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.

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.


To live.


*photo found on Pinterest with no credit given*


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. 


remember… a lonely little whine

Remember when you were the youngest in your network of friends to have a baby? 

Remember how everyone stuck around for the first few months? 

Remember when you were the first to get married? 

Remember when your life split from everyone else’s so drastically? 

Remember how isolated you felt? 

No? Well, I do. 

Remember the struggles to be the young mom with the bright hair? Remember the looks and the whispered judgement? Remember finding one friend? Remember that deteriorating? Remember finding another friend? Remember that falling apart, too? Remember, accidentally, finding a friend? Remember that dwindling after seven years? 

Remember the things you had in common? The babies, the toddlers, the kiddos, and the long days at home? The silly struggles of boredom and laundry and errands? The coffee runs? 

Remember being alone again? Remember the moves? Remember the bullshit?

Remember the despondence you felt? Remember the feeling that no one would ever get you or understand? Remember leaning so hard on your Husband? Remember finding a final friend?

Remember?! I remember. 

I’m visiting there again. 

My kids are much older. I am newly 40. I started back to school in winter. I have a child with some depression/anxiety issues that we see a counselor for. I have another child in college full time, but always has job issues. I have another child, well, his shit will come. And everyone I ever knew just isn’t here in this place with me. Everyone has a different set of circumstances and I’m fucking alone. 

When your kids get to be of “a certain age”, the socially acceptable thing is for mothers to go back to work. And everyone I know, they have. But I have not (a two-day-a-week job with kids doesn’t much count), by choice. We decided long ago that it was MORE important for me to be here as the kids got older, not less. It’s not a common view. I’m comfortable with my position and Sir prefers I don’t work (I help Him with His business when I can), but let me tell you… Today I am feeling that isolation. 

Conversations about mental health drop off mid-thought… God forbid someone gets uncomfortable. My moaning about my chores seems a little selfish so I cut it out. Mentioning trips and stores and all the things, doesn’t seem fair, so I shut it. But it doesn’t leave a lot to talk about… 

There’s just no common ground. It has become clearer and clearer that everything is forever changed.

Mostly, I’m good in my own little world. Today, though, I’m dealing with some heavy shit and all the people are doing whatever they do. 

Our worlds don’t collide. They won’t anymore. 

Oh, but remember when they did?!

I do.