Frame by frame

Arrow back 

Smiling faces

Pretty dresses

Christmas presents

Then I hit them 

Those others

And I feel…

I’m feeling…


Dig deeper

There must be something

Some feeling


So many

Arrow back






Flying through them


So damn many

Full speed

Flying by

Feeling nothing 




Arrow back

The end

Really the beginning








the right side of pain

I find myself in the bathtub, water cooling off, wishing there were someone I could talk to. Longing for a somebody to share the deeper aspects of my life with. I have Sir, yes I do, and He is my favorite and there is nothing I cannot tell Him. But I mean… A friend, a commiserator, a person in the lifestyle. Then I remembered – I have a blog where no one knows my day to day. A place where no one can judge me because yeah, they don’t know me, but bigger than that… The people aren’t there to tear me down. They can relate or they cannot. They can offer insight or they can offer solidarity. We aren’t in competition, and I cannot lose. But on the best of days, I can gain so much! 

I missed this. I have missed writing like this, anonymous but somehow my truest self. I stepped back because… Life went sideways. The last day of May, life as I knew it imploded. The months since have been hard. Soul-crushingly hard, but I am actually really thankful. It took all these months to realize that the struggle with our daughter has been the shittiest experience, but also a huge blessing. 

It’s hard to say that. It shouldn’t take the threat of a child’s suicide for a mother to recognize the ways in which she’s failed. But that’s a thing that happened and I am forever changed. 

However… That is the WRONG fucking side of pain. Wrong for her, wrong for me,  wrong for our family, wrong for Sir, wrong for D/s, wrong for life. That is the destructive, sinking, WRONG side of pain.

But there is a RIGHT side of pain. Once you pass that hurdle, you turn a corner, you face the ugly truths, and you come out better… That’s the right side.

Like when… 

Your Sir is raining down blows from the cane, warming you up, steadily increasing the force. 

Maybe you are wiggling, the room is getting too hot to take. Your mind cannot get away from all that shit in your head. You might tell Him you can’t take anymore, that really, seriously you are done. But you don’t safeword. No, not quite to that point, but you might be thinking about it. 

All the while your Sir continues bringing that cane down, telling you what a good girl you are and reminding you that you ARE already taking it. 

And then it happens… That one word, that one strike…  That moment that everything gives over. Your mind blanks on anything but the present, your breathing slows, you take in a shaky breath, and you are there. 

You are in the moment, you are nothing and everything, and you are confident that there is nothing you can’t take. You don’t fight or protest, you still and absorb it all. Each time the cane hits, it is love and desire; the most perfect symphony in all the world. It is overwhelming and it is freeing and you will probably orgasm because it is all just so good. You, Sir, struggle, defeat, victory, orgasm. And when that coveted pain brings you to a higher level of being?? That is magical.

That is the right side of pain. 
Happy weekend everyone. 


broken whole

Only when I’m broken do I feel whole.

That solitary sentence was in my draft folder, as if I had thought of something brilliant and new. As if I could come back and expound on it, turning it into some meaningful post. Broadening my horizons, and maybe yours. 

Only when I’m broken do I feel whole. 

Is that statement even true? Today, as I sit here contemplating my life, my choices, my reactions, my emotions – is that statement still honest? 

I feel a little broken. These months have taken their toll on me. This broken that I feel now, isn’t making me whole. This broken is making me feel… Overwhelmed, helpless, invisible, forgotten, and many other things. In fact instead of feeling whole, I feel fractured and scattered. I’m constantly trying to scoop up enough scraps to hold a little bit of me together.

So my first instinct is to look at that sentence and laugh, thinking the girl that wrote that was delusional. Being broken feels soulless.

Only when I’m broken do I feel whole.

But as I read it again and again, and I say it out loud, I remember. There is a broken that does make me feel whole. The broken, where all my defensenses and walls have been obliterated. The point where I am so lost and stripped of all thought – no nagging voices of jiggling thighs, or a marked stomach… No wondering if I’m too loud, no doubt, no questions, no worries, no child issues. That broken where there is nothing but truth and love and light and sensation. That broken down state where tears may flow, but they are not sad or scared. The kind of broken where there is only Sir and some weird magnetic connection. The kind of broken that strips away everything so that I can be rebuilt to His liking. That kind of broken sure as fuck makes me whole. That kind of broken brings an acceptance and a peace that I cannot find anywhere else. 

Only when I’m broken do I feel whole. 

That is my truth. 
Happy Friday, y’all! Homecoming here in my land… It’s a whole thing.