Keep Quiet

Things got pretty intense around here yesterday. As we struggled to understand what had happened to land Master's father in the hospital, and the possible implications of that for the planned bariatric surgery on Monday morning, we received information from one of his nurses that "grandpa" was about to be moved to intensive care.

The whole situation was upsetting and scary. Worry for our elder family member combined with frustration and concern for the well-being of Master and T, and the whole business created an atmosphere of tension and short-tempers.

I was terribly upset. I knew, absolutely and without any doubt, that if it came down to it, Master would cancel His plans to be able to take care of His dad. In my heart of hearts I was enormously proud of the Man He is. It is simply His way -- whatever is going on with Him, He puts those He loves first, and that often costs Him in big and small ways. I wanted Him to make the choice for Himself this time. I wanted Him to let me handle whatever needed to be handled, and just go forward with taking care of Himself --and I knew with a sure certainty that He would not do it.

A tumble of arguments and reasons and debating points (many of them really good) ran through my mind -- all worthless, useless, of no merit in the circumstances. Master would do what He would do. It simply did not matter what I might think about it. The choice would be made, and my opinion was just not needed.

That is a foundational reality that goes with our dynamic. It very seldom comes up, and I don't usually smack into the fact of that truth. Most of the time, we converse and banter and debate, and my opinions and ideas get weighed into the mix, and it is easy to believe that I have an equal say. It isn't true, but most of the time it just isn't something that we pay attention to.

So, when I find myself right in the face of that fact, it is shocking, and terribly difficult to accept. After all, I am a product of my culture and I lived my whole life knowing that I had the right to my opinions, and the right to speak my mind, and the right to be taken seriously when I have something to say. I learned "the rules" about all of this at a very early age:

• You are a citizen and you have the right to say what you want to say. You have the freedom of speech.
• Say what you have in mind. People can't just stare at you and expect you to be quiet, they don't own you.
• Speak clearly and make yourself heard, but you don't need to yell, just speak loud enough to let people hear your voice. Say exactly what you have in mind.
• Practice speaking your mind even when the most simple things are going on, say what you want and what you think it's better.
• If you believe what you have to say is important, others will too.

Except that here, inside our home, within our power-based dynamic, He DOES own me; He can expect me to be quiet; He can refuse to listen to my opinions. I'm not "entitled" to speak my mind, even if I do usually have the privilege of doing so.

Slavery is a funny thing -- I can go along, day by day, and never really notice it at all. It is just part of who I am, and I can sometimes find myself questioning whether it really exists at all. But then, I encounter some hurdle like this, and I am reminded. There are all kinds of things that a person might imagine are difficult about slavery. Those imaginings are,I believe, largely fueled by the very sensationalized views of BDSM that we can pick up from the fictional realm. The truth is more subtle, and even tougher than the "stand and model" fantasies. For me, the business of holding my tongue when I just know I have something incredibly important to say is devilishly difficult.

swan