his way and only his way, she called an end to the relationship, but misses him dearly, and I think from all accounts, he misses her. I imagine there is the possibility that things could be reignited but only if she can accept that nothing will have changed or even can change. He needs to have his way.

I've a close friend who keeps our relationship tightly managed, according to his dictates. Every now and again I freak out and explain that it's too bloody tight for me. Shove over and give me some room, some space, some allowances. But, there must be an insane side of me because as Einstein said, only an insane person does something over and over again and expects a different result.

From time to time I forget about the rigid nature of some individuals and think to myself, 'Surely this is just belligerence, and if I point it out logically and calmly, the other will see that they are being belligerent and bend.' But, this is to forget the rigidity of the rigid personality. They don't change because they can't change. They are who they are: committed to what they want. It is their nature.

Of course, no-one has just one facet to their personality. My eldest son, for example, on so many levels, is a relaxed and carefree individual. I heard him say a few days ago when a brother said he'd enjoyed wearing his jacket that he'd borrowed, 'Keep it.' Possessions aren't that important to him. He's happy to do something impulsively, last minute, if he can, and he can go with the flow in a number of ways. But at work, projects need to be done completely accurately and proficiently, meals need to be interesting and well contrived, girlfriends need to understand his desire for order and efficiency and get ready for the comments if he opens a cupboard here and discovers it is stacked with useless takeaway containers. He needs things to be a certain way and he's never going to change. He's not being churlish, he's just being himself.

I'm not at all unaware of the fact that there are rigid elements of my personality. Sometimes when I am trying to entice my husband to do a project around the house or garden and I don't get any traction I might say, 'If you think I am going to change and be the sort of person that doesn't care about the state of things at home you'll be waiting a very long time.' I am me and some things about me won't ever change. Having said that, is it not the submissively natured people of the world who are most likely to change enough to tolerate the rigidity in the Other? Sure, I blow up, but then I blow off and everything goes back to normal, me in the passanger seat.

I must surely have mentioned that I do Sound Healing Meditations and one time late last year I coughed. Bear in mind that we were laying down flat on the floor and when certain sounds were made with the Tibetan bowls I coughed, choked really. Later, the session convenor spoke to me about it and said that my voice chakra was blocked. I didn't think too much about it but in the last session a couple of weeks ago, it happened again. I mention this because in the two weeks after this I found myself voicing what I had held in; in one case, what I had held in for three years. I found myself saying what I had never properly said before; simply had not been able to find the words to stand up for myself.

Whilst it is remarkably onerous, futile really, to alter the dynamic of an exchange between certain people, finding one's voice is a whole other matter.  I wasn't asking, in that case particularly, for a change in the dynamic but I was stating absolutely categorically what was not on the table. I hadn't expressed my boundaries until then; hadn't spoken of what I had found to be utterly unacceptable. I'd just tried and tried to make it work, even though I knew it never would. And, why was that? Because what I was being asked to do was something that went against my personality, my sense of the fitness of things; my understanding of the role I play in this world; what I can do and what I can't. Because the dynamic worked I figured that I didn't have a voice; could not have a limit.

Of course, people have limits that are negotiated every day. But, dolls don't and in that particular dynamic I was 'the doll'. I can't begin to explain how vulnerable I am in that role. I enter that persona much as Leonardo became Hugh Glass - completely and persuasively. Do objects, dolls, fucktoyz have opinions, limits, boundaries? How could they when they don't even compute those big words!

It's captivating play: freeing, uplifting, mesmorizing, addictive; joyful. I do feel, however, that it is important to check in with 'the girl' at times. 'Is everything good?' you might ask a bimbo/doll and being in that slutty/object state of mind, what isn't good? Very important then to give the gal a voice from time to time. Rigid natures she can handle without complaint. Obedience is second nature to her. Holding her tongue is what she does best. But, does the girl who embodies the doll feel the same way, about every last command? It's important to ask the right persona particularly poignant questions about her life.

Regardless of a very naturally submissive nature, I do feel that everyone needs to feel in some sort of control in life; over their own behaviour, their own needs; for a sense of safety and security. It's a divine thought for me to think that a person can give their whole self over to another but it's a bit of an impossibility. We can stop our brains from thinking some of the time but we can't stop thinking all of the time. Our survival instinct demands that we use our minds. An animal, for example, may rely on an Owner for food but if the Owner is caught somewhere and cannot attend to the animal will not a smart animal do what is necessary to survive? So it is with humans. We think.

I think that we grade our relationships; grade those relationships where rigidity abounds and we assess whether the frustrations and the downsides are worth the upsides. Knowing as we eventually do that nothing is going to change and the rigidity will endure, we determine if we can tolerate it. I think there is a lot of love in this type of dynamic; empathy; tolerance; acceptance. It is a vital component.

Knowing

I chose to see 'Brooklyn' alone. I sensed that I would have a visceral reaction to the story shown through film and indeed I did. From the moment that Eilis waved goodbye to her mother and sister on the ship bound for New York I was already quite emotionally involved. I'd read the book some time ago so I knew what was coming, but I never would have believed that the story could have been so well portrayed on the screen. 'Characters', I said to myself silently several times, 'it's characters that we remember' and Eilis is quite unforgettable.

It's a simple enough story. Eilis lives in a small town in southeast Ireland where she works in a local  corner shop for a nasty, unfeeling woman. There is no opportunity for her to better herself in the bleak Irish economy of the early 1950s and thus her beloved sister Rose arranges for her to go to live in New York - Brooklyn to be precise - with the aid of the Catholic Church. She is homesick and sad but the priest arranges for her to go to night school, Brooklyn College, where she learns bookkeeping on the path to becoming an accountant one day. She meets Tony, an Italian who happens to like Irish girls and they begin to date. Life is sweet, but she is drawn back to Ireland and ends up in a situation where she must choose a life in Ireland or to return to Tony in Brooklyn. I won't say any more because you really must see this film for yourselves.

Eilis is good, down to her bones. She's smart and self contained. She looks after herself and she does what she must. She works hard, causes no-one any trouble. She grows to loves Tony but she's not effusive in her expression of that love. It's simply not her way, not her style. He loves her, gets her. 'Don't go quiet on me,' he says to her a few times in the story because it can be so hard to read her. Saoirse Ronan plays Eilis, the story book character, exquisitely.

But, when Eilis returns to Ireland for a month or so, because she must, she is confronted with a new situation. She looks different, more sophisticated. She is asked to work at the company where Rose worked. She has a job where people respect her. She is introduced to a kind and well mannered Irish man with means. She doesn't feel closeted and stifled there, as her friends might think she would after her life in America. Rather she sees the Irish town life as gentle now; the long stretch of barren beach beautiful. 'If only it was like this before...' she says, to herself really. We do wonder what Eilis will do, how she can make a decision that seems so impossible to make.

It is not until she is confronted with the bad behaviour of Miss Kelly, her past employer at the shop (and I so wish I could talk about it in detail but please do go see the film) that she makes her decision. She's angry, yes. Certainly, her emotions are involved. But, it's more than that. Her terribly difficult decision is made in this moment when she is accused by the old busy body, this very moment of entrapment. Her sensibilities refuse to take this lying down. Her understanding of herself, of her future, of the fitness of things and what she must now do immediately overtake her heart, her soul and her mind. What seemed foggy a few minutes before is now crystal clear.

The gorgeous thing about this movie is that we know, through a previous scene, that we can be highly optimistic that Eilis will go on to have a spectacularly happy life, full of light and love; a husband, children; a career, if she wants that. In the final frame of the movie, I sobbed; put my hand over my face and let the tears fall. It was the exactly correct moment to end the movie. My son and I talk of this all the time, the exactly correct moment to end a story and the film makers nailed it.

Long ago, my husband and I went to live in America. Newly married, we travelled first to England and stayed with relatives on a strawberry farm in Scotland and other relatives on a dairy farm not far out of London. We visited with an elderly distant relative in Wales and brought him a bottle of Scotch. It was a lovely, gentle few weeks.

And then we landed at JFK Airport and took a Connecticut Limousine (it's a bus) to a Howard Johnson's motel where the company had made a reservation for us until we found a home. The journey there filled us with horror; burned out cars on the freeway; people dismantling abandoned cars in front of our eyes. It was the early 80s for those who can remember that it was not an easy time to be living on the East Coast.  We'd never seen anything quite like it and whilst my husband was at work I ventured not very far into the town of Darien, not at all sure where it was safe to go or not go. It all felt very alien.

Of course, as time went by we became acclimated to our new home, but after about nine months or so I wanted to go home, back to Australia for a month or so and visit with my family. It was that period of time when I couldn't really say where was 'home' in my mind. On the return trip back to the United States I rang my husband in California and said not to worry about me, that the arrival time was very, very late and I'd catch one of those Connecticut Limousines home. We agreed I'd do that.

It's a long flight from Australia to New York and by the time we reached JFK I was very tired. I walked off the plane and through the process of customs and immigration in something of a daze; looked out into the sea of faces waiting to reunite with loved ones thinking my own thoughts. Here I was again in this noisy, alien place, chocked full of people, feeling somewhat out of place. I looked up, and there in the distance I could see my husband waiting for me.

It was a huge surprise. He looked rather small in that big crowd, about as vulnerable in the waiting to be reunited with me as I felt waiting to be reunited with him. I felt an enormous wave of love rush over me; an understanding that comes deep within, from the soul and the heart, that this was home. Home was where he was, and if he was here, this was my home. It all fell into place in that moment as I rushed into his arms and held him tight. Home was in his arms, by his side, walking through life together.

Well, we did return to Australia about a year after that, and then we went back; back to America where he could pursue his dreams. We bought a house on a wing and a prayer. We didn't want to sell our Australian home (one of the best decisions we ever made) and we borrowed heaps to buy the lowest priced home sold in that Connecticut town for many years. In fact, before we left for Australia again we had to sell for a rather ordinary price, before the Connecticut prices escalated after 9/11, but it didn't matter too much that it wasn't the best investment we could have made, financially speaking.

Our little Cape Cod was done up to be a very comfortable home for our growing family and we all remember it with huge fondness. We lived in that town for nine years, a town that embraced us and allowed us to bring up our children in a beautiful setting; a town with a strong education system and respect for family  Deer majestically made their way through our garden and ate my tulips in the Spring and squirrels took any chance I gave them to bite through the netting, should I leave a window open when I went out, and make themselves at home in my kitchen. (Okay, the truth is I was known to shout at them, 'Get out of my home right now!') Truly, they were wonderful years.

I wonder from time to time why people make the decisions they make; what impulses drive them and what place emotions play in their decisions through life. Of course, people are driven my emotions. We can be happy, or sad, or mad, or glad, and all in the same hour. Our egos can drive us, or our humility can prevent us from making a bad decision.

More important than emotions however are what I call our sensibilities; the core of a person that prevents them from doing something that goes against what they believe to be right. From where do these sensibilities come? I can't say, but I'd refer you to a writer such as Shakespeare who understood the various 'characters' that make up this world, good men and flawed men. For me, I think it comes down to loyalty; to do that which is 'right' by those who deserve our loyalty, good will, honesty and impeccability. We can make all sorts of excuses for behaviour but deep down we know what is right; what is pure of heart. People like Maya Angelou speak of this instinct. We all have it. It is simply a matter of what we do with that knowledge.

Attention

There was something about the feel of this particular morning that reminded me of the time when I was thinking about 'coming out' as a spanko. At that time it was a hectic life;  three children at school and one at college, and a husband who was travelling regularly, working late into the night and completely absorbed in his business endeavours. There wasn't time to scratch myself until these feelings surfaced and refused to be pushed down. The children noticed that there had been a change in me. I was quite suddenly fixated on 'research' on my laptop and dinner time was getting later and later. I seemed somewhat scattered. I remember that the older children told their Dad that, that something was going on with Mum.

There was no doubting the time was drawing near when I would say, in one form or another, 'Hey, remember me, the woman that you married a while back? I want attention and I want it in a particular way!' Actually, what I did do was go out and buy some beautiful lingerie and stockings so that when I did make my announcement I'd look particularly fetching. I was stacking the cards in my favour, definitely, and it paid off.

Fast forward to early this morning and you'd find me awake at dawn due to the whining of the dog. At such times I often turn to tumblr. I'm rather excited about my secondary blog there which covers my spiritual, as opposed to sexual journey. I have separated them out because I'm not finding that they blend together as well as they used to in my mind. Whilst cindi is the entity aiming for surrender both sexual and spiritual, I am finding I can make better sense of this with the two journeys having their own home. The real work is to be done in the spiritual domain, that's what I am discovering; an acknowledgment that, if I can control my mind, I can control everything around me, including my desire to give up control!

Of course, this doesn't sound too 'surrender' like, but it actually is. If one surrenders such that they can accept people as they are, maintain a non-judgmental approach, a peaceful mind, happiness abounds. It's not so much that we have emotions that is the problem but that we can allow negative emotions to control us. To this end, happiness is indeed a learned skill and one that we can hone. But, having said all that, understanding full well that my happiness is my responsibility, I realized this morning that I felt rather like I used to do when immersed in motherhood. I felt like I would rather enjoy some attention on me.

Of one thing I am quite sure, that I am attracted to men who aim to succeed and who work hard to achieve success in whatever arena they choose to compete, and who take their romantic relationships seriously. I remember as a child noticing the friends of my parents and I'd wonder why it was the case that some men were so doting on their wives while other men seemed to have missed that gene. I would not have called my father a doting man exactly but I do remember the day that he bought my mother a very expensive fur coat (back in the day that's what doting men did) with the monies he had saved on his weekly bets. He was a $2 punter mostly but his number system would pay off every now and again with a big win and he'd put this money aside to splurge on my mother. Somewhere in my adolescent brain, it sparked a desire for a man to dote on me, to love me enough to have me in his mind; to have my pleasure and happiness on his mind.

Years ago when we lived in the US, my husband and I were having an indulgent weekend in NYC together and we wandered into Armani, I think it was. The man there knew his trade and he had me slide into a gorgeous coat. I loved it for it made me feel very beautiful. My husband loved it too, I knew that, but the man wouldn't trade, and once a trader always a trader.

I never expected the coat in the first place, had no difficulty living without it of course, but my husband brings it up every so often, that he should have bought that coat. He knows, deep down, as such men know deep down that they aren't buying a coat. Rather, they are giving a clear signal that their wives mean everything to them and this extravagant gift is the symbol of that realization. Of course it doesn't have to be Armani. My husband bought me a hand made summer cotton hat in Nara in Japan and I felt quite adored in that moment. Still, I think you know what I mean about an 'over the top', once in a lifetime sort of gift. It's incredibly special experience in a woman's life.

In my roundabout way I am trying to convey the sense that I think it may very well be the case that submissive women are particularly partial to attention in various forms. Access to our bodies  and to our minds is part of that attention. Using our bodies and submissive state of mind to get attention is what we instinctively know to do.

Right from the beginning, back at college, my husband had his obsessions and I had mine. He'd bicycle off to check on his experiments whilst I read on into Joyce, or Virginia Woolf or Ibsen. It is the same today and then we come together to carry on with the conversation that has been endless for 40 years now - he on the markets, politics and the economy; me on literature, psychology and education. Our relationship was designed around a good dose of independence and interdependence. It was never designed for dependency on my part. He can reign in his attention on me for periods of time but he could never supervise me continually and really I couldn't handle that. Introverts like me need 'me time', introspection time; reflection time. Also he talks 100 words to my one, so I need alone time.

It was whilst reblogging posts for Cindi Surrenders that I realized something important. 'The Awakened State' said this in response to a reader's question: "What we need to acknowledge here is that when we are stuck in cycles of resistance it is because we are not letting go of what we cannot change."

Years ago, when I felt I needed a different form of loving, when I craved that, what I asked for was very clear: spank me. After that, we explored my ability to completely surrender such that I experienced these amazing highs to which I continue to aspire. The lower I got, the higher I became. It was a transformation I adored and still adore. I am fortunate that he is willing to take me on that ride, when he chooses. I have a passion for Kyoto not just because it is one of the most serene and stunning cities I have ever visited but because he was so convincingly sadistic one afternoon. My God, I loved/hated it, and my body stayed on fire for days. We can do this very well so long as he makes up his mind as to what he wants. For Pete's sake don't give me choices. cindi hasn't a clue what to do with choices.

Once these sorts of episodes are over however, I need to return to being me; absorbed in my own interests; happy to take care of myself. This is where the problem may have lain; that I wasn't doing particularly well with that. He put it eloquently to me this way: 'You need to have something to chew on because I don't want you chewing on my ass.'

He is a little bit like a 'mad professor' type. He'll basically work until I say that 'dinner is ready' or 'it's time to leave for the theatre now', or 'I need to get your okay on the apartment I want to rent in Bali'. Why, oh why, haven't I walked in to say, 'It's time for my spanking now' or 'I want to be used now please'? Well, I know why. It feels more authentic to me for him to just do it, like he did in Kyoto. But, in line with the above, that's not the way we have done so many things. Apart from big ticket items over which he has pretty much carte blanche, I do the other stuff and keep him briefed. Why not my sexual needs? (I am trying to convince myself here.)

I can't change who he is. He can't change who he is. I can't change who I am. Perhaps he could change who I am, but he has no desire to do so, particularly. Although...he does want me to take responsibility for having adequate quantities of sex; to ensure that happens. This is our sore point; that just like I have to ensure he gets to the theatre or whatever on time by calling him, I am meant to call him for sex. This strikes me as entirely unreasonable, but again, why I am resisting what I cannot change? Why don't I just initiate, get the ball rolling, because he does definitely respond to that.

At the moment I am hooked on a few auditory files of the 'hypnosis' variety. I love them all but the male on one particular file has this way of putting me to sleep that is just so dreamy. He tells me to be 'empty and obedient' and he lulls me into this erotic state of hypnosis as if he knows exactly what buttons to push, as if he knows me personally. It's hard to keep away from that file. It's hard to not have more attention. I most certainly enjoy the flashlight honed in on me. That's it in a nutshell.

Being a burden

It really isn't new at all, but I am starting to become especially conscious of the fact that my mood and feelings of contentment within myself relate to whether I feel contained enough. I think that certain daily rituals, whatever they may be, come to have significance for us, and although at times it can seem dull to do the same ole things day after day, the simple fact is that without doing them, something erodes.

It is not easy for me it seems to be able to communicate satisfactorily that I need more of a feeling of dominance in my life. There are complicated reasons for this and there is no one reason, but I think I learned very early in my life, and I feel that even at this stage that it is required of me, that I be as independent as I possibly can. I go about this independence as well as I possibly can until I become unglued. This can take the form of becoming low in mood, not myself, or it can mean that I say something rash or do something rash. Either way, it's a consequence of the independence. I am someone who needs to relate to the leader.

Watching The Duke of Burgundy recently I felt deeply for the submissive who craved tight control. She was lost in her own need and her poor lover, doomed to work overtime providing her with the sort of submissive experiences she longed for, was left wondering if she was good enough; if she was loved at all. It's not easy wanting your submissive lover in your bed at night when she wants to be put in a wooden chest and told she'll not come out until the other says so.

In my experience, when I am offered the experience of feeling controlled and connected (because for me they are completely entwined) I am so much softer and sweeter; more mellow and content. I radiate those feelings of love and satisfaction, I hope, but I do wonder if those internal feelings are enough for the dominant partner.

I've not been particularly encouraged to ask those questions which would suggest I am deeply interested in the dominant partner's state of mind. Instinctively I know, or I think I do, when it is appropriate to expect their focus and attention to shine down on me.  This is my attention on them, or I thought it was, to be aware that they are pre-occupied or low on energy for the exchange. This is why I return to my independent stance at times, not at all a comfortable place for me to navigate, but one I feel I must traverse for fear of being a burden, my greatest of all fears.

Change

Change is inevitable. We alter when we least expect it, or even want it. There is a tide that flows within us below the surface such that our actions may seem random when in fact they are the outcome of a kaleidoscope of thoughts, actions and reactions. Days turn into months and we realize that we may not be able to return to that person we were back then. We have become another version of ourselves.

The power exchange relationship ideally travels along a continuum where there are rituals and rules that accord with the foundation of the agreement, with more rituals or symbols added as time goes by. It feels comfortable and right; more of the same, but more tight and more intense.  Control.

If one can depend on nothing else in this world there is the assurance for the Dominant that the submissive will follow where he leads. There's growth; the kind of growth where the obedience is ever more relied upon; deeper; darker. For some people it works this way. The conditioning makes for this outcome. The very survival of what they have together depends on this outcome.

I think for some of us, however, the level of submission, and even the submissive response itself is not nearly as steady as this. There are moments, passages of time in a person's life, when what one has done until now almost makes no sense. It's a daunting and confusing experience because we've come to rely on that response as being an important part of us and then, suddenly, it can feel like it has vanished.

I strongly doubt that such an important and enduring component of a personality can actually vanish but it can, I am sure, look like it. What has actually happened is that the response is temporarily dormant for reasons that seem, at first blush, incomprehensible.

I could, if I felt so inclined, take the necessary measures to fixate again on my own lascivious lust. I've done it before and thus I can say with authority, it's not hard. But, the motivation is not there. It's just not there and I don't feel inclined to force my hand just for the sake of feeling better or putting things right if it comes at the expense of exploring this current lack of motivation towards the submissive response; letting it be and seeing where it leads. The impulse is to just live rather than question it's right to exist; allow it rather than force it down below the surface.

It's not entirely gone, of course. That's the thing about a submissive response. My husband tied my wrists over the weekend just before I went to sleep and I loved that feeling all through the night; loved the sense of being wholly alive that I felt between my legs the next day.

It's something to do with variety. This thought came to me this morning as I woke. I've been doing the same thing, admittedly very successfully, for about 6 or 7 years, and my mind seems to be demanding change. How could anyone, I asked myself, continue to do the same things forever? Why would it be important for a dominant to insist upon that, when the one thing we do know is that we are forever changing? It's curious that a doll can live forever being a doll, no change for objects, but a woman does change; matures and evolves. This is to be expected and ideally, desired.

Change scares me but so too does complacency and complete stability; tedium. As disconcerting as it is to be beyond the barriers, there is simply no other choice right now. I'm not looking necessarily to see if there is another way to do this. I'm looking to see if there is another way to commute with the world. I'm looking for conversation that allows me to feel closer to the nub of what it is to be human rather than what it is to be 'toy'. I'm reaching out rather than looking in.

I'm saying that this blog was set up to support a specific state of mind and being; as if control or lack of control was the only way to express oneself; one is submissive or one is dominant. I'm not doubting that I am submissive in nature but my mind is doubting if this is the only way to express my entity in the world. I feel like a child that loves his childhood home and will wish to return from time to time but instinctively knows it is time to venture further.

I'm not concerned that this space doesn't allow for my love of gardens, or fashion, or literature or film. I'm concerned, and putting it into words is so difficult, that I can't tolerate being split into two any more: girl here and toy there; silenced in a way where only the toy's impulses are welcomed. What I find that I must give exploration to is the idea, the right of most human beings, that I am a whole human being and that to cut off parts of me, to only want part of me, isn't really what I want. To be pleasing is a very natural way to live and yet there is something driving me to put myself first this time; to answer for myself the question, without prejudice: What do I want?

Update

I thought it was time that I recorded something in this journal. Frankly, it can feel so self-indulgent, all those 'I' statements that one inevitably writes in a journal such as this one. There are three already! It was my husband that asked about the journal and it was his thought that writing again here wasn't a bad thing. I really didn't think he read here. One never knows.

It's been about a month since I wrote and somewhere in there I drifted into a sort of 'depression'. I'd noticed that my mind was chattering away at such a constant and demanding rate that I took the positive step of buying a book about depression, How to lift depression [...fast]. I find it a wonderful aid and I've been working my way through it marking it up so that I can remind myself of the messages whenever I need to do that.

The primary message of the book is that 'depression is always secondary to another problem'. The authors speak in detail of the 'human givens', those elements that all human beings must have  in their lives, and they encourage the reader to do an audit of their lives. First, a depressed person must be calmed and whilst there are various techniques for this I find focusing on the breath in a 5/9 pattern works wonderfully well. So, I inhale to the count of five and exhale to the count of nine.

I was aware before buying the book that I had developed a sleep issue. I was waking far too early in the mornings regardless of when I went to bed and I was aware I was dreaming; lots and lots of mental activity going on in my sleep. The authors explained that a depressed person who inevitably ruminates on issues during the day, deeply in an emotional state and not a rational one, has disrupted sleeping patterns, specifically related to REM dreaming.

If someone dreams excessively to work through the day's upsetting thoughts, they can wake up exhausted. Such people may wake early and find they can't get back to sleep because 'their brains are unable to 'take' any more emotional discharge by dreaming'. This made complete sense to me. I had suspected this. After reading the book, one morning I used the 5/9 pattern and managed to get back to sleep and stay asleep for a couple of hours. Hallelujah, it was working!

The audit of my life is something that I am in the process of doing. I'm in a transitional period of my life and some tweaking of my life and how I live it needs to considered. I might work a couple of days a week, or volunteer for an organisation weekly, or something else new. I might take myself to the library for several long stints of writing each week to make progress on my writing project. Getting the next stage of my life sorted to my satisfaction is a work in progress, but it's not what had me thinking dark thoughts.

One of the human givens is 'volition: a sense of autonomy and control over our lives'. Really, all my married life I've not had that much autonomy. Once I started having babies my husband was happy for me to be with the children and he took virtually full control of our finances. He decided if we went on vacation or did up a home or what we invested in. Yes, I have made suggestions and he's not unsupportive of my suggestions, depending on whether or not he feels that he can manage something. He's generous when he feels that he can be generous.

The situation has often demanded that I display a good deal of patience and I think this is when the lack of autonomy has been felt the most. I'm so much more someone who would prefer to stay away from high risk, whereas high risk is his game. Just lately we talked about this in a very honest way and he listened to me and said that he had been thinking along similar lines, to break down the risk by taking a particular action.There are not my decisions, but he is doing something soon that will enable me to feel much more comfortable. I already feel more comfortable knowing that this is in the pipeline.

I suddenly realized, having re-read what I have written so far that it is so important that I explain that I am not the sort of depressed person that can't get out of bed, or go to the gym or the theatre, or for a walk, or make a meal, or see friends, or visit my mother. I am fully engaged with life whilst at the same time knowing within myself that I am not operating at full speed. My batteries are still operational but delicate, as if at short notice they won't work for a time, and then they do again. I can still enjoy a film, a piece of music, a passage from a book, the birds singing, a conversation, cooking, writing, the light when the sun hits the trees in a certain way in the morning, dressing up, a meal; the business of living. I really do love life and all that it has to offer but I hate my mind when it won't leave me be.

This morning I had an urge to wear pink and realising that I didn't have a lipstick pink anything, went in search of such an item on the Internet. The exact colour I want to wear was not to be found but I shall keep my eye out for it. Depressed people probably aren't nearly so concerned about finding the perfect pink top or dress. I suspect not. It's not that I don't have happy thoughts but simply that I have too many thoughts and some of them aren't that pretty. That's what upsets me, that I can't control that.

Returning to the 'human givens' one such vital category is 'attention: receiving it from others but also giving it.' From a few comments my husband has been making lately it is clear that I don't give him enough attention. In the foggy thinking that makes up depression, that tendency to say 'woe is me', I'd forgotten that he needs to receive attention just as much as I need to receive attention. Four children later, all adults now, he wants his share. I've been remiss here. I really have. Intent on service of a dominant kind I've been a taker more than a giver. I dropped the ball when it comes to pleasing him and making this right has been a great aid in bringing us closer and in getting that chattering mind of mine to take a hike. I can explain this further some other time for this post is already long.

Griffin and Tyrrell write 'What helps is getting the depressed person to stop worrying and get their basic physical and emotional needs met, stop brain exhaustion and rebuild their energy levels and self confidence. We call this the human givens approach to therapy'. They are convinced that depression is not a biological illness and I agree. They believe however that 'there is a biological element to depression' and that depressed people have low levels of serotonin, a consequence of depression.

It is now 10 years since I asked my husband to spank me for the first time. I have come to know myself well such that I know what can give me an enormous boost; make my life feel that I have abundant riches. Taking me into that realm such that I can be a sexual slut is unbelievably enriching, though slightly scary since once bimbocindi is out of the box it's hard to put her back in for some time. There's a greedy, slutti, demanding, voracious side to her, and a childlike, stamp her foot side too. 'I want...' she can ultimately demand when thoroughly discombobulated (though never in scene) when she doesn't get her way, sounding more desperate than she cares to admit. It's embarrassing, truly embarrassing to see her like this. I am not always especially impressed to know her and yet she is a part of me.

In all my experiences in the past ten years it remains the case that to be beaten is the most uplifting of all experiences. To get to that total sexual surrender such as I did on Saturday is gorgeous, but the next day when my husband bent me over and spanked me as he wanted, it put me into a tail spin. I wanted the serotonin (or whatever it is ) that is released after a proper beating. I desperately wanted that, not anything else. I wanted to walk on air. I wanted my drug. I wanted to be satiated such that I no longer wanted.

This is the sort of attention that I want, and need. Yes, I need it. I need to be tied up, tight; a gag in my mouth. No way out. And then, over a period of time, beginning with a warm up, beaten harder and faster, until I am absolutely spent. Then, the serotonin kicks in. My love for him explodes. My world is set right. I am deliriously happy. (Footnote: Re-reading this I've not made mention of the other way to get serotonin in my life, a daily kinky ritual that went somewhat unattended during the depressive cycle and is likely the culprit as well, but that's another story for another day.)

My intellect tells me that to get someone to do something you want them to do it is necessary to make it appealing for them. Of course, some people have a predilection to spank as much as some people like me have a predilection to want to be spanked. Failing that, how does one get to a point where it is a desire on both parts for this interaction? I have no definite answer, but possibly it is part and parcel of him seeing me happy immediately afterwards and for days later. Since it rarely happens in a comprehensive way, how can I entice him to partake, not just this time, but in a more regular way? This is what I am working on and thinking about. 

Does this mean that I have an obsession? Sure. Of course it's an obsession. A need. It's addictive. But, it's not like heroine or some other drug. I've never taken a drug in my life, so I'm surmising a bit here, but the point is that kinky happenings won't kill me.  To be restrained and to receive adequate sensory stimulation is my medicine.

We're talking about this which is a good thing, better than not talking. Perhaps he will read about my feelings here too. God knows I don't go to the rack willingly. You do know these sorts of beatings hurt like hell, right? But, the fact remains I need it. I really do think that if I could just be taken to the rack in a somewhat consistent way, with full understanding of the enormous benefits of this practice to me, that as a human being I'd have all that I could possibly want. Isn't it the strangest thing that someone who is so devoted to me in so many other ways can't understand this.