Dealing with Anger and Rage -- a question

Once again, a question from a comment has me thinking at a level that is more complex than I want to respond to in the comment area of the last post. Here's what kaya asked in response to the post about paddling:

"I'm curious how you work through that period of bitterness and rage?"

It is an interesting question. The truth is that I really don't think that I DO anything to work through the sense of anger and fury that often comes up for me in session. I believe that response is rooted deep in early childhood traumas that have nothing at all to do with what is going on at the moment -- exactly. Anytime I am dropped into a position of helplessness, powerlessness, and perceived "aloneness," I experience a reaction which goes very quickly to black rage. Our early play brought forward memories that helped me reconstruct maternal abuse and neglect that I had endured when I was very small. I still react in a very visceral way at the edge where control is surrendered. It is a difficult passage for me.

What I find is that I need to be taken through that place. It is one of the reasons that I often am more comfortable with restraints than without them. I know that there will be a place, if things get intense, where I will have to battle to stay (physically and emotionally). Restraints take some of the responsibility for all of that off of me. If He will stay with me, hold on to me, and simply go where He intends to go even in the face of my fury, I most often will find a peaceful place on the other side of it all. My rages very seldom last through the session, unless somehow it is aborted in the middle of it all. It is only when that happens that I can get stuck in a pouty and unhappy dark place.

I do think that the difficulty with that bit of the dynamic is that there are often very bitter places in mid-session that are sometimes quite hard for Master. It is one thing for a sadist to want to inflict pain. It is quite another to have the one you love spitting and hissing like a wild animal ready to gnaw your arms off.

That is a difficult balance: for Him to push in the way that gives Him (and ultimately me) deep pleasure, knowing that when He gets me there, He will likely have to manage a slave that is not entirely soft, sweet or gentle in the passage.

swan

A new sense of things...

Master has the advantage of working at home at least part of the time. There are whole days when the things that He needs to do can be managed with His cell phone and His laptop computer, such that He really never needs to leave the house. On days like that, it can be nearly impossible to ascertain His actual whereabouts even if I'm in fairly regular contact with Him throughout the day -- unless of course I actually ask the question...

Monday turned out to be one of those kinds of days. I taught all day, checking in with Him by IM as I had spare moments, but just assuming that He was "at work." When my day was finished, I sent a quick IM telling Him that I was packing to leave and got back a quick one from Him stating that He was looking forward to "having me." I didn't give that much thought and headed out to my car. Once there, I think I even phoned Him and told Him I was on my way, and we chatted for a few minutes as I drove home. Those calls are routine for us, and seldom last long as I don't feel safe driving while I talk because of my "one-ear" limitation related to my hearing loss. Anyway, I zipped on home fairly quickly knowing it was one of our "banquet" nights and figuring I'd have to zip around and get gussied up to go out. Imagine my surprise when I arrived to find Him there, having clearly never left at all...

It quickly became clear that He had plans for me before we got ready to go out for the evening. I was barely through the door, still laden with all the bags and junk that we teachers tote around with us, when He had me by the hand and was dragging me into the house... I did manage to get my lunch bag dropped off in the kitchen, and wiggle out of my coat before He dragged me off to the bedroom...

In the blink of an eye, He'd tipped me over the edge of the bed and had whacked me a couple of cracks with the Hanson paddle that He obviously had placed close at the ready. Yelping, I squirmed out of the way, completely unprepared for the suddeness of it all. Without a moments hesitation, He grabbed my wrist cuffs and a strap for around my knees and proceeded to restrain me.

That calmed me some and centered me into the place of a more quiet acceptance of what was coming. Stacking up some pillows, and now pulling up my "school marm" dress, He dumped me back onto the edge of the bed. This time He did give me the gift of a warmup, spanking me thoroughly with His hand until I could feel the heat rising through my tights (He does love it when He catches me wearing tights). Then it was back to the paddle, and this time I was caught. He'd been promising for weeks that there would again come a time when He'd spank and not worry about whether I liked it or not... I suspect this was the commencement of that reassertion of His place. I begged. I yelped and cried and hollared and squirmed. He went right on. It was, with the exception of the warmup, entirely His pleasure that was being served.

When it was ended, I was exhausted, spent. I was also amazed. Normally, in such a session, I hit a spot of bitterness, rage, and denial. If it came up, it was so brief as to be unnoticed. He took me, and took me through it all. I never had the opportunity to deny Him or to deny myself. When it was over, I was sure; of Him and of myself. It was wonderful to lie in His arms, worn out and shaking and still teary from the pain, but knowing who I was at last, and to whom I absolutely belonged.

He promised, in the aftermath, that there would be regular repeats. I am sure there will be. I've always thought I hated His paddles. This is the first time I can remember being grateful for the pain He brings me with those dreaded implements.

swan

Will it Never End?

Here's another one of THOSE places.

Two days from now, our staff at school will be having an in-service day. It was originally scheduled as a day when we would be joining with other schools in our area for a "religion" in-service (always a dreadful ordeal), but because our school is closing and our kids are being "sucked" up by one of the other nearby schools, our principal took pity on us and decided not to make us go sit at the scheduled event and look pathetic all day. Instead, she has arranged for what is being billed as a "Reunification of Body-Mind-and-Soul" in-service, which is code for a day at a local hospital "healthplex." It is a very nice "gift" for a very stressed out faculty where folks are feeling pretty used and abused at the moment. Here's the agenda for the day --

REUNIFICATION OF BODY-MIND-AND SOUL
IN-SERVICE MARCH 10, 2006


-- Use of all of the following: conference room, tennis courts, pool, fitness floor
racquet ball courts, basketball courts, and locker rooms including whirlpool, sauna,
and steam rooms.

-- Yoga (if you choose)

-- Aqua Power

-- Massage therapy -- 15 minute chair massage

Nice, huh? There's just one catch. My preferences for such a day would run toward the pool, the whirlpool, and the sauna... And I have a seven inch tall set of initials carved into my left shoulder blade.

I love that cutting. I wear clothes that are selected to show it off whenever I reasonably can. Having it there thrills me to my core.

However, I do not share it with my co-workers at school. They all believe that I am a single lady. Unattached. Divorced these two years -- since they've all known me.

So... time to dig up the swimming suit that covers the thing. I remember hunting high and low for that suit. There are very few that are cut in a fashion that the shoulder blades are covered, but I did manage to find one. At the time, the idea was to "protect" the sensibilities of Master's young son. I seldom wear it. It is the least comfortable and least flattering of all my swimwear. Oh well... Sometimes a person needs to be prudent.

I'll be reunifying my body/mind/soul under appropriately secretive attire. None will be any the wiser at the end of the day.

swan

Vanilla Immersion

We have periods of time when the "unique" nature of our relationship creates some interesting opportunities and dilemmas for us.

I am "not wife" in the eyes of the world. Therefore, there are capacities related to Master's work where T is prohibited from serving precisely because she is "wife" but I am not. We take advantage of that technicality to a degree, and I serve as a volunteer with His agency in a role where it would be viewed as "inappropriate" for His wife to do so. Conversely, there are some public events where the attendance of "wife" is expected, and where I am "extra" and therefore my attendance needs to be (at a minimum) explained.

It is "banquet" season in the public policy/advocacy arena. T and I sometimes bemoan this as "girlie clothes" season -- also sometimes referred to as "foundation garment torture." There is a seemingly unending series of dinners and awards banquets to attend at this time of the year, all of them requiring fancy dress, and smiling faced "wifeliness."

As might be imagined, this sort of thing presents some challenges for our family. T attends many of these as her work schedule allows, in the role of "wife." I attend just as many in the role of "agency volunteer" -- an interesting balancing act, given that there are many in the circle of political folks around us who wonder at our connection but cannot possibly conceive of the reality. We go blithely on, letting the gossips wag their tongues -- hiding in plain sight.

Still it can be wearing when done in heavy doses. It requires us to behave as "neighbors," "colleagues," "friends," "professional associates," with no personal or intimate connection or relatedness beyond our technical/formal association of the moment. We have to watch our actions, conversations, and responses to one another with extreme care in these settings. We walk a tight rope out in public so that our secret remains a secret...

To be honest, after awhile, when I've had a bit of the masquerading, I start to get annoyed. The fact is that the rules that make all the secrecy and hiding and denial of our reality necessary are grounded on a societal bias that is so deeply ingrained and so unshakeable that it is an assumed "right" that becomes a threat to all who would question or challenge it. That's us. Even those who would argue for same gender marriage or civil unions or domestic partner laws, most often will react negatively when the subject of multiple partners comes up. Our sort of lifestyle choice scares the willies out of everybody. And that's before you add the BDSM dynamic to the mix...

Makes a person downright grumpy. We are living in a culture that is awash in vanilla monogamous righteous self-delusion, and the pervasiveness of that social dishonesty forms the foundation of a tacit agreement that it is OK to leave a segment of the society out of the game: to declare open season on our families, our right to work, our choices about where we live, our very lives.

I spend a lot of my days immersed in a vanilla culture -- pretending to be "just like everybody else," keeping the secrets about who I am and how I live. I know the reasons for doing it. I admire and envy those who choose not to do that, or who do not have to do that. And sometimes, like now, when I'm dressing up and smiling sweetly at vanilla folks who just think they have it "right" somehow, I find that the whole vanilla world annoys the crap out of me for their smugness...

swan

Friday Night

We are finding our way back from our long hiatus.

To me, it feels as if we are searching through a thick fog. We are sometimes so tentative with each other. These are scary times. Neither of us is sure of our ground. So many issues and questions cloud the normally straightforward flow of power that passes between us. It has been unsettling, to say the least. We are both on edge.

Friday night though, as we settled in to the quiet of our bed, after a long and exhausting week, something clicked and we were back in touch with one another at a level that I've been missing now for a very long time... We'd crawled in, snuggled up, feeling warm and cozy, and honestly tired and battered after all the many pulls and drains from outside our little world. Knowing that we had to be up early Saturday for a very demanding, potentially difficult professional day together, I believed that, once again, we would likely simply curl into one another and go to sleep.

As I luxuriated in His arms, nodding and drowsy and content, I felt His hands stroking down my belly toward my mound. In moments, He was there with intent and demand, pushing the covers away and pushing my legs apart. At first, it was light and playful as His love taps fell on my cunt lips, exciting me and waking me up from my almost sleep. Soon though, He was stepping up the pace and slapping harder and harder as I moaned and yelped with each impact, struggling to stay open to the onslaught. And then He'd back off and stroke and soothe and murmer into my panting awareness, before beginning again... Over and over and over. Moving between my pussy and my breasts. Stepping up from His hand to a heavy leather paddle. Eventually turning me over and paddling my ass as well.

So sure of Himself. So sure of me. So completely sure of us. In that spontaneous moment, we were again the unity we have been and know we can be. There was no fear in us, no weighing of one another, no struggling to find a path. We simply were with and for one another in the way we know best and it was good and strong and plain and pure.

It isn't all there yet. We've had a bump or two or three since that precious moment. We've also soared a time or two. We're battling our way to wellness and wholeness and connection.

The moments where we actually make it give us hope. The moments where we crash and burn frustrate us both. Still, we know how really good and right we are together.

swan

Five Love Languages

This was an interesting little quiz that I found on danae's blog Danae Whispering. I found it remarkably on target for what works for me to make me "feel" loved and "safe."

swan

The Five Love Languages

My primary love language is probably
Physical Touch
with a secondary love language being
Quality Time.

Complete set of results

Physical Touch:		12
Quality Time:		9
Words of Affirmation:		5
Acts of Service:		3
Receiving Gifts:		0

Information

Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.

Take the quiz

Exhaustion

Exhaustion is the sea that I've been swimming in for the last several months. T jokes that if you leave me still for five minutes, I will go straight to sleep -- anywhere, anytime, under almost any circumstances, and in darn near any position. I know that it is sometimes a matter of great merriment to my family.

But it really isn't all that funny. It is a functional reality that is based in an ongoing health mystery that we just can't seem to get solved. My hemoglobin (the oxygen carrying component of red blood cells) ought to be measuring somewhere between 12 and 16, and it is steadily dropping. Last check, it was down to 9.2. The theory was that the issue was the steady, uncontrolled bleeding that was part of the motivation and deciding factor for the hysterectomy. Then we figured that there was some drop as a result of the surgery itself, and that we would, after the recovery period was passed, see the numbers start to come back up. That has not happened. Without enough hemoglobin, everycell in my body is starving for oxygen, and I spend all my time feeling like I've just run up eight flights of stairs.

Feeling wiped out all the time has consequences on all sorts of levels. Obviously, I struggle to get the basic stuff of daily living done. My job, and my household responsibilities leave me wasted at the end of the day. I collapse into bed each night with barely enough energy left to whisper my good-nights... I'm a party happening. Beyond that, though, is the emotional wackiness that comes from feeling just flattened all the time. A day or two of feeling like this is one thing, but when it goes on and on and on and on, it begins to wear on the mental stability. I am finding that I am tender and extremely sensitive to the least little things. I cry. I pout. I bristle. Over things that would have never even ruffled me in another time. The reality is that I have no reserves with which to balance or manage any extra stress. So it is very easy to tip me over.

The other issue in the whole evil stew is fear. No one seems to know what is causing this. If you go to your friendly neighborhood Internet search engine and type in "anemia," you will get a long list of possible causes for the critter. The top few are mostly related to dietary deficiencies and can be fixed with some changes in eating habits and/or some simple supplementation. Beyond that, things get seriously scary in a very big, damn hurry. I've been supplementing iron, folic acid, vitamin C, and brewer's yeast for all of 2 months now. The numbers are still dropping. What should I think about that? I want to be positive about this, but I can read and sometimes, I think that is a bad skill to have...

So when we list the things that add to the difficulty of the juggling act we are doing here: job challenges, ailing parents, grown (or nearly grown) children making life choices that sometimes freak us out, social contexts that do not support our lifestyle, aging bodies, health shifts... Let us not forget to add this -- pure, unadulterated, unrelenting, bone-grinding exhaustion.

swan