Finding My Way Home

Longtime readers will know that I am a person who deals in visuals and images. It is the way that I process information, and most often, I find that I can make sense out of complex ideas if I can find some sort of visual metaphor for the swirling feelings and thoughts in my mind. So, today, you get to venture into my mind and peek at the "pictures" I've got set up with regard to the SM part of our lives.



I've been walking some dark and lonely paths these last few years. For much of that time, I've had very little sense of the masochistic "me" that was so intent on finding a way to live this life so many years ago. Spanking hurts, and when that hurting doesn't "fire" the masochistic sexual response, it becomes an unbelievable struggle. That's been my story, more often than not, for most of the last few years. I've submitted, but not enjoyed or found much gratification, and that fact has taken its toll on us both.

I couldn't explain the exact whys of my changed responses, and I couldn't figure out what to do to recover the "self" I'd lost. I've felt guilty, and sad about it, but it was as if I'd been suddenly and instantly transported to some strange, far-away place and dropped off there without any idea which way to head to get back to where I belonged. I've only known that I needed to find my way back, and I've mostly felt that it was entirely my responsibility --that there was no one to help me. Sometimes I've felt like this little pooch...simply putting one foot in front of the other, trying to get home.

In the last few weeks, it feels like I've made it. We've been spanking more, and more regularly, and I've been struggling less -- sometimes even enjoying a bit. I've found myself wanting it more, needing it more, asking for more. Master has been right there, welcoming and jubilant, and I've been so glad.


I'm a little amazed, and a little tentative -- it feels sort of magical, and I'm afraid that I'll wake up and find that I'm still "out there" somewhere, lost, confused, and afraid. Still -- each time I come up at the end of a session, and find that it was not only not horrible, but maybe even "good," I am a bit more certain and sure that the journey home is over, and I can snuggle in and relax in the safety of it all again.



I find that I am very aware of what feels to me like "edges" that loom around me during a session. I think that is new. I don't remember that feeling from the "before" years. The place I find myself in feels pretty intensely "dangerous." I am learning to cling to my "center," and work hard to stay focused, so that I don't go careening off into the threatening void. That void, for me is full of fury and anger and the powerful urge to strike out and strike back.

I've learned, or maybe I've just remembered, a couple of tricks that seem to help. If I can, I get my face buried in a soft squishy pillow. It is almost a form of blindfolding -- limiting the external stimuli and distractions. If I can get tucked into that warm, safe darkness, I begin to recite to myself, in time with my breathing, the words that I have used with Him for years to close our email and IM interactions: "Yours always and all ways."

Yours always and all ways -- Yours always and all ways -- Yours always and all ways. It takes me about three breaths to get through that if I focus and go slowly. The words and the rhythm can catch hold of me, keep me secure, and keep me from bolting for the "edge."

I am not feeling very accomplished. I am not feeling very graceful. I am aware that I am working at this, and that there is some almost "apprentice" level to what I'm doing with all of it. Still, this "apprentice" is gaining skill and confidence with each challenge met. For the first time in a very, very long time, I am beginning to believe in myself, in Him, and in us again.

It is good to be home.

swan