Tag Archives: healing

A Kindness to Ones-Self

Sundays are usually spent at home these days.

They were once spent with Ryan, almost religiously, but these days they are often spent with myself, attempting to slowly shift through way too many belongings while I prepare for the big move in May.

There are certain habits that I have that drive me crazy, a big one being that I struggle with putting clothing away. Washing it? Great. Folding it? I got that too. Putting it back in my closet for my cat to knock off the shelves? Ehhh…

Recently Ace got me to sign up for a smart phone app, Habitica, that keeps me on task. It lists out all that I need to do for the day, and a big one with a big scary red “it’s been sitting here for a while” alert is ‘put clothing away’. So today I went into my room and started the seemingly endless task of removing clothing from my bedroom floor.

Underneath the mundane clothing buried I found treasures that I had forgotten about, or tried to forget about. Sparkly bras, my favorite garter belt and fish nets. My Hello Kitty backpack with the CBD oil I had been looking for for MONTHS, the jawbreaker flavored one. Toys that I had loved and then lost, or so I thoughts. Little gear that I thought I hadn’t been ready to look at yet.

It’s odd moments like this that my brain finally has those click into place moments. I had buried my treasures underneath depression wrapped in a mountain of clothing. I had protected myself out of instinct with bad habits to avoid the pain that my mind had decided I wasn’t ready for.

One by one, I picked up the garments. I found my floor, and put what could be put away back in its place. I let myself be happy and sad looking at toys and outfits that brought back memories; some I was ready for, some I wasn’t. But I wasn’t numb anymore. I let myself feel, and wasn’t overwhelmed with feeling.

I am not okay, and I’m aware. But I’m healing. I can look myself in the mirror and admit that I have been emotionally abused. I can admit that I have been used, and that I love a narcissist. It doesn’t make these truths any easier, but I can be realistic in thinking about them.

I don’t know what I’ll do with any of this yet, other than go day by day, try to heal. And know that I am worth so much more.

I am slowly getting my grove back, even with broken and banged up edges. And somehow, I will be okay. With one bit of kindness to myself at a time.

Until then, dear reader, I am healing. And I am yours.

-Rene

Day 7

tumblr_nmuxk3tupc1re8c2to1_500

Day 7

Do you accept and/or expect discipline or punishments as a part of your submission? How do you feel about it?

I was never one of those submissives that dreaded submission. I was one of those trouble makers that tried to get rewarded for bad behavior. I still am.

My relationship with pain and punishment is a unique one.. My pain tolerance varies depending on who I’m with and what the setting is. Sometimes I am a real masochist, craving the pain. Sometimes I dread it.

A couple months ago, I went over my friend Chris’s house. We had met up several times in the past, and I admit that I was tardy almost every time to see him. I was a sassy creature that often forgot to call him sir even though we played, and when we played he topped me.. And so, one even when I came over his house he punished me. He had me crawl on to the bed and told me why he was punishing me, said he only punished those he cared about, and proceeded to hit me with his belt. I HATED it. The belt stung. It made me cry. I counted the strokes and was grateful when it was over.. Penance paid, life returned to normal and all was well.

The beauty of punishment is that once it’s done, the issue is dune. All is forgiven, the slate is wiped clean.

My interaction with James… blurs the line between play and punishment. He has yet to really punish me.. and I try very hard not to earn his punishment or his disappointment. However, he is a sadist, and under his hand I am a masochist.. I will do things like mew quietly, kiss his arm, nuzzle him… Nothing warranting real punishment.

He then turns to me and raises an eyebrow, a half smirk on his face.

“Really now?” Usually I will mew quietly, my body slightly shrinking in expectation of the pain that will follow. “You’re sure about that?” Again, I usually mew. I’m never sure. I never can be sure. This is a trick question.

“Well okay then.”

And then the pain starts. A smack on my thigh. Nails digging into my chest or back. Bites. Lots and lots and lots of nibbles. But never enough nibbles. I love nibbles…Mmmmm…

I have a love/hate relationship with pain under Jame’s hand. It hurts, I scream… But I crave it. It’s our dance, the steps familiar and comforting now. Not punishment, per say, but punishment-like behavior and discipline that keeps me happily under his hand.

I accept punishment when I have earned it.. I would rather stand in the corner, go into the ‘apology’ position, get spanked until I bleed, or even wear a fucking ball gag than carry the burden of my Sir’s disappointment, or the disappointment of another friend or partner. Physical pain is much easier for me than emotional… And the truth is that fuck ups happen. As much as submissives try to be perfect for our Dominants, we are human. Humans are flawed. We make mistakes, and we mentally beat the shit out of ourselves because of the mistakes. Because we failed. Because we let the person who we belong to down. We disappointed the person we try more than anything to please. For me, personally, punishment and discipline after the emotional beating I just gave myself is a very sweet release and relief. It makes it all better… Fresh, clean, blank slate. I am a good girl again, willing and eager to serve my Sir.

A whole week down! HA! Twenty three days to go.

Still here, still writing, still yours,

Rena