A week ago Harold and I got into a doozy of a fight. We don’t fight often, but when we do, it’s big. We are passionate people. We’ve worked through most of the patterns our arguments have taken, resolved the childhood issues that tangled us up, and repaired the damage our disagreements inflicted on the relationship. It’s sometimes taken us a while, but we value what we have together. This latest altercation, though, it crossed a line.
For the first time, Harold got physical with me. I’ve lost it on him a few times before, but he’s never hurt me non-consensually before. It put me in a bit of a quandary. As a surviver I have a fierce determination to never put myself in a victim role again – although my playing the victim is exactly what set Harold off. As Harold’s partner I am familiar with his emotional state and what brought it on. This is the only pattern we haven’t been able to resolve yet. We end up in the same place with every major fight. I know what he was going through.
Still, I got hurt. It wasn’t okay. He knows it; we’ve talked it all through. I was able to talk to him about how angry I was. He agreed that it can’t happen again. We really got into the heart of this pattern. I think I can avoid his particular trigger (although he is still responsible for his actions). I believe we can dismantle this series of behaviors that we get trapped in. I am now at a pretty good place with regard to this fight.
I don’t think Harold has come to terms with what he did. I’m just realizing that, despite the repair work we’ve done, there is some distance between us. Everything seems okay on the surface, but it comes out in our sex. We’ve had a normal amount of sex – 3 or 4 times since the fight – but he hasn’t orgasmed with me once. That’s never happened before.
Harold is basically a 17 year old in a sixty year old body. His sex drive is fine, but he can’t always get his cock to play along. Erections are more fickle than they used to be. Fatigue, poor nutrition, stress, and emotional upset tend to affect his ability to get hard. He’s told me that if it just doesn’t feel right, he won’t get hard, but he’s always had a hard-on for me.
This past week Harold has gotten erections and the sex has felt fantastic. I haven’t had any troubles orgasming, but Harold…just hasn’t come. Sometimes one or the other of us doesn’t come. It happens, no worries. But 3 or 4 times in a row? I started thinking about all of the conversations we’ve been having about how his body follows his emotions. I think there’s an issue.
Maybe our argument is making it hard for him to open up to me again. Maybe he doesn’t believe that I want him. Maybe he doesn’t trust himself to let go. I don’t know. But I do trust him and I want him. Maybe I’m reading too much into this because I feel insecure. Maybe it is purely physical. I want our sex life to stay as fucking hot as it’s been for the past 4.5 years. I constantly fear losing the connection we have.
Perhaps it’s that fear of loss that motivates us to keep things clean between us. I don’t want to become complacent. That’s what ruins marriages. I have faith that we will resolve these patterns between us and things will be better than they ever have been before. Love matters.
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I don’t know what’s up with my sex life. I had a root canal 3 days ago and I’ve been in a lot of pain since. I’ve felt so much pain that I gave in and took Percocet. Normally I would avoid narcotics because I don’t like feeling muddled. I don’t want to depend on drugs to feel good. But at a certain point, the pain gets to be too much and I cave. I’ve spent much of the past 3 days high.
Percocet does weird things to my libido. On one hand, being out of pain is a relief and makes me more receptive to sexual activity. On the other hand, narcotics make me feel kind of crazy. I feel distant and detached from my body. But my body is ovulating. My cunt is super wet and ready to go. My brain on drugs considers sex in a philosophical way – contemplating the deep eroticism of touch. I am both turned on and not present in my body.
I want to be sexual. We kiss slowly and deeply. I cut his his hair in a haze of sensuality. We shower together, bodies sliding soapily in the hot spray. His hands grasp my hips and cup my breasts. I enjoy these activities, but my brain never really engages. I never take it a step further.
After 3 days of intense foreplay with little follow through, my brain starts to foment rebellion, ways to overthrow the tyranny of narcotics. I feel manic. I want wild, sudden, rough sex. I need to prove that my body is still mine. I am on fire. I struggle to feed my desire in ways that I won’t regret later. We manage to find a way to fuck long enough for me to orgasm, but it just adds fuel to the fire.
The drugs still cloud my mind. It reminds me of negative experiences, of being drugged and raped, but I am doing my best to reclaim even this feeling. I should be able to take pain medication without being triggered. I can feel sexual because that’s mine. I own my sexuality. I’m always working so hard to prove that to myself. It’s just that the drugs make clear thought a challenge.
It’s about control. I don’t want to lose control and the narcotics make it hard for me to think. If I needed to quickly think my way out of a situation, I wouldn’t be able to. If I feel like someone else has my back, I can relax, maybe even enjoy the feeling of being high. Mostly, I am struggling so hard to stay in control that I am allowing myself only a narrow window. This desire for wild abandon is my attempt to open up and let go. I know that I could have a good time, even on drugs, if I just let go.
I made it through last night – trapped in my body and hazy mind, wishing with all my might to be fucked, but doing my best to be a good mom. I wanted to let go. Sadly, no chance for even a few minutes alone with my vibrator. This morning the pain feels less, though the swelling is still present. I think I’m done with Percocet. I want my sex to be clean.
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Every few months, I spend about a week totally turned on all of the time. It’s as though the whole world is waiting to make love to me – the ground welcomes my very step, the wind caresses my skin, and I want to fuck everything that moves. My cunt is always wet and my nipples are sensitive. I can’t stop thinking about sex. I engage in mildly wild behaviors, like wearing a short skirt without panties to dinner, hoping he will slide his fingers into me. Or giving blow jobs in cars. Or getting myself off 3 or 4 times a day.
Then every so often I hardly think of sex at all for a while. Really. Sex just doesn’t seem that important. I’m not opposed to sex, I’m simply not turned on. If I am approached for sex I might offer to help out with a hand job or oral sex if I feel like it. I think it’s important to say yes to as much as I can while still honoring myself. It always surprises me how often I end up feeling like having sex.
The rest of the time my libido is normal for me. I think everyone has these cycles. Inevitably though, I find myself in the position of wanting more sex than my partners. I’ve just been going through one of those turned on phases. My life doesn’t allow for fucking whenever I want to. Sex is pretty much scheduled. But I am creative. I find ways to masturbate. We can do a lot of teasing and lovemaking short of actual penetration. It feeds my desire until I think I’m going to explode. Once the children are asleep, we might make love. But what if my partner isn’t interested?
We had sex the first day. The second day he got me off with fingers and mouth. It was just what I wanted, but I felt bad not reciprocating, despite his protestations of just wanting to sleep. The third day I seduced him into sex. I could tell that he was tired, but at least we were connecting. I was getting what I needed and it felt great. Unfortunately, after a while the sex felt kind of aerobic and empty. I had a few orgasms, but he wasn’t coming.
I know logically that it’s totally okay for him to not be able to orgasm. I get it. But I felt sad, like I failed him, like our bond is lessened. Occasionally, one of us orgasms without the other. I don’t mind if I’m the one who doesn’t come during intercourse because I know that I still can orgasm and likely will, usually with his enthusiastic help. But sometimes he’s in a place where he can’t come at all, no matter what we try. It seems like a commentary on my attractiveness and skill as a lover. I have to really process my feelings. I know logically that he wants me and loves me.
Worse is being totally turned on and having my partner not want to do anything at all. I feel rejected and desperate. I worry that I’m a freak. It hurts to want to share myself with someone who is not open to me. I know that I am still loved, but in the moment, I just ache. It’s hard to be vulnerable and get shut down. I’m not skillful with this. I tend to withdraw, look within myself, be alone. I feel like my desire will consume me if it isn’t matched and met. My body needs an outlet for this lust.
Maybe for that reason, we went hiking on the fourth day. I climbed a fucking mountain. I was still turned on, but the physical challenge fulfilled my body’s needs and his company kept my mind busy and my emotions happy. Afterward we drank coffee and listened to music, soothing my sensual soul. I still masturbated, but it was an easier day.
The fifth day I woke up to him making love to me. Our sex didn’t have the urgency of my increased libido, just sweetness. I felt reassured that he wanted me, wanted to fuck me. The doubts had lingered for days, but his cock pounding into me from behind left no room for ambiguity. He loves me. I’m okay. Ironically, I didn’t orgasm during our sex. I was half listening to the children downstairs and wasn’t fully relaxed. It didn’t matter, I got what I needed.
Now my libido has subsided to normal levels. I don’t know why my body goes on a bender every so often. I can only assume that it’s hormonal. While it feels fine and normal to me, I worry about what other people think. I especially want the people I love to still love me. I respect my partners’ right to say no, but I want to utilize other ways of being close, other ways of getting my needs met. I know that soon my libido will shift again and I will be the one saying no. It’s the libido limbo.
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I lie in bed at night and think about power. What is power? Where does power come from? Why can I be powerful in some ways, but not in others? How does power manifest in sexual relationships? And mostly, what can I do to feel more empowered in my life? It’s a lot to ponder. I have to examine my painful past – childhood abuse – and take apart things so deep that they feel unchangeable. I must challenge my assumptions about how the world works. And ultimately, I need to decide who I am going to be.
Early in life I learned that it wasn’t very safe to show up. I spent my time trying to please everyone. The grownups had the power. I had no right to choose. I had a very real sense of danger about making a wrong move because the consequences would be painful. This was normal, but also kept secret from the outside world. I became expert at presenting a good face. As a result, I felt powerful in the outside world, but inconsequential internally. I developed patterns of behavior designed to try to control situations in order to mitigate the danger of making a wrong decision.
I’ve come to believe that power is the ability to make choices, preferably by following your heart. It took me years to be able to make any kind of choice. I was always afraid of making the wrong choice. Now I’m likely to make a choice too quickly, if anything. And it’s true that I feel powerless if I feel there are no choices. There is a kind of power that comes from deep within. I sense it like an illumination at my core. When I contemplate options from there, I just feel the right path. That surety of belief, and the ability to act on it, is power.
Of course there is the power over others type of power as well. I grew up with it. It involves getting people to give up their power for you, or simply forcing it. I don’t think that personal power can ever be truly taken away, but it can be easy to believe that you don’t have a choice. Because this model of power was impressed on me early on, I’ve done all that I can to avoid it, while still playing by those rules. I keep waiting for people to let me be powerful, rather than feeling my own power.
As a parent, I’ve been acutely aware of power. I have felt true to my own power. I am the mom. I am in charge. But that doesn’t mean that I enforce my will on everyone. I try to teach my children about their own power. I explain things. I give them choices. I help them figure out how to make good decision. I am a resource. I guide. I foster independence while honoring their spirits and providing a safe shelter.
As a CEO, I am struggling to figure out how to protect my vision without crippling the company. I’m good at making things happen, but scared that my dreams might be taken away as they were when I was a child. I’m functioning somewhere in between power from within and power over. I’m waiting for everyone else to grant me power rather than just assuming I have it. I’m not very skillful with power in areas that really matter to me. Thankfully, I work with people who understand.
As a lover, power is complicated. I’ve done so much work around my sexuality, that sex feels pretty safe. I generally know the power dynamics going into a sexual situation. I used to be more comfortable being submissive sexually because someone else would make all of the choices. All I had to worry about was my own reactions. It was a relief to be in a situation where I didn’t have to fear making a wrong choice. It was easy to know how to please my partner. Over the past five years, I’ve become more of a top. I like to control the situation. I trust myself more to be able to read my partner’s energy and make good decisions. More and more, I am looking to make love as equals. Playing with power can be fun, but I now want to strip away the psychological distractions and focus all of our energy on being together.
I’ve noticed that some people feel less powerful as life goes on. Possibilities seem wide open when you are young, but all of the choices you make over the course of your life seem to limit the available options. The economy sliding down must be amplifying this effect for a great many people now. I’ve seen this kind of paralysis creep into sex, as well as general life choices. Maybe the narrowing is deceptive, though – if power comes from within, then you own it completely and no outside force can affect it. Maybe giving up is the true loss of power.
I am a very powerful person. I’m good at seeing all of the options, even the hidden ones. I know myself pretty well. Right now pain and anger often cloud my ability to follow my heart, but it’s a passing thing. I can choose to let it flow through me. My power comes from within.
As though my libido were a light switch, my body was toggled on. I spent days in heat, every glance loaded with lust, every brush of flesh or fabric against my skin a direct line to my cunt, and always ready to fuck. I have some restraint. Normal life carries on. Family obligations must be met. Work needs doing. The trick is to bank the heat without letting it consume everything. Then, when the time is right, let it all flare up.
It’s not an easy thing for me, letting go. It doesn’t feel safe to be wildly sexual. What if I lose control and make terrible choices? I’m already a sexual person, but letting the heat of my lust make my choices is so taboo. I want the freedom of wanton desire, if I can do it safely. What if I just let go…
It’s morning. I stumble into my office wearing only a tank top and panties. Harold stands up to hug me. The hug becomes a passionate kiss. My hands caress his cock through his jeans. He gets hard. We continue to kiss as his hands roam from my breasts to my pussy. He rubs my clit and slides a finger or two inside me. I come, but it’s not enough. I bend over his desk chair and he frees his cock from the jeans zipper. We fuck, him pounding into me. We stop after a few minutes. I don’t want him to orgasm yet.
I shower, letting the water flow over me. I soap up, feeling the slipperiness across my arms, breasts, belly, and legs. When I am all clean, I switch the spray to the hardest setting and direct it to my nipples. That’s good, but I need more. I move the water to my pubic hair. The jet hits my clit and I jump. Within minutes, I’ve come again.
I’m getting dressed and I ask Harold whether I should wear pants or a skirt. I point out that if I wear a skirt, he could have easy access to my cunt. He says that if I wear a skirt, it better be short and I’d better not wear underwear. I put on the skirt, but I wear underwear too. We go about our day, teasing each other and enjoying the sensual pleasures. We kiss often. He makes another comment about my panties. I take them off on the spot and shove them in his pocket.
Harold and I cook. Although we have different tasks, we manage to intersect frequently. His hands dart under my skirt. I’m so turned on. Everything I do feels sexy. I feel loved and owned. It’s so slutty to wear this skirt without underwear. I feel dirty in the best possible way. It’s all good. I love Harold’s hands all over me.
We’re in bed. I know Harold is tired. I don’t want to bother him, but I am full of longing. I say something to him and he is instantly at my side. We are attracted like two magnets. We click together. He is all over me. His hands cover my neck and I arch my chest into him. I am so his. I love his nails down my back, fingertips on my collarbone, pressing my body into the bed. It’s not about orgasms, it’s all about sensation and desire. I’ve never wanted him so much. We make love in the darkness. Eventually, we fuck and we come.
The next day is much the same. We have hours together, in which we repeatedly come up to the edge and retreat again. He reads erotica to me as I lie on his chest, naked and turned on. The words come alive. He spanks me, makes me beg for each firm strike. We kiss long and slow. I get lost in that kiss. Harold rigs a harness to hold a dildo inside me, then puts a finger in my asshole and a vibrator against my clit until the orgasm explodes out of me. I return the favor, making him come with two fingers on his prostate. We spend the day pleasuring each other.
The next day I am less on fire. We make love in a sweet and lazy way in the shower. The intensity is gone. In it’s place is love and a sense of well being. I still feel sexy, but the heat is spent. It’s all warm and cozy, not flaming. We’ve ridden out the conflagration. I have what I’ve wanted. I’m learning to let go and let my lust drive. There’s a lot of joy in being in heat!
There are fantasies that I keep very close – deep dark things that turn me on like crazy, but I’m ashamed to share. I’m scared that if I open up to my lovers I will be rejected. Maybe I’m too dirty, too perverted. These fantasies lurk on the edges of my consciousness. I’m too ashamed of my desires to pull them into the light and look at them.
Also, I’m afraid of delving too deeply into these fantasies. What if I lose control? What if I’m completely swept away by lust? I fear betraying myself and the people I love. Well, and, I’m afraid that if I do look too closely, these fantasies will lose their power to turn me on beyond reason.
So I just get flashes and feelings: his hand on my throat – me on my knees – humiliation – his breath against my ear as he tells me how special I am – enduring pain to prove my devotion – being on display – rope – his hands knotted in my hair – my eyes downcast…
These are difficult fantasies for a grrrl who considers herself a feminist and a Top. Can I respect myself and expect respect from others if I admit that I crave being possessed, objectified, and cherished? Is it bad that I want to give myself to my partner in this way?
I don’t give myself easily. I fight back. But I want to touch that core shame that I carry around. I can heal the destructive aspects of shame through sex. I want my partners to know me, totally – even the prickly or uncomfortable parts. Even the parts too dirty to see the light of day. I don’t feel like I can be truly loved until they do.
I think Harold and I are finally reaching an understanding around my fantasies. We met for lunch. In the middle of the crowded restaurant, we talked about what a scene might look like. I began to fill with heat. My panties got wet. My heart pounded in my chest. We gazed intently into each other’s eyes as he gripped my wrist in his hand. For a few moments he held me entirely. I was his. We both knew it and it turned us on. With the promise of more to come, we are both highly aroused.
I feel reassured. Maybe I can have what I want. Perhaps my fantasies are not too extreme. I just need to keep trying to articulate what it is I want. I’m so open about most of my sexuality. I can teach, I can ask for all kinds of things in the bedroom, I can share intimate details about my sex life on the internet – but wanting to submit makes me feel hurt and hostile. I know that I fetishize humiliation and shame because of the abuse I went through as a child. I wish that Harold would just take me and I wouldn’t have to try to explain. That he would just get it. I’ve been trying to help him get it.
But I also want control. I want our love making to be right, whatever we do. Ultimately, I want sex to be a conversation. I want to talk about everything. I want each of us to be communicating. For my part, I’m working on letting go of the shame that gets in the way, and keeping the shame that feels hot and sexy. It’s confusing, but I’m getting it. I’m owning my deep dark fantasies a little at a time.
David Steinberg 2011
I want to be taken. I want to give myself.
And I do have that dynamic in all of my lovemaking – we exchange energy like that. I give myself, open up to my partner. I am received and cherished. My partner does the same and we are made intimate with each other. We are full of love. This is amazing and beautiful and I can’t live without it. But I have this deep longing for something more.
I want a kind of power exchange. I’ve talked about it before, but I find it so hard to articulate. I’m sure it’s based on early childhood experiences, the things that imprinted on me with my earliest sexual experiences. The fact that those experiences were games played by my abuser while he was instigating a years-long system of abuse makes it complicated. I don’t in any way want to be abused or feel abused or role-play abuse. I want to be the powerful person I am now, using the hot erotic charge of those things that turned me on as a child.
Of course, there is shame involved. I was often shamed as a child for showing too much interest in sex or having too strong a desire to please. Part of what I’m looking for now is approval. I want to make my partner happy with me. I want to be a good girl. Unfortunately, the shame gets in my way when I try to communicate what I want. It’s hard to speak up. What if I’m showing too much interest? I am not hampered by this worry usually, only here.
David Steinberg 2011
I have a huge fear of rejection around these desires, also stemming from my childhood, where I was sometimes punished and rejected for causing lust in my abuser. It means that I have a deep belief that if I try to ask for what I want sexually, my partner will not want me any more. Maybe even that I will be shunned or denigrated. As soon as I sense any kind of hesitation on the part of my partner, I go to a place where I am being rejected. I immediately blame myself for being too much. I get angry at myself. But I don’t want to be angry at myself, so I get angry at my partners. Surely it is their fault.
It’s not my partners’ fault, although they certainly bring their own stuff to this dynamic. I’m just hurt and pissed that I can’t get what I want – or that I think I can’t. Truthfully, I get a lot of what I want. I’ve come to realize that it isn’t really about now. I could probably use sex now to heal some of this stuff from the past. Why not use the things that are sexually charged to get off and create positive change? It works both ways.
What is it that I want? I still can’t say for sure, although I keep trying. This space is more of a feeling than an action that I can point at and say, “Here, do this.” Above all, I must be accepted for who I am in this space. I want to be cherished, protected, and cared for. I want someone else to be in charge, give me clear instructions. I might need some guidance, but I don’t want a lot of pain. I want to be possessed, owned, but not in a way that scares me. And I am scared.
I’ve fought hard to be free of the shadows of abuse in my life. I will not go back to the darkness. Yet I have this deep longing that presents itself in my sexual life. To deny it is to deny a whole part of myself, to keep that part of me a broken child. It’s a tightrope walk to make this work. It doesn’t come easily for me to submit like this. It’s not easy for my partners to take on this role in the bedroom. But, damn it! This stuff is my stuff. It turns me on. There’s nothing wrong with that.
David Steinberg 2011
I’ve been submissive before, but never like this. I’ve always been play-acting. Submission for fun and games – I’ve liked it a lot. This space that I’m wanting is the real thing. Actual submission. I’m having to overcome my fears and shame to get to a place where I reveal my most hidden and private self, drenched in desire and full of need. I want to give myself. I want to be taken.
Why am I so turned on by the things I am afraid of?
Not everything scary is a turn-on. For instance I don’t get aroused by being afraid that I can’t pay my bills or thinking that my children are in danger. But a fair number of things seem to be hard-wired into my sexual system. Is it that fear and arousal both activate similar processes in the body – preparatory processes to respond appropriately to the present situation? Did my wires get crossed through traumatic sexual abuse? Is being turned on a normal response to living through something terrifying? Is sex a way of resolving an irrational fear? I’m just not sure.
I think other people deal with some fear/sex dynamics too. I’ve noticed it with one of my current adventures – a CBT (cock and ball torture) photography project. Some of the men I’ve talked to are really turned on by the thought of being, say, kicked in the balls, largely because there is an innate fear of being kicked in the balls. They think about it almost obsessively.
It must also have something to do with fantasies and masturbation. There is a wealth of whacking material that focuses on things so outrageous that most people would never consider actually doing them, yet people find intensely hot to fantasize about – things like incest, cannibalism, necrophilia, or mind control. How do these things become part of a healthy sexuality? I think fear.
I’m finally beginning to understand some things about myself. Harold and I have been struggling with finding a power differential or a Domination/submission context that would work for me. I think I’m an awesome Top, but there is a certain place in myself that I can only access in a submissive role and I want to go there with Harold. We’ve tried painfully and unsuccessfully to get to my sub space. Today Harold asked me what I was afraid of sexually so he could use that in our play. I realized that I am afraid of submitting.
I fear loss of control. I’m afraid of going wild and doing something I’ll regret. I’m terrified of giving another person power over me, of finding myself willingly performing acts I would not normally consent to in order to win favor and more arousal. I fear becoming animal, full of unreasoning lust. So of course I am breathlessly, moistly, obsessively turned on by the prospect of handing control over to someone I trust and letting myself go wild. Normally very self-possessed, now I want to feel wanton and ashamed.
It’s kind of a circular problem, this being afraid of submitting. I want it desperately, but I can’t get myself to let go. Harold won’t take me without my consent. So we go round again. Actually, today I’m feeling optimistic. We will have our date in a couple of days and we will see if we’ve managed to figure out a way for me to submit. In the meantime, my fear is turning me on like crazy.
I feel like a huge weight has been removed from my chest and throat. Tension I didn’t even know I was carrying has lessened enough to for me to feel lighter. And yet, I kind of feel like my date with Harold yesterday was not fully successful because we didn’t have sex.
Thing is, we decided to dedicate the afternoon to letting me talk through some of the last awful bits of my childhood abuse. We’ve made to the very darkest recesses of my psyche, but it’s by far the hardest. I’ve been doing my best to avoid dealing with it at all. Truthfully, I don’t have to do this work, but I want to be fully myself and fully as powerful as I can be. I don’t want to be wasting my energy coping, when I can just do the work and come to accommodation with my past. The abuse will always be a part of where I come from. It doesn’t have to be who I am.
So, with some trepidation, Harold and I had our date. We started by taking a long bath – talking and relaxing. Then we moved to the bed where Harold brought me to orgasm with his tongue and fingers. I was really getting off on the pain of having my nipples pinched. I wanted it harder and harder. After I finished coming, held tight in his arms, we could have fucked. But we didn’t. I just wasn’t feeling it.
Instead, I started talking. And crying. I think I cried for three hours straight. Maybe four hours. Harold just held the space, held me. I looked at some of the things that I’ve feared too much to bring into the light. I let go of all of my careful control. I let myself really feel all of the sadness and some of the anger. I went through nearly a whole box of tissues. Harold let me know how much I am loved.
I have an old deep fear of not being believed, of being thought crazy. Harold made it clear that he would love me even if I was totally crazy. He not only believes me, but is willing to walk through hell with me, step by step. He met every fear with support and slowly together we bridged the abyss. Eventually we emerged into the evening, tear-stained, snot-smeared warriors.
I wanted to make love on kind of an intellectual level, but I had to follow my instincts. I just wasn’t there. My love for Harold wanted to make him happy. I probably could have worked myself around to sex, but I gave myself some time off. Harold and I have never had to talk ourselves into sex. We will have more time, but letting myself feel this pain is a rare and hopefully short-lived occurrence. We will make love when everything flows. When the time is right. And I don’t have to make anything right by Harold.
What we did instead, was get into the shower. At first, I couldn’t. I was still so strongly in my past that flashbacks overwhelmed me. Then I stood in shower, hot spray hitting my chest, breasts, and belly, while tears continued to flow down my cheeks. I felt emptied, vacant without the knot of emotion in my core. My heart beat hard and fast against my chest, like a bird trapped in a cage. I could hear myself breathe. I looked up at Harold and said, “I don’t want this. I don’t want this to be my story. I don’t want this to be who I am.”
He wrapped his arms around me and spoke earnestly against my ear, “What you went through is a part of you. It’s where you’ve been. You need it, it’s important. But it doesn’t define you. You need to keep speaking it, because if you don’t give it words, it will keep haunting you. Don’t be afraid to tell it. Speak it over and over, until it isn’t the story of who you are, just part of your backstory.”
He’s right. Words have the power to define thoughts and concepts. If I can define something, I can own it. The vague, fearful things that used to lurk in my basement can’t hurt me any more if I can speak them. I will own them – mine, not anyone else’s. This is the power of speaking my story.
Will you be brave enough to put words to your shadows and own them?
Sometimes I lose sight of my vision. This week things have come together in such a way that I am reminded of why I do this work. Of my reasoning behind WholeSexLife as it will be when we launch the actual site. I want to eradicate sex abuse.
There’s a lot of fear around abuse. It’s occurred to me recently that real safety comes in knowing yourself and being very open about who you are. It’s somewhat counter-intuitive. When I’m scared I want to pull everything in close, but I know that self confidence is a huge deterrent to abuse. I don’t look like an easy mark. I won’t put up with any crap that isn’t good for me and I will actively seek out healthy relationships. When I am open about my sexuality I am establishing clear boundaries about what is acceptable to me. It lets others know that I don’t have any handles around stuff I haven’t worked through yet – no shame to be used against me.
I want our website to be a place where people can learn about themselves and explore their sexuality. It’s important that everyone feels safe. I want to make sure that we create a community and an environment where abusive or predatory behavior is not accepted in any way. In turn, I believe that WholeSexLife will reduce the number of abusers out there. I think that many abusers become so because they are repressed and don’t have an outlet to learn about themselves.
I think it’s time for everyone to feel good about themselves as a sexual being and feel free to express that in positive ways. It’s also time for us as a society to demand safety, to demand an end to sex abuse, to demand culture that supports healthy sexuality. Let it start right here.
