thinking [made for this] thursday

I am made for this.

Some days I forget that. I forget that my only freedom is through submission. I fall back on past versions that could only rely on myself. I feel embarrassed and ashamed. I chastise myself for not being stronger or for not being more timid. I rail against direction and instruction because I focus on the little changes I don’t like. I forget to build up the positive. I forget why I am how I am. I forget who I am.

Today I’m digging deep. I know that I am Yours. I know that You are mine. I know that submitting is strength. I know that holding grudges, no matter how small, only holds us apart. I know that D/s is the way, our only way. I know that consistency doesn’t mean monotony and that change is inevitable and beneficial. I know that life is good. I know Your love.

Never doubt.

I was made for this.

-shygirl

cuffs

I got new cuffs! More accurately, Sir gave me new cuffs. Custom. A surprise. I probably cried, but that’s ridiculous.

The thing is…

I love my old cuffs! Also custom. And I have EVERY piece of those… Wrist, ankle, thigh, collar, hogtie, leash. Purchased over a few years, everything was so exciting. New toys, varied activities, bruises galore, so many photos, serious play sessions multiple times a week. Every second of every day felt like a slow build leading to a fiery night.

I’m not saying things are awful now. I’m not saying its boring or mundane. I’m not saying we’ve lost a spark. I’m not saying those things because they are not true. But as happens, life got big – really fucking serious and stressful. We got comfortable in our routine. We settled nicely into our added titles of Dom and sub. We have had intermittent mental health crisis with our middle child. So maybe our lives got a little less exciting.

Time for play is in short supply when you have to make sure your daughter is okay throughout each night, for years. Bruises are harder to come by when you have to be extra quiet. Emotions run high and maybe one of us turned away a little bit to deal and the other one just plain withdrew. Resentment crept in along the way, unused items triggering panic and an odd sort of grief.

So all of that happened. The D/s never fell away – not really – but it shifted and morphed into something sort of easy, but also sort of bullshit.

So many conversations. And texts. And emails. And handwritenn letters. So many words and promises. So much adjusting. And changing. And all the BIG life still going on while we tried to nurture and maintain us.

I’ve been embarrassed to speak of it here. You read that right, I have been ashamed to write my truth on my own damn blog. The one place I can just be me, I felt like I couldn’t. My anxiety fed into my lack of self-esteem and … well… I never said I didn’t have issues!

No more. This is my life. This is my blog. This is my friend by proxy.

Sir and I have been together 22 years. We have been 24/7 D/s for six. Sometimes marriage is a struggle. Sometimes 24/7 is a struggle. Sometimes LIFE is a struggle. That’s what’s up.

As I said, last night Sir presented me with new cuffs (and a harness & matching leather cat ears/mask head harness thing 🐈). I needed them because my old cuffs were rusting on my arms. I am so thankful and feel so loved and cared for. Crazily, I’m also a little sad…

My old set represents the new and exciting beginning: big, complete, all-encompassing.

And this one is a new beginning, a little up-in-the-air, yet a little more comfortable, a little more established…

But maybe also a promise of better things to come!

💙

~shygirl

that hand

I jump three times and then hit the open air.

Falling into that perfect dive off the high board.
I slice the water, straight down to bottom. Execute the flip…
But I don’t come up.
A strong hand is holding me down, pressing on my head.
I fight. I struggle, past denial. I hold my breath. I stay calm. I think.
And then I push, but that hand wants what it wants. I am stuck.
I move past the panic, past the fear, past the primal instinct to simply breathe.

I think.

The hand that holds me down is my nemesis…

And, somehow, also my comfort.

I move past the thinking. Until I only feel. I feel the burn in my lungs and the suffocating weight of the water.

The strong will to break surface resurrects. I oblige, and give another struggle.

But that hand… That hand keeps me still… Forcing my compliance.
I close my eyes, knowing I cannot win. I command the world to go dark. I relax. I give in.

But now, I want that hand to push me further down. I want that hand to keep me here until I am nothing.

I sink, sink, sink… Below the bottom…

Underneath everything there is.

In this place, there is no need for oxygen, no need for thought, no need for anything.

Except for that hand. I need that hand. Because that hand has become my world, my anchor, my demise, my Savior.

My Master.

The sinking, the letting go, the giving over, the death… It is all the same.

It is all peace.
And the very moment that the water steals my life, is the same moment the hand yanks me to the surface.
Reborn.
Refreshed.
Renewed.

That hand doesn’t leave my head. That hand has ultimate control. That hand decides my fate. Forever. Plunging me into the depths or lifting me into the clouds.

That hand.

This life.

It is time.

Now.

To live.

~shygirl

*photo found on Pinterest with no credit given*