Since it’s still November, I think I’m allowed to keep gushing about how filled with gratitude I am, for my life and the people that make it so wonderful, tho I promise this is going to be a lot shorter than the Great Kinky Novel on gratitude that I wrote earlier.
Molly (of Molly’s Daily Kiss) wrote in her comment that there was a lot to ponder in that post. I have to agree, as the one that wrote and revised and deliberated and wrote and wrote and wrote on it, I was doing LOTS o’ ponderin’, before I ever set fingers to keyboard, during the Writing Marathon, and afterwards.
I need to talk a little about risk here. Emotional risk. Placing oneself in a vulnerable position. As I have mentioned before, I enjoy the feeling of emotional vulnerability, of being on the emotional bottom in a situation, where fear of losing (love, respect, face) heightens the intensity of the situation. I believe that my reactions to most humiliation/embarrassment scenes come from this place and the heat I find in those scenarios is engendered precisely because of this. Mostly this is played out in safety, in the context of a scene. I discussed it here in some detail, and (re-reading it) I can really see the truth to what I have written there. But to go even further, I can see that even in the context of real life, knowing that I am emotionally vulnerable, and that my own emotional stability is at stake, can be – dare I say it – a turn-on. But because it is REAL life, and not a play scene, it’s an edge that isn’t always nice to play on at times, or play with. It’s a place where the stakes are very high, and the risks of emotional damage very large. Even using the word “play” in that context isn’t exactly right, because it isn’t play.
Guh. I feel like I am not explaining myself well. Sigh.
Okay, I’ll just plow on, because the point of what I want to say is out there, and in here <pointing to my heart> and maybe getting to it will clarify my non-point above.
So. W has always insisted that I write whatever I want or need to here. At first I know he just wanted me to have a space where I felt safe in not censoring myself, where I could piss and moan and vent and cry and throw a tantrum…or romanticize and rhapsodize and gush and blush and plant flowers and play with unicorns if I wanted to. Later though, he recognized the value in my blog as more than just me playing with words and making us both (and hopefully you all) hot. He recognized how good it is for us to be able to communicate this way and he encouraged me even more to feel safe here in communicating with him.
He has never, in all the time that we have been together, made me regret writing anything here. Even the uncomfortable things, the things that sting, the painful things. And yet…every time I hit “post” on something that I know may not be easy to read, I am fearful. Fearful of causing pain, and fearful of being rejected because of what I have said. “Be a good girl, be quiet, don’t rock the boat.” And every time, he comes back with strength and compassion, empathy and understanding. He has also called me on being out in left field and reined me in when it was called for, but never in a way that made me feel threatened or afraid emotionally. Time after time he has proven to me that when he says, “Do not censor yourself,” he really, truly means it.
The thing is, I may be afraid in the moment, but the reality is that I have never felt safer in being myself and expressing myself than I have felt with him. And so, even in that, he allows me to explore that edge – of vulnerability, of fear – in a safe space. Yesterday only proved it all the more.
I am so very, very grateful that he is exactly who he is.