Making my Case (Owning my Failure) for the Last Time

I am, unwillingly, at the end of the part of my life during which I called myself His slave.  Actions of mine changed our lives forever, and ended the possibility for me to ever again live as "His," in that sense.  He will not have it, and I cannot blame Him.  I understand it is my doing, and I accept that I cannot do anything to change any of it.  There is no going backward.  In this, as in all other things in life, forward is the only direction.

We remain.  Lovers.  Partners.  Joined, inextricably, through all of it.  We are at the beginning of something entirely new, and I do hope and believe that it will turn out to be good.  The ending of my slavery is not an ending of all; only that one seminal bit of my own life...

And still, I cannot seem to stop arguing my own case in my head.  It is as if I am forever standing before the seat of judgement.  I have, to this point remained voiceless, and have not spoken out on my own behalf.

I lived my life in service to Him for all the years we had together before everything crashed.  From morning until night, each and every day, my focus was on Him.  What He wanted, what He chose, what He needed -- that was what I worked to make a reality.  I supported Him.  I honored Him.  I followed the path He set for us.  

Hind sight is always very clear, isn't it?  Not very helpful, but unerringly clear.  I know, now, that at some point, the path we followed turned toward addiction and codependency.  I am sure I knew we were on dangerous ground, and like a coward, I remained mostly silent.  On the rare occasion when I would choose to confront the problems besetting us, I quickly lost my courage in the force of His predictable anger.  Those who would declare that I failed as a slave would be correct if they would point to my devastating cowardice.

The final, cataclysmic choices that I made when all had fallen into crisis were, I believe, only the final, inevitable playing out of my failing.

I fell into the great fallacy of the "perfect BDSM slave."  I gave away my power when I should have held it available for the "exchange" we so desired.  Each time I silenced my own inner knowing, I gave away the thing that He most valued.  Each time I watched Him act to destroy Himself, I betrayed the trust that was the foundation of who we hoped to be together.  I laid before Him my weakness when I should have served Him with my strength and my courage. 

A slave ought not to be a doormat or a robot.  A master deserves the fullness a slave can give:  heart and power and intellect -- all dedicated to His service.  I talked myself out of that giving, exchanging it instead for a sense of being "loved" and "liked" by Him.  I made myself willing to let Him be harmed rather than accept that He might be angry with me.  

It was only at the end, when I saw the devastation that loomed for us all, that I remembered what I had promised:  to serve Him with my whole being.  In the end, I believe I saved Him, and saved all of us.  Finally, I acted, as I ought to have done years earlier.  There was huge cost to that; for Him, for me, for us all -- but I will forever believe that, in choosing to return to courage and power, I behaved as a slave ought to have done.  

It is now over.  We have survived, and turned to a new way.  He does not want my slavery anymore, and so it is.  Something new will grow in that place in our lives.  What I leave here is the marker of my story for any who might follow this path.

swan