Tag Archives: support

Picking Up the Pieces

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Hello, my loves. I am so sorry I almost let January go by without an entry.

But I have yet to miss a month..and dammit I won’t let it slip by without an entry.

The last month has been.. difficult to say the least. Since I got back to California I’ve been picking up the pieces of my life as my Master has been doing the same. I’ll be moving incredibly soon, I’ve started a new job, and I have a car to get around.

At the same time the time with the car is limited. It has too many mechanical problems and can’t pass smog.. so I’ve got about 65 days to make up enough money for a new car. The new job is dependent on a vehicle..and I’ve been so sick lately that typing, no matter writing, has been difficult.

I’ve been battling a viral sinus infection for over two weeks now..it took me over a week to figure out what it actually was. I just got proper meds yesterday and will hopefully be feeling better soon. I have to pack. Frantically. Maniacally. And I’ve barely been able to move.

At the same time I’ve been ACHING to play. I’ve gotten quite a bit of time with Master lately… I’ve gotten to be his ride to a few events and of course see him every week at BaGG. But so many events he is working. He was sick for a while when I was well and wasn’t up to playing..and now the shoe is on the other foot. My body is tired and needs time to heal but godde do I want to be under his hand.

I’ve watched him struggle… with things I can’t necessarily help with. It’s hard. Your natural instinct as a slave is to want to serve. To give all you can. To fix things for your Master when they are broken. I can’t do that right now. I can only watch and support and fix my own life best I can.

You cannot pour from an empty cup… My cup was not only empty for a time but it almost shattered. Not from Master.. and not from my other partner either.. but from the rest of the world. From money and work and illness and the universe seeming to continually push me. From my grandfather passing away and my Master’s car dying so soon after mine did.

I have been blessed. Very blessed. My relationships, both with my Master and with the man I call sir, are good. And strong, And such a comfort when the world feels like it’s trying to destroy me.

Chris is so much more financially put together than I will ever be.. His support and help has kept me going in a lot of ways. He’s sat me down and helped me financially plan, showed me next steps in how to survive. How to really pick up the pieces and keep going..because when he was my age he was exactly where I was.

I am picking up my pieces, slowly but surely..and keeping the parts of my life that matter in tact as much as I can. I will be okay..Master will be okay.

We will all find a way to pick up the pieces and keep going in 2016.

As always, I am still yours

-Rene

 

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Too Much

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It’s Christmas Eve.

When I was a child, this was my favorite day of the year. My Grammy would hold court at my Grammy and DadDad’s house and all the family would go up for Italian Christmas Eve. The cousins would receive gifts from the aunts, uncles and grandparents. We would eat the best food we would have all year, play with our new toys, and go home to quickly scamper into bed before Santa came.

As I’ve gotten older, it’s morphed into something else entirely, a grotesque mockery of the happy day it used to be. When my Grammy died, my aunt took over holding court. When she passed away… I stopped wanting to go. My cousins and I have no relationship. I don’t know my uncles at all. I went for my DadDad, because Christmas Eve was when he told the best stories. I would sit and drink coffee with Sambuca and Baileys with him and listen to him reflect. It made the Christmas Eves bearable.

The last month… the last week… has been hell for me. It started with my DadDad’s death… and then a couple weeks later I totaled my car in a stupid accident because I hadn’t been able to get my breaks done. I found myself without my income, and scrambling more than ever because that night I learned my rent was going up $200 the next month. I had nothing in savings, living day by day as I did… and I knew my parents would be no help. When I told them about the accident my dad called me stupid, and said he didn’t know what to tell me. My mom just cried. The car had been hers first, and was her first new car.. and me without income meant I couldn’t send them student loan money, which meant that they would have to cover my loans again this month because I “can’t get my life together and don’t have my priorities straight.”

I am blessed in other ways… my friends, my chosen family, and my partner have been incredibly supportive. One of my best friends, a firecracker named Annie, helped me get a gofundme together and told me over and over not to be ashamed to ask for help.. that big girl or not, life happens to the best of us. She’s kept me going, helped me with the car shopping process (my credit is shit, so I needed cheap and fast..which often means fixer uppers. She’s also a mechanic, and a lifesaver in so many ways). Another friend, Brian, came out and looked at my car after the accident and gave me options as to what to do next. The gofundme itself has raised over $1000, giving me a little bit to work with when I have no new income coming in. So many people have hugged me and told me it was going to be okay. Others have said if I’m still short when it gets closer to rent day to come to them. They will help. At home, I feel supported, and loved. Person after person has slowly been convincing me that it’s going to be okay.

My partner Chris has been incredible support, from little things like making sure I’ve been eating and that I wasn’t alone to bigger things like helping out with the gofundme. He’s kept me smiling, and I am grateful…

And then there is James… my Master, who is far too much in the same boat that I am in. He’s helped in ways that have honestly meant the most.. Giving me time he didn’t have to spare, arms to curl up in, kisses that make me feel adored and wanted. He’s held me when I needed the safety of being swallowed in his arms, and when I’ve started dropping caught me before I fell. He’s known when I needed pleasure and when I’ve needed play without me asking… without me even knowing. The man can read me like a fucking book, and I’ve been more grateful for that in the last week than I can properly express in words.

Tuesday was my last night in the Bay for two weeks. The trip to New Jersey for Christmas was pre-planned and pre-arranged by my parents. I couldn’t get out of it. I couldn’t say no when my mother was clinging to me being ‘home’ for Christmas. It was also my last day watching a child that I’ve been caring for for over a year and a half; an adorable two year old that has made a huge impact on my life. Knowing my emotional state leaving this little girl, my Master invited me along to a game night up in Napa. I love his friends, and have felt so accepted by all of them, so of course I said yes.

I’ve been using Getaround cars to..well… get around (yay smart phone apps. The Bay Area has certain advantages). I had a rental expiring that evening, and so made a plan with James to rent another car just for the time in Napa, drop the car back off in the city after the game night, and then James would drive me the rest of the way to my house. He would spend the night, we would get much-needed intimate time together before I disappeared for the holidays, and he would bring me to the airport in the morning before going into the city for BaGG that evening (which I was regrettably missing because of my flight time… The holiday flights were so expensive I didn’t have much choice in that matter).

We never made it into the city. The game night was fabulous, and brought me a lot closer to his friends. I gave each of them a tarot reading that I think did some good…and even gave one to my Master himself which revealed a few things.. I’m still not sure I’m ready to face or process. He was going to bring his best friend home and then follow me into the city.

Master’s car has needed to be serviced for a while. The poor thing has had its check engine light on for as long as I can remember.. he just hasn’t had the money to fix it. On the way into the city that night the poor car finally broke down… Smoke coming out of the engine and all. I got a call for him while I was driving ahead saying that I would need another ride to the airport tomorrow. I turned around to find him, scrambling as to how I was going to get back to my place all the way down the peninsula. Bart wasn’t running anymore and the rental had to be back by 6 a.m…

I found him finally, pulled over by the entrance to a bridge whose name I still can’t remember. He was distant… trying to think of all that needed to be done now. He had to get down to BaGG that evening. Had to figure out how to get his car up and running so that his life didn’t end up on hold. He’s a paraplegic, so it’s not so simple as it is for me of just find a cheap, running car and move on. Hand breaks are expensive. Life is expensive.

It was freezing… my cold is now back with a vengeance from waiting around for a tow truck for two hours. But it’s two more hours I got with him. There was a little cuddling… and a slightly devastating conversation with him where he told me there were similarities between his relationship with me and his relationship with his ex wife (someone I never want to be like, ever). There are ghosts I can’t shake from his past..and they are impacting my relationship in the present… Combine that with him just being so far away, me losing that night with him, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get to the airport and get home and general and worrying about him getting home, about his car when I know he’s in a worse financial state than even I am in… I was, and am still, a mess. I was of no use to my Master, my boyfriend..and only proved to add to his plate, because on top of his worries he was worrying about what I could do to get where I need to go safely.

His friends came through.. two women who are slowly beginning to feel like sisters to me. They met me in the city (when they also live in Napa) and drove me all the way back home. Last I saw my Master, he was getting into a tow truck. We’ve texted briefly…but he’s been busy…

I got home at 6 a.m… finally fell asleep around 7, only to wake up at 11 to pack. I couldn’t bring my cat with me like I’d planned, and leaving Poe for two weeks, even in the hands of people I trust, is hard for me. I left the meager gifts I was able to get together for my roommates (I haven’t Christmas shopped at all and have scrambled and scrounged instead) on the kitchen table, took a Lyft to the airport that I couldn’t afford, and boarded a plane that stayed on the tar mat for two hours before finally taking off with at least six screaming children on board.

I have not Christmased. I have had neither the energy nor the heart to. With all that has happened my mind is three thousand miles away, with my family and my Master. I didn’t know we would be doing Christmas Eve at my DadDad’s house when my parents picked me up last night… my mother sprung it on me today. We are going up to a house that has already been picked clean by spiteful siblings, a last hurrah before its sold. A house my DadDad built with his two hands, that his children and grandchildren grew up in, is an empty shell, a mockery. I will be asked over and over to explain myself. Explain my life. How I’m doing. I will be judged and picked apart by strangers I share blood with.

My parents are trying to put on this charade that they’re all excited for Christmas… but none of the traditions have happened that have happened in years passed. For the first time in my life the gifts are under the tree before Christmas morning. There is no surprise this year because my mother just doesn’t have the time to wrap and arrange them tonight. Santa Clause and the mystery around him is dead. My father is exhausted, my mother has just been going on about how much she’s been working and how she has no time off while I’m here. And I have been crying.

There is no safe place to cry in this house. I broke down in the shower and my mother came in to ask me what was wrong. How do I say everything? How do I say this Christmas is hell and I just want to go home, when she expects the house I grew up in to still be my home? How do I tell them I feel like a stranger, intruding on rituals I don’t understand.

The cherry on top of all of this is that my parents have figured out that my lifestyle isn’t a phase. My dad noticed the slave ring on my left ring finger, a gift from Master. A day collar. Both of them have problems with it, and keep asking what I lacked in my childhood to want to walk this path. I can’t be who I am anymore around them. I can’t talk about what’s bothering me. I can’t be open and honest. I can’t even cry safely, because when I cry they expect an explanation for it.

Why am I crying? Because it’s all too much. Because I feel so very broken.. so lonely. So isolated from everything that I love. Because I desperately miss my Master even though it’s only been a day. Because I haven’t heard from  him today and worry that spam texting him will only make him go further away and not want to talk to me when I need his voice, his touch, his presence.

He dropped me off at the airport when I was going back for my DadDad’s funeral… That morning, he gave me a pendant of his. A geeky, Harry Potter pendant that I love. A part of him that I could have on me, so that even when he wasn’t here, he was. I have been clinging to it like my life depends on it… that and a tee shirt of his that I’ve had for so long it no longer smells like him (I was going to get another on Tuesday night..but…).

It’s too much. It’s all too much… I’m hurting so bad and I can’t cry because if I do I’ll get asked fifty thousand questions I can’t answer. I don’t want to hurt my parents more than they are already hurting. Better I be the one that hurts. At the end of all this I get to go home. They have to stay here.

I want to go home for Christmas. I want my Master and my friends… I want to feel safe, and wanted, and loved. Who gives a shit about gifts and charades.. I don’t know how much I can act tonight. How much I can pretend that I give a fuck, or don’t when they rip into me. Because they will. They always do. I said I was done with them at my DadDad’s funeral..and my mother is making me see them again. Making me pretend, for her sake, that we’re a happy fucking family.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

They say home is where the heart is. I can never tell my parents that my heart just isn’t here anymore. It’s with my Master and my family in California.

I am battered, I am bleeding, but I am still yours.

-Rene

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please (A Request for Help)

A long time ago, I called myself an artist. My life was in the studio, covered in clay and content. The demons in my mind were quiet because I could express them through my hands. I was content. I was at peace. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Life gets in the way of artist dreams a lot. Student loans soon took priority over studio nights, rent payments becoming more important than food, no matter art supplies..

There are few people that I know that are brave enough to put their artist dreams first and try to live off of what they do.. and few people more talented than the stubborn brute I’m writing about now.

I have seen Michael go days without food in order to put gas in his tank so that he could drive to San Francisco from Napa (where he lives) for a shoot. He shoots at Bondage-a-Go-Go, an event at a club in San Francisco, every week where he will take any pictures anyone asks for, put them up for public use..and doesn’t get paid. He runs on tips for both that and Sinner’s Sanctum, a once-a-month club event in the North Bay. You can also find him shooting at parties at San Francisco’s Citadel, where debauchery is much encouraged..and also tips. Because, again, he doesn’t get paid for what he does.

The man goes above and beyond because he loves what he does. He stays up..and up…and up… putting social life and sleep on hold to edit shoots that have priority (even if it’s for trade and not for pay). He will overdraft his bank account to acquire the proper props requested for shoots, will spend days scouting for the perfect locations, and will put his body at risk (and often push it too far..stubborn bull) to get the perfect shots required.

In summary, the man is damn dedicated to what he does, often to the detriment of his own health, because he loves what he does that much. He doesn’t have much in the way of formal training, but he has what can’t be taught. A good eye and heck of a lot of drive… He reminds me what it’s like to love what you do so much that you live for it, that of course it comes before everything else.

Life gets in the way for people, even people as driven as Michael.. Maybe especially people as driven as him. And so I’m writing here, telling you what this man will go through to do what he loves, and saying that he needs our help and support. This talented man is in a bind, and knowing him he’s doing everything he can to get himself out of it. This means minimal food, driving only when he has to…because gas is an expensive thing…and just planning, and thinking and plotting. Setting up the next shoot. Seeing how on earth he can make what he needs to make the next shoot possible…

Help comes in the form of us, internet peoples. I get that everyone is pinching their purse strings right now. I know this well, and have been doing it myself to a scary degree… But finding someone this damn dedicated to what he does in this day and age is rare.

Please, check out his work: http://www.michaelsundinphotography.com/

…and even more please, check out his gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/5xkee8

He’s trying to get together $400 more dollars for a photoshoot that would do damn good for his business.. One he’s not getting paid for, but he’s doing for the clients to make them super comfortable before any sort of big paid shoot. I know we’re all pinching pennies.. I’m having to do it to a scary degree myself. This is one of those “anything helps” situations..where that spare $10 would make a huge difference.

If you can, please help support someone who’s a heck of a lot braver than me.

Thanks for your time. Normally scheduled kinky fuckery will resume shortly

-Rene

Day 18

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Day 18
Very often the stereotype of submission is that the submissive person loses the ability to have an opinion. While that clearly isn’t true except in the absolute rarest of occasions, how does communication factor into your submission and how do you communicate your desires and needs?

James and I have had a rule from the beginning. Before rules. Before titles. There was this.

Honesty, always. Even if I think he won’t like it. Even if it will make him upset. Be honest about what I’m feeling and what’s going on.

I am very bad at telling someone that I care about that I am upset… Unless I am royally pissed off and in that case run. Run far away. But minor things that make me sad? That’s hard for me to express.

More often than not I bury my own emotions, putting the happiness of my partner before my own. His opinions matter more. His priorities. What do I matter at all? I am nothing. Etc. This is a habit that both James and I are working on….

Last Wednesday was a horrible day, for a multitude of reasons. I came to Wicked Grounds emotionally fried and wanting to curl up in James’s lap… And eventually get the ever-loving hell spanked out of me. I kept trying to get myself to voice the request… But all I managed to get out was wanting to give him a blow job (which I kinda always wanna do…) and the cuddles got put off due to the company of a friend once we returned to the cafe.

Taking stock of my deteriorating emotional state, I did what I had to in a method that made me more comfortable. I texted James as we sat in the cafe, asking if we could talk after BaGG.

He gave me the time to talk, he calmed my body (which at that point was shaking), and he actually got me to leave smiling..  But he wouldn’t have known the extent of how much the day’s events had impacted me if I hadn’t vocalized them to him. Something that is a big issue to me sometimes isn’t to him, and vice versa. Whether D or s, communication is key. That breaks down and so does the relationship.

Besides. I don’t care how submissive I am. I’m also an Italian Jersey girl… Getting me to be unopininated just isn’t going to happen.

Yours, sassy yet subby

-Rene

Ps I realize I am behind in these entries. I spent the last few days packing and moving, and while the entries are written they have not been posted… I will be catching up on this today. I apologize in advance for the spam.

The Shrinking Man

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I love the Dominant men I’m involved with, in their different ways for the different relationships I have with them. I’ve gotten the closest to three; the man that found me, the man that owns me, and the man that pushes me. Each relationship is radically different from the last, with different levels of closeness.

Despite all the differences between the men and the relationships I’ve had with them they, along with most Dominant men I’ve met, have had a common trait; one that often clashes with the submissives in their care.

Submissives, by nature, are made to share. To be emotionally honest. To share every last detail, last thought, with the Dominant men in their lives so that the Dominants can be assured that their submissive is healthy, physically and emotionally, and that this relationship is still okay for both of them. In essence, we talk a lot. We share a lot. We can yammer until we’re blue in the face, especially if we’re nervous (just ask Kane…).

Dominants, from my experience, tend to do the opposite. They take any emotional burdens in on themselves. They want to process through emotional stuff on their own. Smith gave me the term “shrinking man”. He’s admitted to shrinking when he’s upset, or going through a hard time. He pulls away, gets quiet. Trying to balance and talk to submissives turns into another emotional burden, making the situation worse.

There’s nothing wrong with not being an emotional talker, with not wanting to express every last emotion and empty out what’s going on in your head. It’s just such a different approach than most submissives take on communication and processing emotions. This can be a bit of a mental mindfuck for subs, especially inexperienced ones.

This journal entry hits close to home for me.. it’s something I personally struggle with, seeing those I care about in emotional turmoil but being unable to help as they help me. A Dominant’s job is to be able to put together all the pieces of their submissive. To know what makes them tick. Know what their triggers are. In that knowledge, they ease their submissive during tough times more so than anyone else. Kane is the first man to see me at my worst, my most depressed, and know exactly how to bring me back from the emo ball of doom that I was in. He did it so easily, so effortlessly, that I hadn’t even noticed what he was doing until after, when I was curled up in his arms and my mood was 20 times lighter.

As a submissive, it’s hard not to feel like a failure when you can’t do the same for your Dominant, or a Dominant in your life. We want to make everything better, to please, it’s a need for us. We need to make it better… or we’re not doing our job, right?

Wrong. This can be the HARDEST thing for a submissive to process. Submissives, who are groomed to be emotionally open and pleasing and cause pleasure for those they care for and trust.

Sometimes you just can’t make it better, and that’s okay.

You, as a submissive, are not a failure if you can’t pull a Dominant in your life out of his funk or mood. It’s hard, because your focus is on them, You get pleasure from their pleasure..and if there is no pleasure for them… falling into their spiral of unhappiness is all too easy. “Why should you be happy” the bad voices say “if they aren’t? Why should you do well, take care of yourself, when you can’t take care of them?”

Because, in the end, taking care of yourself is your job. Yes, you gain pleasure from pleasing Dominants. Yes, I’m sure you care about the Doms in your life, probably even love some of them, or all of them, or one of them. Maybe you only have one spectacular Dominant man in your life who owns you, and you completely come undone for him. Maybe you have other players in the band who don’t have quite that much power over you, but let you come undone all the same. No matter how many men you have holding the flogger in the wings, you are, in the end, your Dominant’s prized possession. If you are not in working order, not taking care of yourself, you cause so much more harm than good.

The easiest way to help a Dominant who cares about you is to care for yourself. Keep going, Don’t shrink when he does, but don’t push either. Continue with your day to day life and do things that make you happy. Keep yourself okay, so that when they’re okay again you’re emotionally healthy enough to really be in their lives. It’s okay to be supportive, to let them know that you are there if they want to talk, or lean on you.. or, you know, beat some of their frustrations out on you if that’s your thing. But it needs to be okay with you, subby sub, if they say “Thank you, but I have to get through this on my own.” It’s not personal, it’s not against you. You are not a bad submissive. Your Dominant is just human, just like you are. Humans have flaws; cracks in their armor, even humans you worship, kneel in front of, and beg to use you for their pleasure. Dominants are not gods.

Polyamory adds a whole other twist to the mental mindfuck of pleasing the Shrinking Man. My friend says often that polyamory helps make you a better you, and that each partner helps bring out different parts of yourself. That may mean that when Mr. Domly Dom goes into shrink mode he turns to another partner instead of you.

This is not a personal attack, subby sub. You are in that person’s care for a reason. They play with you, or date you, or do wonderfully wicked things to you, or snuggle with you, for a reason. If you are in their lives, you hold importance to them and you have to remember that. Polyamory is a juggling act, making sure that every partner feels special and unique and secure in their particular relationship with you. That particular relationship may mean that another partner shoulders the heavier emotions so that your particular relationship with Dommy Dom remains healthy.

I have heard it said, and have said myself, that being a Dominant is a damn hard job. Supporting your submissive, anticipating their needs, and thinking of 12 different outcomes to one event is hard work. But being a submissive can be hard as well. It takes courage to submit, and strength in knowing when to submit and when to merely support. Don’t let the shrinking scare you off from the Dommy Dom, and please don’t read this thinking that all Doms shrink. Hopefully, this will just help a couple subs navigate emotionally choppy waters if it does happen. If you support the people in your lives, and still manage to support yourself, you are a good submissive. Keep going. Things will get better.

Yours hopefully helpful,

Rena

The “We’ Thing

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I really, really thought I was used to this. I had gotten used to Sir always being there to talk, or a text away if I needed him. I had gotten used to not feeling guilty about reaching out when I needed it. 

And then I pulled away. Not him, me. It’s part of my art insanity, that fine line, and I go from letting others in and enjoying the ‘we’ness of things to “OH SHIT I NEED TO GET ALL OF THIS DONE AND PACKED AND DEALT WITH AND AAAARRRGGGHHH” explode.

The “I’ overwhelms the we every time. 

Normally during this time of year, I am an antisocial turtle. I dive into my work, get what I need to get done DONE, kick ass, break a bit along the way, and then emerge triumphantly (if not slightly zombie-ish and hankering for brains) from the ashes. Pulling away is survival mode for me this time of year because no one has ever been there before. It’s just a give in. I will be alone. I will have to get this done. I can do this. 

I got a job yesterday, an amazing job that I can’t wait to start, which is allowing me to stay in San Francisco for another year and actually be able to save up and afford grad school (which I have to go to. I promised both my parents and Sir that I would go, and I don’t break promises). This is great…but this leads to a whole other set of worries. Like getting my car out here from New Jersey and dealing with all the paperwork involving that. Finding a new apartment with a little bit of breathing room..unlike the shoe box I currently occupy, and a place to park said car. Figuring out what I can afford in rent when I will be tacking on car insurance and gas. Oh, and a cat. I need to find a cat friendly apartment, because another year without Jynx is non-negotiable. 

Besides, I want to see who is more dominant, Sir or Jynx… I’m thoroughly convinced she’s a Domme in a fluffy orange body. 

Anyways, I digress. 

These are added stressors onto the normal art school clusterfuck.. What do I do with FOUR LOCKERS full of supplies, plus my pieces, once the semester is over? How do I get it all home? Where do I put it all? I already sleep with a tackle box full of chain mail links on my bed, I’m not sure where anything else is going to go. 

Of course, never in all this did I think to turn to Sir and ask for help, to talk about what was going on in my squirley little mind. No, That would be logical for someone with sanity. I’m bad at sanity. Instead, I kept quiet, thinking all these things to be my burdens as part of being self-sufficient. I didn’t want to burden him with more things when he’s already balancing me with his girlfriend, and his kids, and his job, and his…well, life. 

There are times when I no has the smarts. This was one of them.

I pushed myself, emotionally and physically, past my breaking point and into the land of numbness that is reserved mainly for masochistic creatures, such as artists. The numb feeling never lasts long; I thrive on emotion way too much to stay there, but it is a feeling I absolutely despise..because there is no feeling. I recognize it, and I want to feel something. Disgust, horror? Something. And I never do. I run on autopilot, in robot mode, getting what I must get done accomplished as I wait for the feeling to shake itself off. 

This time it was a new record. The numbness lasted maybe 12 hours, at best. Why? 

Well, Sir “we”ed me. 

The cracks had begun forming in my “I must do it all alone” armor, which always happens when speaking to Sir. He reminds me that he needs my body and my mind in good shape..and so I begin slowly fixing myself. As I fix myself, I open up more. I tell him the root of certain problems even if there is very little he can do to fix it. If nothing else, he listens..and I am exceedingly grateful for that. 

This time he did a bit more than listen. He fixed. We had begun discussing my apartment vs where I would move to in order to be closer to my new job, and he mentioned that where I am is probably safer than where I would be moving. I sighed, thinking “Great. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t”. 

“It’s not that there aren’t relatively safe places there, but we will need to be careful.” We? Wait, what? 

Bye bye, numbness. Hello curiosity.

“My friend lives out there. She can help us weed out the bad places.” 

We. Us.. Oh right.. I have help. I have support. I’m not on my own. I have a Dom that adores me and would protect me from the world if he could. Just because he gets busy doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. 

And just because I’ve dealt with this alone before doesn’t mean I have to do so now. 

Old patterns are hard to break; almost as hard as old ghosts are to expunge from your memory. But it’s doable. I don’t always have to push myself to breaking in order to create, and I certainly don’t always have to do everything on my own. It’s not weakness to ask for help or support; it’s strength, and honesty. I forget that sometimes. My pride tells me that I shouldn’t need a man for anything. That I should be completely self-sufficient on my own. 

And I can be. I pay my own bills. I found my own job. I don’t ask Sir for help with the physical functions of day to day life; buying groceries, paying rent, etc. In that he wants me to be self-sufficient. He wants me to be able to keep my head above water and have a life without him. 

It is with other things, like when I am emotionally hurting or drowning and need someone desperately that he is there, always. Even when he can’t be there physically he will give me a task to do that will calm me down, or say something that may be silly to him but makes a world of difference to me. 

I am a very, VERY lucky woman indeed. I could get used to this “we” business. 

-Rena