Self Care

January 17th, 2018

Self care isn’t just about eating right, exercising, and sleeping. It is also caring about your own happiness, and not staying in situations that make you miserable. It’s about speaking up for yourself and going after what you want. I am trying to do a better job of this (aren’t I always).

I most often find it hard in situations where I have a responsibility: to an SO, to a group, to friends. I feel like I must do the thing, even when I don’t want to. And I sometimes start to resent the thing and feelings of not wanting to grow even more. Yet, I continue to feel like I have to do it, especially if other people opt out, leaving myself and others to pick up the slack. They are doing what makes them happy, or what is right for their situation, but then, I feel like I cannot do the same.

These feelings are complicated by my Service relationship. He says none of us should do what doesn’t make us happy. That if we’re not enjoying the group/event, we don’t have to be there. But part of our relationship is me helping him with the group/event, my service is about making his life/job easier. I feel like, if I don’t go, I’m making his life/job harder. So, I write the story in my head that not going is a failure of service.

Also complicated because I want to spend time with him. If I don’t go, I don’t see him. If I don’t go, there’s no chance (however small) of playing or practicing rope with him. He has recently made more time for us to spend together on Monday afternoons, and I really appreciate that. It’s a different sort of time than event time, though.

Despite my two jobs, my life really is uncomplicated. I have no kids to take care of. my jobs are both day-time jobs, and one is incredibly flexible. I have a regular social schedule. Monday – Poly Family, Tuesday – Gaming, Wednesday – Kink Class/Practice. Monthly Kink Party (sometimes two nights). Monthly-ish Geek Party/Convention. Monthly Date Night. I have a really nice life.

I want to find a way to put the kink and the connection back into those weekly/monthly Kink events, because right now they just feel like work, and stressful, annoying work at that.

I think this is really the crux of it. I don’t have fun at these events anymore. For the monthly, I rush to get there, then I stress at who is doing what, and when, and who isn’t showing up. Then everyone asks me all the questions, because I’m the one who spends the whole night inactive, just watching over it all. And half the time, I then have to leave early because of Saturday morning work. On the weekly, I end up doing work because Life keeps happening to the official staff, and it’s not their fault, but I am put back in unhappy memories of being stuck at the door, unable to practice/play. Frustration levels rise.

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The Writing on My Thighs

March 17th, 2011

What’s really there is that I have an awesome boyfriend who loves me, who trusts me, and who wants to continue our journey together, in life and in kink.

What’s really there is several new paths we are taking, one including an awesome woman who has decided to be our toy.

What’s really there is stressful work and health situations that are not who we are, but simply things we are doing and dealing with.

What’s really there is drama in our worlds and families that we need to deal with and solve together, supporting each other.

What’s really there is amazing opportunities for love and companionship and play and fun together, that I never would have thought possible five years ago.

 

These sentences are currently written on my thighs. I wrote them in a chat yesterday, and we decided I ought to write them on myself for a little while. “Until the message sinks in,” you might say. I need practice focusing on the positive. I need to not let the negative build up and build up, because “it’s just a little thing,” until it becomes a whirlwind of fear, doubt and crazy. I’m a writer, a good thing, but also bad. I write stories in my head, make assumptions, fill in the blanks. I live inside my head a little too much. I need to remember there are other people out there, often right beside me, who have the real answers, the actual truth of the matter, and sometimes, a far better grip on reality than the tangled mess I sometimes get myself into. Speculative fiction is awesome to write and sell and share, but reality is strange enough without me getting creative on it.

So, lesson of the week: Communicate!

How many times have I written about communication? And yet…

Things are far easier to deal with and discount and conquer when they are small. And nothing is too small to mention. A grain of sand creates a pearl, but a fleck of metal can blind you and a single spark can burn down a forest. He is good at noticing when something is wrong or off, but I am not always so good at realizing he is right. So, communication. Don’t dismiss it when he questions, really look and try to shake loose the thought that is keeping me off balance by hiding in the corner. Life is always crazy and busy and stressful, but letting things bottle and build up is only going to make things worse. Explosions are far more damaging than a firecracker. Just don’t hang on too tight, toss it up in the air and see what it looks like in the light.

 

I am loved. I am wanted. I am needed. I am worthy.

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Sub Drop

December 3rd, 2009

I am fairly secure in what I do. I enjoy my play. I enjoy my darkness and my light. I have the highest self esteem of my entire life. As noted previously, I enjoy my marks and bruises. The thing is, though, that drop happens. To everyone.

I often get drop triggered by people expressing concern or upset. When I’m not looking, my brain twists these emotions into very negative thoughts. There must be something Wrong with me if That Person is concerned about what I have done. I am a Bad Person if they are disturbed by what I did. He is Mad at me because what I had did limited what he can do. None of these statements are true, but they stick in my head sometimes.

I come out of drop faster than I used to. I can recognize it as drop, I can remind myself that those thoughts are false. I remember the scene and how much fun it was, and how happy it made us both. I write about the scene and explore the joy of the experience. I also, whenever possible, talk to both the person involved and the person who triggered the drop. Sometimes this is the same person, but not always, and when it’s not, I also remind myself that they did not get to witness the scene and are only judging the aftermath, from their own limited point of view.

Also Chocolate. Chocolate always helps.

I seem to have more readers now. It’s about time to get comment conversations going. How do you deal with drop? What are your triggers?

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Bruises, Stripes and Kisses

November 13th, 2009

I am a girl. (Shocking, I know.) What I mean is, I was raised in a world where body image is highly valued and hard to come by. Very few girls grow up loving their bodies. Very few women don’t have something they’d like to change about their appearance. So, for someone who struggles with body image, marks are a particularly interesting challenge.

For me, it has been a journey.

I’m a clumsy person, accident prone. I bruise easily and they don’t go away quickly. Thus I’ve always had a bruise or two, usually on my legs from tables, counters and chairs. But those are small and explainable, and generally hidden by pants.

In college, I discovered biting, and occasionally came home with Very large marks on my neck. I’d wear a scarf when “adults” were around (Parent’s Weekend, twice), but mostly I just giggled because it had been really fun getting the “hickey.”

Then I joined the local community.

There were rope suspensions that left tiger stripe bruises. The discovery of suspension was so wonderful to me that I treasured these marks, the represented the incredible experience I was having.

As I moved into heavier play, there came more bruising, bigger bruising, whip kisses. If I was going out in public where these bruises would be visible, I would ask my partners to not bruise me. I was ashamed of the marks. They seemed to me to show how “bad” I was. Show the world that I do “inappropriate” things.

But the longer I stayed active in the community, the more I came to truly understand there was nothing wrong with what I was doing. That it was part of me. That it was part of my being. That what I was doing was coming out of love and trust and joy. The bruises, like the rope marks, came to symbolize the relationships, the happiness, the fun and the pleasure.

There were also pictures and a photographer that teased that the bruises were marring his shots. This was the hardest part for me. He is a good friend and his words struck old chords in me. That I was doing something “bad” and “wrong” and I should be ashamed. With the help of my partners, I dragged myself back out of this hole. Now when he asks if he’ll ever get pictures of me without bruises, I just grin and tell him Nope. They are a part of me, part of who I am and what I do. Some girls get diamonds, I think my bruises are prettier.

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