After writing that post about feelings I miss, I felt little stirrings of a few of them this weekend. Life circles.
It was a mixed bag of emotions, melancholy and a sense of sadness or disappointment were actually quite present for overall feeling pretty good about the weekend. Maybe it's just that there were bright points. I'll start with the sad so I can end on the good.
Things with M. I've been really shying away from sadism, particularly from her sadism. We went to a set of rope classes down in Memphis, my first time down there. The first class way Tying for Sex and Sadism, essentially some creative ideas of ways to hold a body in creative places or positions where you could both fuck and hit them at the same time. M had another partner lined up in case I hadn't joined, so they tied and I worked with the woman who was sitting alone next to us. She was still quite new to rope and the public kink scene, her husband was traveling for work or he would have been there. Clearly I wasn't going to truss her up and start dry humping her while using a paddle, we'd just met and that's not my style. But we had a nice time chatting, and I helped her learn a few tricks about a single column tie, and I put her in her first chest harness and (at her request) took a picture for her. She tied me a few times, and we even did a few of the more positionally-suggestive ones, but we certainly didn't get to the moaning and growling stage that some folks on the other side of the room were finding.
The next class was Partial Suspensions for Pain Play. My newbie partner had to go to work, and M was still roping with Shy. I considered offering myself up to either side of things with a stranger, but then decided to sit and watch, and was glad that I did. The whole thing was certainly creative, he had a lot of good information, but his idea of sadism was a lot of open handed slapping on the inner thigh and actually stepping on her thigh or calf with a part of his considerable weight. I don't know why, but stuff like that just freaks me out, I'm always afraid they're going to break a bone or something! M was happily trussing up Shy and doing some rather painful things with this look of glee on her face. And that's when it kind of started coalescing for me.
A part of me wants pain, badly. I want to feel pain, and I want to accept pain for someone else's happiness in giving it. I certainly don't want to play with someone who is unhappy or bored or upset about hurting me. But there's kind pain, and there's cruel pain. M is cruel with her pain, looking immediately to maximize that intense unpleasant sensation. There's no subtlety or endurance aspect, it's 0-60 pretty damn fast, and it stays at 60 until she can push it higher. Watching her, I got a sense of carelessness. She didn't think about trying to minimize other discomforts (like lying half naked on a freezing cement floor) and rejected my attempts to do so. The safety concerns presented by the rig we were using, trying to partial suspend over a 1 foot wide beam that was about 8 inches from the ground, may have crossed her mind but certainly didn't seem to affect her actions. This person could fall off the platform without having her hands to break her fall, or she might have a corner digging in to her side as she sprawls across the beam. Stepping on her thigh is not just pressure on her thigh but is also digging that muscle into the corner of this platform. The presenter smacking his sub with the bottom of his bare foot is fundamentally different than doing it with the heavy soled boots M had on. That her bottom wasn't actually a masochist and was pretty much doing this to be nice never seemed to be taken into consideration as M was going about having her sadistic fun and showing off to all the other sadist tops that she, too, could be mean and laugh while she did it.
The other thing that made me uncomfortable and nervous were her comments to me throughout the day. About what she was planning to do to me later. Reaching out to randomly pinch my nipple or smack my ass. Just general entitlement to my body, in painful ways when I was not looking for pain. Later when she was going to scene with Cat, a well known rope bottom, and it seemed that they were going to do a "nice" rope scene, she told me that it meant that mine would have to be the hard/painful scene. And I just was not in that kind of mindset, and every moment was pushing me further and further from it!
When we first started playing, she at least tried to find some sense of connection. She would hug me. Stretch my shoulders sensuously. Look at me.
But when we did try and tie that night, and even when we had a fun scene last week, there was none of that. She was looking at the rope and at the audience, finding ways to push the envelope and to impress. And she did, don't get me wrong - it was fun and gained us a lot of acclaim for the evening. But last night when we did try and go up in the air it was clearly not well thought out at all, and her focus was so much more on the rope and the "task" than on the process. Sometimes you rope just to see what you can do, where you can push. After watching her take her time and really listen and be with Cat, it hurt to just be her little rope toy, a body that she could try and do cool things to. She talked as we drove about feeling connected to Cat in that moment, of giving her something unusually tender and sweet when she normally gets strenuous and painful. And I was sad, because she didn't see that that's what I was asking for too, silently.
So I kind of brought it up, which I'm actually really proud of. We were both in this melancholy mood, and she actually asked(!) when I told her I was figuring some things out about how I wanted to play. I told her that it was pretty clear that she and I were starting to look for different things, that as much as I want to explore her sadism and the act of accepting that, the more we talk about it (and now that it's possible since I'm not with GF), the more scared of it I become. That maybe the kind of topping that she so disdains, "safe" topping or topping to create a scene that makes the bottom happy (even if they want that to involve crying and begging for mercy), is the kind that I want and need right now.
As I was saying it, I was thinking of a scene I'd watched the night before, while M was tying Cat. I met a woman at the rope classes, we'd ended up chatting on a break and she and a husband/wife duo were actually tying near M, Shy, and me. She caught something in me, some little spark was there as I listened to her talk. That she was a lesbian and had already lived several lifetimes of adventures while only looking maybe in her 30s/40s intrigued me further, especially with her bottoming to this cis hetero Dom guy in front of his wife. We kept talking, and I kept sneaking smiles in at them through the classes. We went out to dinner with the presenting couple and the main hosts from the club (a "power" couple in the rigging world who M is trying to get closer to), even though I much rather would have gone with these folks.
I was happy to find that they had returned for the party as well, and it quickly became clear that it hadn't quite been their intention to do so, although the guy, Bob, did have a scene lined up with Shy. The eye-catching woman (J) and I talked and hung out both alone and with her friends.
(blush time - when M and I got back to the club and were going to change, J asked why we were changing. M replied that we wanted to get all sexy for the party, and J looked at me and said something along the lines of "wait, but you're already sexy." That and when she whistled as I walked back out of the bathroom after changing was enough to give me little happy stomach feelings - being wanted and wanting that spark of connection is such a validating feeling)
For better or for worse, J is even more of a rope bottom than I am, and that's saying something. So even though in hindsight I would have loved to have tried tying her, at the time I was way too intimidated. So we watched Bob and Shy. And it was just so beautiful it made my heart ache with longing for this large, gentle, cruel man to do that to me, too. She's not a masochist, but is recovering from a break up with her former dominant, and needed to hold someone else's desire for giving pain, needed to step into that role as a submissive to someone. He was gifting that to her. Getting something from it, certainly, but getting a lot just from giving to her. He held her tightly, tenderly, a small smile ghosting on his lips, both of them with eyes closed. He started just with a single column tie around one wrist, using that one strand of rope to wrap and unwrap her body, letting her feel his control, his presence. Eventually he took her to the ground, put her in a coconut leg wrap under a futo, partially suspended her with his own strength. There were flickers of pain across her features, but also sinking in, breathing into that pain as strength, as connection. When they were through he held her in his lap, her face buried in his shoulder. God it was beautiful.
As M was preparing to do...something...with me, they were all getting ready to go. We had been talking about the day, and Bob had been particularly engaging in asking me about the things I had gotten from the day. As M was making moves to clear an area for us, I shyly gave J a hug. I happily gave Bob's wife a hug. And, only slightly hesitating, I gave big manly Bob a hug. His long arms wrapped around me in a way I don't often experience, and he pulled me closely in towards him, holding me with conviction and intent. I practically melted into him. I felt so many emotions, and he just continued to hold on with the same conviction. So I let out my breath that was caught in my throat. And I let myself be held, told myself to be open, and started to feel it happen. This man, who truly was a sadist when he was playing with J during the class, was somehow able to be kind in his sadism. Generous. Connecting. Loving.
Finally we broke the hug, and I could feel myself pushing down a feeling of tears at the loss. What an unexpected connection in such an unexpected way. I'm sad that I didn't ask Bob to tie me, and I'm sad that I didn't ask J if I could tie her and explore that spark of desire through rope. But man did it feel good driving home, even melancholy about not enjoyably playing the night before, knowing that I'd had a spark of connection and friendship and desire in such an unexpected place with three unexpected but wonderful people.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Thursday, February 19, 2015
lost feelings i miss
- When I was in PC, I remember having this sudden awakening to the feeling of being in my own skin. The wind across my arms and shoulders was suddenly sensual, embracing, invigorating. I kept being surprised that it kept happening, over and over, just being overtaken by the delight in being in my body in that moment, in nature.
- Similarly, I remember not listening to music for an extended period of time, at least a few months. One day I picked up my ipod and listened to it while I did laundry, and found myself actually getting too distracted to move my hands. I stood there above a basin of soapy water, suds dripping off my hands, and felt the emotions of the song so strongly. It reminded me of being in high school, when I would listen to the radio or my CD player (old school, I know). Music felt like it could speak my heart, could move my emotions from one extreme to the other, until I got older and it just became background noise.
- I'm trying to remember the last time I felt desired, in a way that I didn't feel defensive or guilty about. Maybe a year ago, falling for GF? Almost 2 years ago, flirting my way through the Tucson queer scene, feeling so treasured and loved by several lovers/friends/crushes.
- Lust. I was reading an article on ScarletTeen just now (after following a link from Savage Love) about sexual pleasure. That moment when you see someone and you can actually feel the blood redirect down to your cunt. A casual touch of their hand on your shoulder or thigh makes you squirm inside even as you try to subtly lean in to maintain that tiny point of contact. Both of you leaning in towards that first kiss - hesitant and waiting for one person to close the gap, heartbeat and breathing blocking out any other noises, attention focused to a pinpoint. Every piece of clothing that comes off is almost enough to get you off, no other stimulation needed. When was the last time I felt "can't keep my hands off of you" lust? A year ago? Maybe 6 months? (I miss this feeling so deeply right now, yet I think it might be good for me to miss it for a while longer. I haven't had sex in 2 months. Maybe it could be ok to go without it for a while, not just because I'm long distance monogamous, but because I'm saying yes to letting my mind and body take a break from sexuality with other people).
- And where does lust give way to the feeling of being in love? Is love ever uncomplicated? I still certainly feel a lot of love and caring from and towards people in my life. But that's different from being in love. Which is different than falling in love. I felt secure in love with S, despite moments of insecurity, I believed we would always find a way.
- Roping with B. The first heavy flogging I did with Natalie, when it was just awe inspiring to both of us that we'd gone so much farther than we expected. Those are both kink examples, but that space is so exemplifying of feeling totally open to another person. Body Electric, over and over. Even if the moment ends and feelings become complicated or guarded again, for that second or minute or hour or day, hearts and bodies and spirits are wide awake and giving to one another. I remember asking S a question about what she wanted from sex (since that's what our relationship was going to be, duh :p). She told me that the most important thing for her was for both of us to be fully present - not just physically, but emotionally. Spiritually. To hold that space together and for one another. Mind expanding orgasms in the Saharan heat as the electricity cuts out and the situational anxiety gets pushed away for one never-ending moment
- Along with being open and present with another person, being open and present to myself. Have I ever truly just accepted who I am? I think I've gotten close, sometimes. I was proud of myself when I had lost weight and was working towards academic goals and was making friends. But was I being present with myself? Body Electric, or intensive journal writing in PC or to S might have been as "with myself" as I've ever been. How can I recapture that? This blog is a decent start, although it's funny that I only write here when I'm stressed/single-ish.
- I don't remember the last time I felt able to eat something for the pleasure of eating it, without guilt, or thinking about portion size, or trying to figure out the calorie count, or trying to "burn it off", or even guilt over where it's from, how it was produced, whether the labor was fairly paid or the animal was humanely raised and killed. When food was uncomplicated.
- Similarly, I remember not listening to music for an extended period of time, at least a few months. One day I picked up my ipod and listened to it while I did laundry, and found myself actually getting too distracted to move my hands. I stood there above a basin of soapy water, suds dripping off my hands, and felt the emotions of the song so strongly. It reminded me of being in high school, when I would listen to the radio or my CD player (old school, I know). Music felt like it could speak my heart, could move my emotions from one extreme to the other, until I got older and it just became background noise.
- I'm trying to remember the last time I felt desired, in a way that I didn't feel defensive or guilty about. Maybe a year ago, falling for GF? Almost 2 years ago, flirting my way through the Tucson queer scene, feeling so treasured and loved by several lovers/friends/crushes.
- Lust. I was reading an article on ScarletTeen just now (after following a link from Savage Love) about sexual pleasure. That moment when you see someone and you can actually feel the blood redirect down to your cunt. A casual touch of their hand on your shoulder or thigh makes you squirm inside even as you try to subtly lean in to maintain that tiny point of contact. Both of you leaning in towards that first kiss - hesitant and waiting for one person to close the gap, heartbeat and breathing blocking out any other noises, attention focused to a pinpoint. Every piece of clothing that comes off is almost enough to get you off, no other stimulation needed. When was the last time I felt "can't keep my hands off of you" lust? A year ago? Maybe 6 months? (I miss this feeling so deeply right now, yet I think it might be good for me to miss it for a while longer. I haven't had sex in 2 months. Maybe it could be ok to go without it for a while, not just because I'm long distance monogamous, but because I'm saying yes to letting my mind and body take a break from sexuality with other people).
- And where does lust give way to the feeling of being in love? Is love ever uncomplicated? I still certainly feel a lot of love and caring from and towards people in my life. But that's different from being in love. Which is different than falling in love. I felt secure in love with S, despite moments of insecurity, I believed we would always find a way.
- Roping with B. The first heavy flogging I did with Natalie, when it was just awe inspiring to both of us that we'd gone so much farther than we expected. Those are both kink examples, but that space is so exemplifying of feeling totally open to another person. Body Electric, over and over. Even if the moment ends and feelings become complicated or guarded again, for that second or minute or hour or day, hearts and bodies and spirits are wide awake and giving to one another. I remember asking S a question about what she wanted from sex (since that's what our relationship was going to be, duh :p). She told me that the most important thing for her was for both of us to be fully present - not just physically, but emotionally. Spiritually. To hold that space together and for one another. Mind expanding orgasms in the Saharan heat as the electricity cuts out and the situational anxiety gets pushed away for one never-ending moment
- Along with being open and present with another person, being open and present to myself. Have I ever truly just accepted who I am? I think I've gotten close, sometimes. I was proud of myself when I had lost weight and was working towards academic goals and was making friends. But was I being present with myself? Body Electric, or intensive journal writing in PC or to S might have been as "with myself" as I've ever been. How can I recapture that? This blog is a decent start, although it's funny that I only write here when I'm stressed/single-ish.
- I don't remember the last time I felt able to eat something for the pleasure of eating it, without guilt, or thinking about portion size, or trying to figure out the calorie count, or trying to "burn it off", or even guilt over where it's from, how it was produced, whether the labor was fairly paid or the animal was humanely raised and killed. When food was uncomplicated.
therapy
Today was my first session/intake at the counseling center. My tuition is mind-blowingly high, but it does mean that I got to show up today, and for as many visits as I want, without even showing them my ID, let alone an insurance card. Perks?
It was a mixed bag. I definitely went in with a plan, a set agenda. It kind of wiggled away from me a bit, but I think we at least glanced off of all of the things I want to work on. She did get a little caught in my depression history, which I expected, but was also a little amused by since that's truly not what had brought me back to therapy 8 years later.
I told her that I binge and purge. That was hard, harder than I thought even though I totally had intended to tell her. I've only ever told GF, once while driving through the dark along yet another empty stretch of I-10. I said it like it was something I used to do, once upon a time when I was younger, instead of something that I'd done in her house a few days ago when everyone was gone at work. She told me that she used to hear her mom doing that, when she was young, and that the sound made her so sad to think that her mom hated her body that much. I felt such a deep sadness and guilt, and I actually stopped for a little while after that. But slowly it started creeping up again.
I first made myself throw up when I was...young. I remember, I was at my Dad's house, I'd just eaten a massive chef's salad. Normally my dad was always trying to encourage me to finish my food, I thought he'd be proud of me, but his comment on realizing that I'd eaten all of it was surprise, something along the lines of "That was supposed to be for multiple people - you ate it all?" In hindsight, I really think it was only for multiple people if you were using it as a side dish, but who knows, this was easily 14 years ago. So I went to the bathroom and tried to make myself throw up. I don't remember why I thought that would be a good idea, but I did. I don't remember much of his reaction, maybe some bafflement and sadness. I knew it wasn't a good idea, at least not to do it if I was going to get caught.
After that I didn't do it again for a while. I did it occasionally in high school, increasing frequency my senior year (I think at least the school secretary knew, but only hinted and I was happy to play dumb). I did it on and off in college, especially after my sophomore year when we started having weight adjustments to our rowing scores. Suddenly my first place 2K time shifted down the list, sometimes dramatically, when I was compared to rowers 50lbs lighter than me. It was fair, to be sure, and I needed a reality check about all the weight I gained my freshman year, but it did sometimes compel me to make some poor choices in the name of keeping my weight in check (since I couldn't keep my self-control around the delicious desserts our school seemed to provide everywhere, all the time).
I didn't purge often in Peace Corps, pretty much stopped for the two years except for a handful of times. It just felt unimaginably wasteful, and so painfully immediate, to be throwing up food voluntarily when there were plenty of people outside of my courtyard 100 feet away who would have been happy to have so much extra food that they could just throw some of it away. I tried to embrace my weight as best I could, and focused on getting through the time.
In Tucson it was on and off, but pretty regular when opportunity presented itself. Maybe once a week up to 4 or 5 times a week, occasionally multiple times a day. It's gotten similarly bad here the past few months, overeating my goals almost every day, and either exercising a bit excessively or making myself throw it back up. It used to be I would only do it if my roommate was out of the house. Now I just wait until she's asleep with her white noise machine and the a/c going. Escalation. I start to eat and I feel hard pressed to stop, it's like my mind just goes into this blank space and all I can think of is to eat as much as I can easily consume in as little time as possible.
My therapist seemed proud of me for telling her. When I told her that she was the first person I'd ever told, she congratulated me, and asked me how it felt. I laughed. "Surreal." It's true, I still can't quite believe it. I feel like my relationship and poly/kink problems are so much more pressing right now, the interpersonal dynamic issues, being emotionally closed - those are problems! I told her it kind of killed me to be such a stereotype. High intelligence, high performing independent female who got bullied as a kid and is under a lot of stress, so to feel in control of something she tries to control her weight through disordered eating - purging, obsessive control over when/what/how, etc. We all want to be a special snowflake, and yet this was exactly what any psych textbook could tell you about identifying women with eating disorders.
Once upon a time I had a blog. I would chronicle everything I ate. I'd celebrate those days when I ate under 1000 calories. I looked at and reposted pictures of painfully skinny girls with protruding hip bones and clavicles that had captions like "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" (this was pre-tumblr, of course). I would trade "support" with other girls like me, those girls who would talk about "Ana/Mia" like they were an adorable pair of chibi friends instead of destructive eating patterns. I look back on that in kind of a horror, but it was real, it was what was occupying my brain whenever it wasn't consumed with wanting to cut myself, or wanting to figure out why I was starting to feel erotic stirrings towards my female friends.
Unrelated, she asked to see my scars when I told her I cut. I honestly forgot about the ones on my hip, they're the most dramatic. Most of the high school ones have actually faded, thankfully, they're pretty much invisible. But these thigh ones are faded but might not go away for a very long time. Anyway. She saw a bit of rope burn, from my self-suspension a few weeks ago. I told her the truth - it's a rope burn. She seemed to think that it was a self-injury, so I rushed to assure her that I was just in kink instead. She decidedly wasn't reassured, and seemed concerned, so I explained a little bit - I like to tie myself up and be tied up with rope, and I like to get hit with things. I did a terrible scatter shot of some of the reasons why people do kink, trying to reassure her that we aren't all crazy, it's not a form of self injury, etc, etc. I asked her before I left if it was going to be an issue, but she seemed game for giving it a go so we'll see how that works out. I wonder what she'll say when I tell her how much kink inspires me to love my body? ;)
It was a mixed bag. I definitely went in with a plan, a set agenda. It kind of wiggled away from me a bit, but I think we at least glanced off of all of the things I want to work on. She did get a little caught in my depression history, which I expected, but was also a little amused by since that's truly not what had brought me back to therapy 8 years later.
I told her that I binge and purge. That was hard, harder than I thought even though I totally had intended to tell her. I've only ever told GF, once while driving through the dark along yet another empty stretch of I-10. I said it like it was something I used to do, once upon a time when I was younger, instead of something that I'd done in her house a few days ago when everyone was gone at work. She told me that she used to hear her mom doing that, when she was young, and that the sound made her so sad to think that her mom hated her body that much. I felt such a deep sadness and guilt, and I actually stopped for a little while after that. But slowly it started creeping up again.
I first made myself throw up when I was...young. I remember, I was at my Dad's house, I'd just eaten a massive chef's salad. Normally my dad was always trying to encourage me to finish my food, I thought he'd be proud of me, but his comment on realizing that I'd eaten all of it was surprise, something along the lines of "That was supposed to be for multiple people - you ate it all?" In hindsight, I really think it was only for multiple people if you were using it as a side dish, but who knows, this was easily 14 years ago. So I went to the bathroom and tried to make myself throw up. I don't remember why I thought that would be a good idea, but I did. I don't remember much of his reaction, maybe some bafflement and sadness. I knew it wasn't a good idea, at least not to do it if I was going to get caught.
After that I didn't do it again for a while. I did it occasionally in high school, increasing frequency my senior year (I think at least the school secretary knew, but only hinted and I was happy to play dumb). I did it on and off in college, especially after my sophomore year when we started having weight adjustments to our rowing scores. Suddenly my first place 2K time shifted down the list, sometimes dramatically, when I was compared to rowers 50lbs lighter than me. It was fair, to be sure, and I needed a reality check about all the weight I gained my freshman year, but it did sometimes compel me to make some poor choices in the name of keeping my weight in check (since I couldn't keep my self-control around the delicious desserts our school seemed to provide everywhere, all the time).
I didn't purge often in Peace Corps, pretty much stopped for the two years except for a handful of times. It just felt unimaginably wasteful, and so painfully immediate, to be throwing up food voluntarily when there were plenty of people outside of my courtyard 100 feet away who would have been happy to have so much extra food that they could just throw some of it away. I tried to embrace my weight as best I could, and focused on getting through the time.
In Tucson it was on and off, but pretty regular when opportunity presented itself. Maybe once a week up to 4 or 5 times a week, occasionally multiple times a day. It's gotten similarly bad here the past few months, overeating my goals almost every day, and either exercising a bit excessively or making myself throw it back up. It used to be I would only do it if my roommate was out of the house. Now I just wait until she's asleep with her white noise machine and the a/c going. Escalation. I start to eat and I feel hard pressed to stop, it's like my mind just goes into this blank space and all I can think of is to eat as much as I can easily consume in as little time as possible.
My therapist seemed proud of me for telling her. When I told her that she was the first person I'd ever told, she congratulated me, and asked me how it felt. I laughed. "Surreal." It's true, I still can't quite believe it. I feel like my relationship and poly/kink problems are so much more pressing right now, the interpersonal dynamic issues, being emotionally closed - those are problems! I told her it kind of killed me to be such a stereotype. High intelligence, high performing independent female who got bullied as a kid and is under a lot of stress, so to feel in control of something she tries to control her weight through disordered eating - purging, obsessive control over when/what/how, etc. We all want to be a special snowflake, and yet this was exactly what any psych textbook could tell you about identifying women with eating disorders.
Once upon a time I had a blog. I would chronicle everything I ate. I'd celebrate those days when I ate under 1000 calories. I looked at and reposted pictures of painfully skinny girls with protruding hip bones and clavicles that had captions like "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" (this was pre-tumblr, of course). I would trade "support" with other girls like me, those girls who would talk about "Ana/Mia" like they were an adorable pair of chibi friends instead of destructive eating patterns. I look back on that in kind of a horror, but it was real, it was what was occupying my brain whenever it wasn't consumed with wanting to cut myself, or wanting to figure out why I was starting to feel erotic stirrings towards my female friends.
Unrelated, she asked to see my scars when I told her I cut. I honestly forgot about the ones on my hip, they're the most dramatic. Most of the high school ones have actually faded, thankfully, they're pretty much invisible. But these thigh ones are faded but might not go away for a very long time. Anyway. She saw a bit of rope burn, from my self-suspension a few weeks ago. I told her the truth - it's a rope burn. She seemed to think that it was a self-injury, so I rushed to assure her that I was just in kink instead. She decidedly wasn't reassured, and seemed concerned, so I explained a little bit - I like to tie myself up and be tied up with rope, and I like to get hit with things. I did a terrible scatter shot of some of the reasons why people do kink, trying to reassure her that we aren't all crazy, it's not a form of self injury, etc, etc. I asked her before I left if it was going to be an issue, but she seemed game for giving it a go so we'll see how that works out. I wonder what she'll say when I tell her how much kink inspires me to love my body? ;)
Monday, February 16, 2015
drunken musings
We had a snow day today. I see pictures on Facebook of the snow on the East coast, yet another blizzard adding to multiple feet of snow. Here in Nashville we had maybe an inch? Granted, the precipitation is more ice than anything - every tree branch and car door is encased, and the roads and sidewalks are nothing short of treacherous.
GF asked me for intention today. She's reaching out, doing the work, searching within herself, asking me to respond. An answering glow in the dark. I didn't have much to offer, not the way that she deserved. I told her that I'm scared, that I miss her. That she's the person I would usually go to talk about my emotions surrounding life, but now that feels weird since the emotions that I need to hash out are my emotions toward her, toward us. And yet, she's ok with that. I just don't understand why this relationship means so much, that we are both willing to subsume such big parts of ourselves to be in it. Or rather, at this point, why she's willing; since I've now shown myself to be less willing.
I'm scared that I'm making a mistake. So much of my heart is convinced that this relationship is over, that I'm just waiting until I go home to tell her that. But then I start read. ing More Than Two, this great book that has given words to my emotions, and suddenly I start feeling fear and doubt. I do want the trust and the freedom to explore the wondrous adventures that life has to offer me at the age of 26. I want to have play partners like M, and cuddle partners like H (a school friend), and make out buddies, and maybe even other relationships. But I also want that security, that trust, that person to come home to. And I'm starting to worry that it takes a certain amount of emotional distance to allow myself those explorations. Would I be happy in that kind of relationship?
A friend of mine here in Nashville is married, in a poly marriage. She has a boyfriend/play partner, who I'm also friends with, and other guys that she's interested in, whom her boyfriend and husband encourage her in pursuing. Her husband has a girlfriend, and presumably play partners. I look at that relationship and my first reaction is sadness, maybe pity? I don't understand how they can be legally married, raising children together, and yet still actively pursing other love and play interests. It makes me feel like their marriage is for convenience, security, a sham. And yet I think that I wouldn't be unhappy in such a place, despite it's unconventionality. I want someone to come home to, someone to trust to such a deep depth that I know that, no matter what, she is coming home to me in the end, as I am coming home to her. And wouldn't it be lovely if we were still independent? If life circumstances could take us to different cities, different countries, and we could value and pursue other relationships to various degrees of intimacy, and yet still trust one another, trust the love and dedication that is there?
Maybe I will end up with S after all. That's a growing fantasy, that we will realize that she can still have children with someone else, live with someone else, and I can do the same (minus the children), but we can both love one another for who we are. At a distance, occasionally together. In sporadic contact. But still united in heart. Like I feel sometimes with my ex, my Poet. Such an age gap, such different life experiences, yet she's able to express such joy and support at whatever love I claim. I will always love her, always miss being her Muse, even as she still claims me as such we both know that things have shifted, as they do, now that we are not longer lovers. Maybe we could rekindle that?
I don't understand why it's not ok to love as I wish, to be physically and/or emotionally intimate without jealousy or insecurity. Would I lose part of my self if I were to give up being jealous?
We have another snow day tomorrow, thank goodness.
GF asked me for intention today. She's reaching out, doing the work, searching within herself, asking me to respond. An answering glow in the dark. I didn't have much to offer, not the way that she deserved. I told her that I'm scared, that I miss her. That she's the person I would usually go to talk about my emotions surrounding life, but now that feels weird since the emotions that I need to hash out are my emotions toward her, toward us. And yet, she's ok with that. I just don't understand why this relationship means so much, that we are both willing to subsume such big parts of ourselves to be in it. Or rather, at this point, why she's willing; since I've now shown myself to be less willing.
I'm scared that I'm making a mistake. So much of my heart is convinced that this relationship is over, that I'm just waiting until I go home to tell her that. But then I start read. ing More Than Two, this great book that has given words to my emotions, and suddenly I start feeling fear and doubt. I do want the trust and the freedom to explore the wondrous adventures that life has to offer me at the age of 26. I want to have play partners like M, and cuddle partners like H (a school friend), and make out buddies, and maybe even other relationships. But I also want that security, that trust, that person to come home to. And I'm starting to worry that it takes a certain amount of emotional distance to allow myself those explorations. Would I be happy in that kind of relationship?
A friend of mine here in Nashville is married, in a poly marriage. She has a boyfriend/play partner, who I'm also friends with, and other guys that she's interested in, whom her boyfriend and husband encourage her in pursuing. Her husband has a girlfriend, and presumably play partners. I look at that relationship and my first reaction is sadness, maybe pity? I don't understand how they can be legally married, raising children together, and yet still actively pursing other love and play interests. It makes me feel like their marriage is for convenience, security, a sham. And yet I think that I wouldn't be unhappy in such a place, despite it's unconventionality. I want someone to come home to, someone to trust to such a deep depth that I know that, no matter what, she is coming home to me in the end, as I am coming home to her. And wouldn't it be lovely if we were still independent? If life circumstances could take us to different cities, different countries, and we could value and pursue other relationships to various degrees of intimacy, and yet still trust one another, trust the love and dedication that is there?
Maybe I will end up with S after all. That's a growing fantasy, that we will realize that she can still have children with someone else, live with someone else, and I can do the same (minus the children), but we can both love one another for who we are. At a distance, occasionally together. In sporadic contact. But still united in heart. Like I feel sometimes with my ex, my Poet. Such an age gap, such different life experiences, yet she's able to express such joy and support at whatever love I claim. I will always love her, always miss being her Muse, even as she still claims me as such we both know that things have shifted, as they do, now that we are not longer lovers. Maybe we could rekindle that?
I don't understand why it's not ok to love as I wish, to be physically and/or emotionally intimate without jealousy or insecurity. Would I lose part of my self if I were to give up being jealous?
We have another snow day tomorrow, thank goodness.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
i don't know the word for this feeling, but I've been having it a lot lately
Yesterday was Valentine's Day. I used to be split on how I felt about it - being in love on V-day is a great excuse to get all sappy romantic, but being single always felt like I had to just shrug my shoulders and pretend I didn't like it or didn't care about it. Now I actually rather like the holiday - any day that's dedicated to reminding us about the love we have in our lives (even if that's love lost) is a pretty awesome thing.
That's a side note. The feeling - yesterday I had a really great day. I stressed over homework and didn't get to the gym, I ate terribly and didn't get some chores done, but I also had a fantastic afternoon and evening, and made some choices that made me really happy. GF wanted to include me in her V-day adventures, had sent me a lovely email reminiscing about what we did last year to celebrate the day. I was hesitant to encourage this sudden rush of "bonding" but I said ok. It was indeed nice, and I miss her and the feeling we had when we're together. Now she's asking me about my day yesterday. I did a lot of things that made me happy, that I know will make her very sad to hear about. I feel like there's a war inside of me, torn between wanting to be truthful about what was a great day, and the awareness that it's not what she expected, and thus not what would make her comfortable to hear.
What is that feeling? Guilt? Bittersweet? Paternalism? Regret? Heartbreak? Selfishness?
The fun:
I went to the bi-monthly rope class at the club in the afternoon. I learned a few new ways to tie a futo, and got to try it on myself, on a friend of mine, and got tied by both M (the instructor, who was the tipping point for a lot of the conflict GF and I have had) and another guy who I've seen around/talked to a few times. M helped me by suspending me from the last futo I did on myself :) I was hesitant to ask, yesterday was the first time she's put rope on me since the emotion explosion in November, but after having dinner with her two weeks ago and generally finding ourselves to be on similar pages, it felt like something I was ok with and actively interested in exploring. I don't know if I have a total level of trust in her or in our emotional connection, but I do think that we both have the ability to feed each others' desires in a lot of ways, and maybe that's enough right now.
So there was rope! And then there was dinner with this adorable couple I've become closer with, talking about home made kink toys and dating profiles, age differences and relationship spreadsheets. They would both like me to be more active in topping her, which makes me uncomfortable right now, but they're pretty chill when I kick the can down the road, and I loved watching them scene (and generally be all cute and cuddly) last night. Seeing their approach to poly and playing together and with others has been such an inspiration - it is possible! Her husband and his girlfriend were supposed to make an appearance last night as well, I don't think they did, but just the possibility kind of blew my mind. I hate to think of marriage as a transaction in which they raise children in a stable and socially acceptable framework, but honestly it seems to make them pretty happy to be partnered with someone that they love, but aren't necessarily holding up to the standard of being the passionate primary person from whom I derive happiness. They both date and play extensively outside of the marriage, and it actually seems comfortable (at least from knowing her and her boyfriend, who is actively seeking other relationships with her encouragement). Mind blowing.
The evening back at the club was just right for V-day. Chill, not very crowded, and I actually knew a good number of the people there. I talked with a couple that was brand new, this was their first kink anything! It made me happy to welcome them and see how happy she was in exploring this crazy thing she had wanted for so long, and her husband for supporting it, even tentatively. There was always a few scenes going all night, and everyone kind of ended up in the back of the space so it felt companionable but not overly crowded or too sparse.
M is going through a similar thing in her relationship as I am. Her partner doesn't want to stop her from playing, but he just isn't interested in kink anymore, which is a big departure from their start as a 24/7 D/s couple. She enjoys topping and has a strong sadistic leaning, but her happiness is in submission to someone she feels is even stronger than she is. So we had a decent bit to talk about. I was hesitant to play out of fear that we would fall back into the same place we were and I would just force myself into accepting it. But she asked if I was interested and what I was feeling, and I answered honestly that something playful and a little strenuous, maybe with some impact, would be good for me that night. She had the idea for a double inversion - putting me up, then self-suspending beside me on a second ring, and playing around with tying us together. Done! It made me so happy to say yes to something we were both enthusiastic about.
The experience itself was fantastic. It was very cold last night and the space just couldn't stay warm, but I didn't really have any clothing conducive to being tied so I was (per usual) in my underwear, and borrowed a pair of M's knee high striped socks, the complement to the ones she wore. It felt so good to be wrapped in rope, playful and slightly erotic. The cold actually worked in my favor, I couldn't feel my skin pinching when she was tying my hip harness even though I knew it was happening. And then I was upside down! It was easy and yet hard, painful in different ways as the night went on, with all of my weight held essentially by the fat and muscle of my upper thigh. When she was finally up and next to me, it was so playful! We hugged, almost kissed, nuzzled, pushed each other around. She smacked me a bit, grabbed my hair, pinched and pulled my nipples. Once she let herself down and then gently lowered me (still tied) onto my back on the cold cement, we kept playing a little - partial lifts with the harnesses, yanking on them across sensitive skin, breast and thigh slaps, having her sit on me and pinch and bite, using the rings to hold herself up and step on me with her stilettos (scary! not sure how I feel about that one - fun, but high risk for accident). I cuddled up around her on the ground, and the whole thing was just lovely. I still wish it was more than it was, emotionally, but for what it is, it's pretty fantastic - we have a good chemistry together. When I got upright I discovered that the entire room was staring at us :p
So it was a great night! And I didn't know what to tell GF. She's asked about it. I told her a little, not at all about the rope scene, and when she asked to know more about the emotion changes I thanked her for opening that as a possibility, but I know it hurt when I said I didn't want to tell her. At this point I know we're breaking up. I'd like to tell her in person. But that's still 2 weeks away, and in the meantime I'm pushing her away emotionally, which doesn't feel fair.
That's a side note. The feeling - yesterday I had a really great day. I stressed over homework and didn't get to the gym, I ate terribly and didn't get some chores done, but I also had a fantastic afternoon and evening, and made some choices that made me really happy. GF wanted to include me in her V-day adventures, had sent me a lovely email reminiscing about what we did last year to celebrate the day. I was hesitant to encourage this sudden rush of "bonding" but I said ok. It was indeed nice, and I miss her and the feeling we had when we're together. Now she's asking me about my day yesterday. I did a lot of things that made me happy, that I know will make her very sad to hear about. I feel like there's a war inside of me, torn between wanting to be truthful about what was a great day, and the awareness that it's not what she expected, and thus not what would make her comfortable to hear.
What is that feeling? Guilt? Bittersweet? Paternalism? Regret? Heartbreak? Selfishness?
The fun:
I went to the bi-monthly rope class at the club in the afternoon. I learned a few new ways to tie a futo, and got to try it on myself, on a friend of mine, and got tied by both M (the instructor, who was the tipping point for a lot of the conflict GF and I have had) and another guy who I've seen around/talked to a few times. M helped me by suspending me from the last futo I did on myself :) I was hesitant to ask, yesterday was the first time she's put rope on me since the emotion explosion in November, but after having dinner with her two weeks ago and generally finding ourselves to be on similar pages, it felt like something I was ok with and actively interested in exploring. I don't know if I have a total level of trust in her or in our emotional connection, but I do think that we both have the ability to feed each others' desires in a lot of ways, and maybe that's enough right now.
So there was rope! And then there was dinner with this adorable couple I've become closer with, talking about home made kink toys and dating profiles, age differences and relationship spreadsheets. They would both like me to be more active in topping her, which makes me uncomfortable right now, but they're pretty chill when I kick the can down the road, and I loved watching them scene (and generally be all cute and cuddly) last night. Seeing their approach to poly and playing together and with others has been such an inspiration - it is possible! Her husband and his girlfriend were supposed to make an appearance last night as well, I don't think they did, but just the possibility kind of blew my mind. I hate to think of marriage as a transaction in which they raise children in a stable and socially acceptable framework, but honestly it seems to make them pretty happy to be partnered with someone that they love, but aren't necessarily holding up to the standard of being the passionate primary person from whom I derive happiness. They both date and play extensively outside of the marriage, and it actually seems comfortable (at least from knowing her and her boyfriend, who is actively seeking other relationships with her encouragement). Mind blowing.
The evening back at the club was just right for V-day. Chill, not very crowded, and I actually knew a good number of the people there. I talked with a couple that was brand new, this was their first kink anything! It made me happy to welcome them and see how happy she was in exploring this crazy thing she had wanted for so long, and her husband for supporting it, even tentatively. There was always a few scenes going all night, and everyone kind of ended up in the back of the space so it felt companionable but not overly crowded or too sparse.
M is going through a similar thing in her relationship as I am. Her partner doesn't want to stop her from playing, but he just isn't interested in kink anymore, which is a big departure from their start as a 24/7 D/s couple. She enjoys topping and has a strong sadistic leaning, but her happiness is in submission to someone she feels is even stronger than she is. So we had a decent bit to talk about. I was hesitant to play out of fear that we would fall back into the same place we were and I would just force myself into accepting it. But she asked if I was interested and what I was feeling, and I answered honestly that something playful and a little strenuous, maybe with some impact, would be good for me that night. She had the idea for a double inversion - putting me up, then self-suspending beside me on a second ring, and playing around with tying us together. Done! It made me so happy to say yes to something we were both enthusiastic about.
The experience itself was fantastic. It was very cold last night and the space just couldn't stay warm, but I didn't really have any clothing conducive to being tied so I was (per usual) in my underwear, and borrowed a pair of M's knee high striped socks, the complement to the ones she wore. It felt so good to be wrapped in rope, playful and slightly erotic. The cold actually worked in my favor, I couldn't feel my skin pinching when she was tying my hip harness even though I knew it was happening. And then I was upside down! It was easy and yet hard, painful in different ways as the night went on, with all of my weight held essentially by the fat and muscle of my upper thigh. When she was finally up and next to me, it was so playful! We hugged, almost kissed, nuzzled, pushed each other around. She smacked me a bit, grabbed my hair, pinched and pulled my nipples. Once she let herself down and then gently lowered me (still tied) onto my back on the cold cement, we kept playing a little - partial lifts with the harnesses, yanking on them across sensitive skin, breast and thigh slaps, having her sit on me and pinch and bite, using the rings to hold herself up and step on me with her stilettos (scary! not sure how I feel about that one - fun, but high risk for accident). I cuddled up around her on the ground, and the whole thing was just lovely. I still wish it was more than it was, emotionally, but for what it is, it's pretty fantastic - we have a good chemistry together. When I got upright I discovered that the entire room was staring at us :p
So it was a great night! And I didn't know what to tell GF. She's asked about it. I told her a little, not at all about the rope scene, and when she asked to know more about the emotion changes I thanked her for opening that as a possibility, but I know it hurt when I said I didn't want to tell her. At this point I know we're breaking up. I'd like to tell her in person. But that's still 2 weeks away, and in the meantime I'm pushing her away emotionally, which doesn't feel fair.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
occam's razor
The simplest answer is often the correct one. I think the answer to my situation is that I must be coming from a very different place than my classmates.
It sounds dumb and pretentious, but this genuinely surprises me a lot. I'm not usually in the minority in much of anything, I'm a white, cis-gendered, able-bodied, high intelligence, well-educated, upper middle class, queer woman, among many other things. I'm in a graduate program surrounded by a strong majority of other white cis-gendered upper middle class women. While we have different backgrounds and experiences and values, we tend to also have a lot of the same assumptions about the world.
One of my classes involves a small group of 8 of us plus a faculty member, and we are working with a group living in a residential rehab program for women with mental health diagnoses, drug addiction, and children under the age of 10. We did a few surveys to determine exactly what they wanted to talk with us about, how we could best help them as nursing students and health educators, intending to plan "interventions" (aka - activities/classes) around those topics. Sounds easy enough, right? So why do I always leave this class feeling so on the outside?
I'm a pretty likable person. I get along with just about everyone, it's pretty much the one thing most people know about me - I'm friendly and cheerful. (I don't get close with anyone, but that's another story.) In this class I am not a likeable person. I feel like the stormy raincloud who keeps throwing wrenches in the works, and I can't seem to stop myself from doing it over and over.
Today we were planning an intervention on nutrition. From our survey, we learned that a) most of the women are obese, b) half of them are pregnant or breastfeeding, c) none of them exercise regularly or really have a place to exercise besides walking up and down stairs (boring!), d) they're buying food once a week using food stamps, e) there is a lot of confusion about nutrition and what a "healthy diet" even means, and f) a typical meal is cheap, processed, and microwaved or fried.
That's our starting point. Frozen pizza rolls and Cup o'Noodles. Keep that in mind.
We found a paper explaining how it can be a good start to just explain a food label - calories, portion size, etc. Another paper talks about how behavior change takes time, repetition, hearing something multiple ways, and can still take years to make large scale shifts, strongly correlated with motivation to change. These women didn't strike me as particularly motivated. Interested, yes! Contemplating a change, sure. Able to see the value in asking for inexpensive, healthy recipes. But actually ready to make a shift in their eating patterns? Maaaybe.
This isn't a judgement on them - I spent a good chunk of my childhood eating that way. It's taken me years to change my eating patterns, and I "slip up" all the time. I also have the advantage of a vast amount of nutrition education, a decent amount of personal motivation, and the money to spend on specialty foods like powdered peanut butter ($5/12oz jar vs $5/32 oz jar of regular PB) or nonfat Greek yogurt ($5/32 oz vs $2.50/32 oz regular yogurt). I buy jars of spices for $6 with only a little hesitation, and easily spend about $120-140/week on groceries because I have the ability to buy in bulk to save money on things I eat daily. I make a point of trying to eat fruits and veggies (the latter with only moderate success - one bell pepper costs $1.50, which is 7 bananas or 3-4 apples or almost a loaf of bread, or almost a bag of spinach). I even consider buying organic/cage free/etc, depending on how my budget is looking and how guilty I feel about chicken treatment that week.
Based on their comments in our survey, the women in this group do not have the resources to buy that kind of food, nor do they have a knowledge of basic nutrition. Nutrition is confusing! Fat is bad. No, fat is ok if it's "healthy fat" (do you walk up to it and ask how healthy it is?). Lard is bad, eat butter. Butter is bad, eat margarine. Margarine is bad, eat butter. Both of them are bad, use oil. Vegetable oil? Make that olive oil. Nope, just kidding, coconut oil (at $11/16 oz vs $3/48 oz). Carbs are bad. Except when they're good. Is fiber a carb? Are peas a starch or a vegetable? If it makes a rat obese/diabetic/cancerous, is it going to do that to me too? It's enough to make anyone admit defeat and just eat whatever the heck they feel like eating. Like frozen pizza rolls.
Two classmates of mine were planning this nutrition intervention. I tried to remove myself by doing other group work, but couldn't stop myself from chiming in from time to time. At one point the mentioned talking about avoiding saturated fats. For all my nutrition education I've never been able to keep that part straight - is it saturated or unsaturated that I'm supposed to not eat? And, honestly, who the heck cares? If a woman cooks one meal/day with her kids (required by the program) but still eats a cup o'noodles (or two) for lunch every day instead of leftovers, is she really going to suddenly start cooking several chicken breasts with brown rice and frozen veggies over the weekend to bring with her for lunch?
(clearly I think the answer is no)
The shock and horror that I received when I admitted that I don't pay attention to saturated fats on nutrition labels really stung, particularly with the immediate dismissal that followed. I don't think it was intended that way, but it definitely felt like a distinct judgement on my character. How dumb could I be to be in nursing school and *not* care about saturated fats? Clearly I'm some kind of outlier, *everyone* who cares about their health would never pollute their sacred body with something so bad for you, even looking at a saturated fat makes your love handles grow (and gives you hairy toes).
It's easy to get overwhelmed with information, especially when it is presented on a topic that you know you do (or ought to) care about, like eating healthy. People get wrapped up in the idea that not eating healthy is a judgement on their character, we do it to ourselves and each other all the time. That obese person eating cake? Lazy, no self-control. That boney girl eating a tiny salad? Anorexic (but with enviable self-control). I've fallen into the trap of "if I can't make all the changes, I might as well not bother since I'm a failure anyway." I think we're setting up the women to have that happen, to be motivated for exactly half a minute about making changes, and then overwhelmed at the prospect of a complete lifestyle overhaul in under 2 hours. And I think being the ones to give them that sense of failing before they've even started will hurt their trust in us, because it will be clear that we aren't understanding where they're at.
A tiny healthy change - eating at least one fruit and/or vegetable a day (even frozen or canned) - is a start. Changing one Hot Pocket out for a salad with some chicken is a win. Using half of the salt you normally would is an accomplishment. The percentage of their calories that come from saturated fat can be the next step.
It sounds dumb and pretentious, but this genuinely surprises me a lot. I'm not usually in the minority in much of anything, I'm a white, cis-gendered, able-bodied, high intelligence, well-educated, upper middle class, queer woman, among many other things. I'm in a graduate program surrounded by a strong majority of other white cis-gendered upper middle class women. While we have different backgrounds and experiences and values, we tend to also have a lot of the same assumptions about the world.
One of my classes involves a small group of 8 of us plus a faculty member, and we are working with a group living in a residential rehab program for women with mental health diagnoses, drug addiction, and children under the age of 10. We did a few surveys to determine exactly what they wanted to talk with us about, how we could best help them as nursing students and health educators, intending to plan "interventions" (aka - activities/classes) around those topics. Sounds easy enough, right? So why do I always leave this class feeling so on the outside?
I'm a pretty likable person. I get along with just about everyone, it's pretty much the one thing most people know about me - I'm friendly and cheerful. (I don't get close with anyone, but that's another story.) In this class I am not a likeable person. I feel like the stormy raincloud who keeps throwing wrenches in the works, and I can't seem to stop myself from doing it over and over.
Today we were planning an intervention on nutrition. From our survey, we learned that a) most of the women are obese, b) half of them are pregnant or breastfeeding, c) none of them exercise regularly or really have a place to exercise besides walking up and down stairs (boring!), d) they're buying food once a week using food stamps, e) there is a lot of confusion about nutrition and what a "healthy diet" even means, and f) a typical meal is cheap, processed, and microwaved or fried.
That's our starting point. Frozen pizza rolls and Cup o'Noodles. Keep that in mind.
We found a paper explaining how it can be a good start to just explain a food label - calories, portion size, etc. Another paper talks about how behavior change takes time, repetition, hearing something multiple ways, and can still take years to make large scale shifts, strongly correlated with motivation to change. These women didn't strike me as particularly motivated. Interested, yes! Contemplating a change, sure. Able to see the value in asking for inexpensive, healthy recipes. But actually ready to make a shift in their eating patterns? Maaaybe.
This isn't a judgement on them - I spent a good chunk of my childhood eating that way. It's taken me years to change my eating patterns, and I "slip up" all the time. I also have the advantage of a vast amount of nutrition education, a decent amount of personal motivation, and the money to spend on specialty foods like powdered peanut butter ($5/12oz jar vs $5/32 oz jar of regular PB) or nonfat Greek yogurt ($5/32 oz vs $2.50/32 oz regular yogurt). I buy jars of spices for $6 with only a little hesitation, and easily spend about $120-140/week on groceries because I have the ability to buy in bulk to save money on things I eat daily. I make a point of trying to eat fruits and veggies (the latter with only moderate success - one bell pepper costs $1.50, which is 7 bananas or 3-4 apples or almost a loaf of bread, or almost a bag of spinach). I even consider buying organic/cage free/etc, depending on how my budget is looking and how guilty I feel about chicken treatment that week.
Based on their comments in our survey, the women in this group do not have the resources to buy that kind of food, nor do they have a knowledge of basic nutrition. Nutrition is confusing! Fat is bad. No, fat is ok if it's "healthy fat" (do you walk up to it and ask how healthy it is?). Lard is bad, eat butter. Butter is bad, eat margarine. Margarine is bad, eat butter. Both of them are bad, use oil. Vegetable oil? Make that olive oil. Nope, just kidding, coconut oil (at $11/16 oz vs $3/48 oz). Carbs are bad. Except when they're good. Is fiber a carb? Are peas a starch or a vegetable? If it makes a rat obese/diabetic/cancerous, is it going to do that to me too? It's enough to make anyone admit defeat and just eat whatever the heck they feel like eating. Like frozen pizza rolls.
Two classmates of mine were planning this nutrition intervention. I tried to remove myself by doing other group work, but couldn't stop myself from chiming in from time to time. At one point the mentioned talking about avoiding saturated fats. For all my nutrition education I've never been able to keep that part straight - is it saturated or unsaturated that I'm supposed to not eat? And, honestly, who the heck cares? If a woman cooks one meal/day with her kids (required by the program) but still eats a cup o'noodles (or two) for lunch every day instead of leftovers, is she really going to suddenly start cooking several chicken breasts with brown rice and frozen veggies over the weekend to bring with her for lunch?
(clearly I think the answer is no)
The shock and horror that I received when I admitted that I don't pay attention to saturated fats on nutrition labels really stung, particularly with the immediate dismissal that followed. I don't think it was intended that way, but it definitely felt like a distinct judgement on my character. How dumb could I be to be in nursing school and *not* care about saturated fats? Clearly I'm some kind of outlier, *everyone* who cares about their health would never pollute their sacred body with something so bad for you, even looking at a saturated fat makes your love handles grow (and gives you hairy toes).
It's easy to get overwhelmed with information, especially when it is presented on a topic that you know you do (or ought to) care about, like eating healthy. People get wrapped up in the idea that not eating healthy is a judgement on their character, we do it to ourselves and each other all the time. That obese person eating cake? Lazy, no self-control. That boney girl eating a tiny salad? Anorexic (but with enviable self-control). I've fallen into the trap of "if I can't make all the changes, I might as well not bother since I'm a failure anyway." I think we're setting up the women to have that happen, to be motivated for exactly half a minute about making changes, and then overwhelmed at the prospect of a complete lifestyle overhaul in under 2 hours. And I think being the ones to give them that sense of failing before they've even started will hurt their trust in us, because it will be clear that we aren't understanding where they're at.
A tiny healthy change - eating at least one fruit and/or vegetable a day (even frozen or canned) - is a start. Changing one Hot Pocket out for a salad with some chicken is a win. Using half of the salt you normally would is an accomplishment. The percentage of their calories that come from saturated fat can be the next step.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
safe and comfortable
I'm taking an extra class this semester, called The Power of Nursing. Break out the woo-meter, right? I signed up for it because I could already feel myself shutting off, becoming jaded with my patients even in the first semester, and I wanted to do what I could to avoid that. Each bi-monthly class has a different theme, with time for personal reflection and then discussion in a smaller break-out group of 5 students and a facilitator who also participates in the activities herself (we're all cis-females here in this particular group).
This week we talked about healing, and personal qualities that we bring to that process. We were asked to close our eyes and picture ourselves in someplace safe and comfortable. I cast around in my mind. My home? Childhood home? Vacation spot? I thought about my house in Kossuka, Burkina Faso. Why do my years in the Peace Corps feel so close to the surface in this class?
I thought about doing yoga on my cement patio, balanced on one leg in tree position while staring over my courtyard wall at a tall and swaying tree out on the horizon. Lying down in savasana and staring up at the clear blue sky, watching buzzards lazily riding updrafts across my line of sight. I thought about my persistent little moringa tree, that came back from being a goat-eaten stick and grew into a beautiful healthy 7 foot tall tree in a year. How I buried some of my father's ashes under that tree before I left my village for the last time, thanking that home for having been a place of healing for me.
I really fought against my courtyard as my safe and comfortable place. I was physically safe but didn't always feel it - civil unrest, people peaking over my courtyard wall, obnoxious flirtatious old men with leering stares, scorpions lurking in the dark, giant terrifying spiders that seemed immune to harm, being closeted in a homophobic country. I certainly wasn't often comfortable - sweating, freezing, dusty, itching, unable to fully communicate, trying to navigate a wildly different set of cultural customs and expectations, and infected with a host of diarrhea-producing microbes. And yet, here I was - this was the place my mind was stuck.
The self-reflection was really valuable. I have a lot of qualities that I believe can be healing, and can help me to be the kind of provider I want to be. I think I'm gaining a realistic view of how to try and hold on to those even in the face of other forces that make me want to take a different path. I'm confident in my ability to adapt and learn, and to gain personal satisfaction from connecting to and helping my patients; balanced with a realistic understanding of my own limitations and need to stay somewhat distant in order to preserve my own mental health. I fear being too detached and not caring enough. I fear being too open and losing myself in my worry for their health and safety and well being. I think this is a good balance to have, even if it's stressful.
I realized that something I'm really needing right now is a safe connection. Have you ever had a hug where you really let yourself fall into it? Where you both pressed into each other, heart to heart, and held on with conviction? Where you relaxed into each others curves and angles, could feel your breathing start to move together? Where you didn't need words, you just felt the two of you together there with each other?
The last time I can really remember that strongly is at the Body Electric, over a year ago, with Dragon. We were doing a breathing exercise, I don't even remember if we were touching? Energetically it felt like we were. It surprised me, making that kind of a connection with a man - it felt vaguely erotic, but I think that's because it felt so unexpectedly emotionally open in a way that we usually only allow ourselves in romantic/sexual relationships. What if we could have those kinds of emotionally open/intimate moments and connections with more people? Would we be the biggest, most unwieldy polycule in the world? Or would we just be happier, more fulfilled, surrounded by friends and acquaintances who we felt truly, in some small way, for some small moment, loving and loved by?
This week we talked about healing, and personal qualities that we bring to that process. We were asked to close our eyes and picture ourselves in someplace safe and comfortable. I cast around in my mind. My home? Childhood home? Vacation spot? I thought about my house in Kossuka, Burkina Faso. Why do my years in the Peace Corps feel so close to the surface in this class?
I thought about doing yoga on my cement patio, balanced on one leg in tree position while staring over my courtyard wall at a tall and swaying tree out on the horizon. Lying down in savasana and staring up at the clear blue sky, watching buzzards lazily riding updrafts across my line of sight. I thought about my persistent little moringa tree, that came back from being a goat-eaten stick and grew into a beautiful healthy 7 foot tall tree in a year. How I buried some of my father's ashes under that tree before I left my village for the last time, thanking that home for having been a place of healing for me.
I really fought against my courtyard as my safe and comfortable place. I was physically safe but didn't always feel it - civil unrest, people peaking over my courtyard wall, obnoxious flirtatious old men with leering stares, scorpions lurking in the dark, giant terrifying spiders that seemed immune to harm, being closeted in a homophobic country. I certainly wasn't often comfortable - sweating, freezing, dusty, itching, unable to fully communicate, trying to navigate a wildly different set of cultural customs and expectations, and infected with a host of diarrhea-producing microbes. And yet, here I was - this was the place my mind was stuck.
The self-reflection was really valuable. I have a lot of qualities that I believe can be healing, and can help me to be the kind of provider I want to be. I think I'm gaining a realistic view of how to try and hold on to those even in the face of other forces that make me want to take a different path. I'm confident in my ability to adapt and learn, and to gain personal satisfaction from connecting to and helping my patients; balanced with a realistic understanding of my own limitations and need to stay somewhat distant in order to preserve my own mental health. I fear being too detached and not caring enough. I fear being too open and losing myself in my worry for their health and safety and well being. I think this is a good balance to have, even if it's stressful.
I realized that something I'm really needing right now is a safe connection. Have you ever had a hug where you really let yourself fall into it? Where you both pressed into each other, heart to heart, and held on with conviction? Where you relaxed into each others curves and angles, could feel your breathing start to move together? Where you didn't need words, you just felt the two of you together there with each other?
The last time I can really remember that strongly is at the Body Electric, over a year ago, with Dragon. We were doing a breathing exercise, I don't even remember if we were touching? Energetically it felt like we were. It surprised me, making that kind of a connection with a man - it felt vaguely erotic, but I think that's because it felt so unexpectedly emotionally open in a way that we usually only allow ourselves in romantic/sexual relationships. What if we could have those kinds of emotionally open/intimate moments and connections with more people? Would we be the biggest, most unwieldy polycule in the world? Or would we just be happier, more fulfilled, surrounded by friends and acquaintances who we felt truly, in some small way, for some small moment, loving and loved by?
Thursday, February 5, 2015
this is what I was listening to tonight and what it made me think about
Before I Ever Met You - Banks
"Everyone knows I'm right about one thing
you and I don't work out
You bring out the mean in me
I bring out your insecurities
You know what I'm talking about
Eventually you'll be fine if we break up
and one day I'll be fine, too
But we should just end it now
before someone gets more hurt than they have to"
My relationship right now, pretty much word for word. I don't like to think that she brings out "the mean in me" but admittedly the kind of behavior I display clearly isn't very nice to her when I'm always pursuing things (or trying to pretend to myself that I don't want to pursue things) that totally bring out her worst insecurities and make her feel like she's never good enough.
"Things soon will be like before I ever met you
Before I ever met you
I never knew my heart could love so hard
Before I ever met you
I never knew I would be enemies with disregard
Before I ever met you
I never knew that I liked to be kissed for days
Before I ever met you
I never knew I could be broken in so many ways"
This relationship and my relationship with my ex, S. Maybe it's wishful thinking in hindsight, but after the pain of that relationship ending I realized how much she'd taught me about seeing my own self-worth. I learned to trust to a level I'd never experienced before, to love harder, to open deeper, to self-reflect and honor the truth of whatever I found in those explorations as my truth at that moment.
When it ended I felt broken, such a deep sense of loss I couldn't stand it, like a physical piece of myself was being torn away (it's such a cliche but there's a reason why everyone says it). I spent the next few weeks traveling in a stupor, on the edge of tears at every moment, aching for her presence in my life to share those experiences. I'll be honest, I was moping and probably miserable to be around. But time helped, as it always does. I grew, healed in a lot of ways. I know I'm a better person for having been in the relationship, and even for having lost it and being forced to find my own way in a new place. We had the chance to rekindle it, and I found myself feeling like I was finally on an equal footing, without the inherent dynamic that had resulted from the circumstances of our meeting. And that was entirely due to being forced to take control of my own life again. But we decided not to - we had one of those non-negotiable things that neither of us could even dream of asking the other to compromise on. So we had one last week of incredible sex, and some bittersweet adventures, and we cried as we said goodbye at the airport, and it was over. (when will I ever get over missing this relationship?)
With GF it feels a little different, but I have trouble putting my finger on it. Since I had been to that depth of emotion before, it felt more intentional this time. It was still a surprise in a lot of ways, but more so in that it was surprising to get there again, not that the emotional place itself was surprising and new. I allowed and willed myself to love hard and open.
I had dinner last night with my former rope top, M. The one I played with where it edged into sadism, her taking what she wanted in a way that I didn't enjoy giving, but in exchange for playing the way I wanted to play after that. I had been ok with that as a transaction between play partners. GF was not, wanted to be the one to push into that sadistic space with me first. M is actually in a similar place with her partner as I am with GF, someone who has lost pretty much all of the passion for kink that they once shared, and now she feels stuck because playing the way she wants to will hurt him, but not playing that way with him (or anyone) is driving her crazy.
I realized then and now that I've been getting really caught up in the idea of possibilities that this break up brings me. Mostly in play, also in dating. A chance to explore, to push myself, to knowingly do things that will probably be mistakes. It's kind of an ideal place. I'm young and new enough that there's a little leeway and generosity if I really screw something up. There's the advantage of being known in the community here in a generally positive sense. And the double edged sword of being temporary - either leaving behind a great community I fit into even in my extreme exploration, or fleeing from a community happy to see the backside of someone in a destructive experimental phase. I like to think I would have some boundaries and limits, even though I also know some of those will come from stepping over them and realizing in hindsight that they were there. I'm ok with that. I can take some self-shame and be just fine.
Once I get past that flush of "all the shiny things!" I know I'm going to crash a bit. I don't let myself think too hard on the positives of the relationship, the things that are prominent when we're together in person. The love and security. Safety in her arms. Laughing together. Waking up next to her. The eager look she gets when she's explaining something she finds interesting. Really hot sex. Because those things make me sad. Make me question my judgement. It would be so much easier to call her and say "I'm so sorry, I really fucked that one up, of course I will not play with others and we can be together and our love will make it ok." It's so, so very tempting to do that. I miss being her trusted someone, the person I share things with, the person who shows me the world through her eyes, the one who I send naughty pictures to, the one who Skypes with me as we make the same breakfast on the weekends. See the draft I have yet to post about playing as a fox kit.
Last night I kind of solidified in my mind that my relationship is over. Now I don't know what to do. I don't think there's anything she could say or do that would make me change my mind, because any sudden changes would make me suspicious of their validity or reliability. I don't think there's anything I could say or do to regain her trust and openness after this hurt, at least not in a realistic time frame. I think we both need to grow in different ways, ways that we can't do together. If we're lucky we might both grow and end up in a place that is compatible with one another. It's unlikely, but I like holding on to that hope right now. I still haven't given up 100% hope on my potential for some kind of relationship with S, which I hate to keep comparing to this situation with GF, but it does feel relevant a lot of the time :p
Will it ever not be awkward between us? I only have 2 ex girlfriends who have lived in the same city I did (or intend to), and both move in very different social circles from the one I generally occupy. We see each other only when we want to, and generally are quite happy to see each other when we do because it typically requires some work and volition on our parts. GF is someone I would, potentially, see all the time. Her friends are my friends, or at least they're people I'd like to count as friends.
Falling asleep. I'll ponder this more later.
"Everyone knows I'm right about one thing
you and I don't work out
You bring out the mean in me
I bring out your insecurities
You know what I'm talking about
Eventually you'll be fine if we break up
and one day I'll be fine, too
But we should just end it now
before someone gets more hurt than they have to"
My relationship right now, pretty much word for word. I don't like to think that she brings out "the mean in me" but admittedly the kind of behavior I display clearly isn't very nice to her when I'm always pursuing things (or trying to pretend to myself that I don't want to pursue things) that totally bring out her worst insecurities and make her feel like she's never good enough.
"Things soon will be like before I ever met you
Before I ever met you
I never knew my heart could love so hard
Before I ever met you
I never knew I would be enemies with disregard
Before I ever met you
I never knew that I liked to be kissed for days
Before I ever met you
I never knew I could be broken in so many ways"
This relationship and my relationship with my ex, S. Maybe it's wishful thinking in hindsight, but after the pain of that relationship ending I realized how much she'd taught me about seeing my own self-worth. I learned to trust to a level I'd never experienced before, to love harder, to open deeper, to self-reflect and honor the truth of whatever I found in those explorations as my truth at that moment.
When it ended I felt broken, such a deep sense of loss I couldn't stand it, like a physical piece of myself was being torn away (it's such a cliche but there's a reason why everyone says it). I spent the next few weeks traveling in a stupor, on the edge of tears at every moment, aching for her presence in my life to share those experiences. I'll be honest, I was moping and probably miserable to be around. But time helped, as it always does. I grew, healed in a lot of ways. I know I'm a better person for having been in the relationship, and even for having lost it and being forced to find my own way in a new place. We had the chance to rekindle it, and I found myself feeling like I was finally on an equal footing, without the inherent dynamic that had resulted from the circumstances of our meeting. And that was entirely due to being forced to take control of my own life again. But we decided not to - we had one of those non-negotiable things that neither of us could even dream of asking the other to compromise on. So we had one last week of incredible sex, and some bittersweet adventures, and we cried as we said goodbye at the airport, and it was over. (when will I ever get over missing this relationship?)
With GF it feels a little different, but I have trouble putting my finger on it. Since I had been to that depth of emotion before, it felt more intentional this time. It was still a surprise in a lot of ways, but more so in that it was surprising to get there again, not that the emotional place itself was surprising and new. I allowed and willed myself to love hard and open.
I had dinner last night with my former rope top, M. The one I played with where it edged into sadism, her taking what she wanted in a way that I didn't enjoy giving, but in exchange for playing the way I wanted to play after that. I had been ok with that as a transaction between play partners. GF was not, wanted to be the one to push into that sadistic space with me first. M is actually in a similar place with her partner as I am with GF, someone who has lost pretty much all of the passion for kink that they once shared, and now she feels stuck because playing the way she wants to will hurt him, but not playing that way with him (or anyone) is driving her crazy.
I realized then and now that I've been getting really caught up in the idea of possibilities that this break up brings me. Mostly in play, also in dating. A chance to explore, to push myself, to knowingly do things that will probably be mistakes. It's kind of an ideal place. I'm young and new enough that there's a little leeway and generosity if I really screw something up. There's the advantage of being known in the community here in a generally positive sense. And the double edged sword of being temporary - either leaving behind a great community I fit into even in my extreme exploration, or fleeing from a community happy to see the backside of someone in a destructive experimental phase. I like to think I would have some boundaries and limits, even though I also know some of those will come from stepping over them and realizing in hindsight that they were there. I'm ok with that. I can take some self-shame and be just fine.
Once I get past that flush of "all the shiny things!" I know I'm going to crash a bit. I don't let myself think too hard on the positives of the relationship, the things that are prominent when we're together in person. The love and security. Safety in her arms. Laughing together. Waking up next to her. The eager look she gets when she's explaining something she finds interesting. Really hot sex. Because those things make me sad. Make me question my judgement. It would be so much easier to call her and say "I'm so sorry, I really fucked that one up, of course I will not play with others and we can be together and our love will make it ok." It's so, so very tempting to do that. I miss being her trusted someone, the person I share things with, the person who shows me the world through her eyes, the one who I send naughty pictures to, the one who Skypes with me as we make the same breakfast on the weekends. See the draft I have yet to post about playing as a fox kit.
Last night I kind of solidified in my mind that my relationship is over. Now I don't know what to do. I don't think there's anything she could say or do that would make me change my mind, because any sudden changes would make me suspicious of their validity or reliability. I don't think there's anything I could say or do to regain her trust and openness after this hurt, at least not in a realistic time frame. I think we both need to grow in different ways, ways that we can't do together. If we're lucky we might both grow and end up in a place that is compatible with one another. It's unlikely, but I like holding on to that hope right now. I still haven't given up 100% hope on my potential for some kind of relationship with S, which I hate to keep comparing to this situation with GF, but it does feel relevant a lot of the time :p
Will it ever not be awkward between us? I only have 2 ex girlfriends who have lived in the same city I did (or intend to), and both move in very different social circles from the one I generally occupy. We see each other only when we want to, and generally are quite happy to see each other when we do because it typically requires some work and volition on our parts. GF is someone I would, potentially, see all the time. Her friends are my friends, or at least they're people I'd like to count as friends.
Falling asleep. I'll ponder this more later.
Monday, February 2, 2015
i made an appointment today
The last time I was in therapy, I was…14? 15? Something like that. Wait, I was 16, I was driving. 16.
In hindsight, I’m pretty sure I could have been diagnosed
with depression younger, around 10 or 12. I was suicidal and miserable, but
high functioning to a large degree. I didn’t like turning in homework out of
fear of being judged less than perfect, but when I did I usually did well. My
parents basically left me alone as long as my bedroom wasn’t too messy (it
always was too messy).
I don’t know what changed, but at some point it got better.
Truly, I still have no idea. I bloomed – I started actively trying to get good
grades, I cut my hair, got contacts and braces, started vaguely taking an
interest in how I looked beyond just thinking of myself as fat. I had friends
who actually liked me, and I was happy and even kind of outgoing.
Then I fell back in. I had an experience that made me
confront that earlier depression, and the realization that I had wanted so
deeply to die scared the hell out of me. Life became a slog, made even worse
because I didn’t think I had any right to be depressed. Upper middle class kid
from suburbia going to the private college prep school, who got good grades and
was going to get into a good college and be successful, who had friends, and involved
parents who sat down and had dinner at the table together every night. I still
got in trouble for not cleaning my room. Pretty idyllic.
I started cutting, and blogging, and eventually got found
out. I told my parents, which pretty much derailed our illusion of a close
relationship and it still hasn’t recovered 10 years later, particularly after
the blow dealt to it when I came out a few months after that.
I liked my psychologist. She reminded me of my mom, if my
mom had asked me how I felt and been totally nonchalant about the gay thing. I
look back and regret that I didn’t delve deeper with her, didn’t ask her to
push me further into self-exploration. Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe I just
needed acceptance and a place where it was still ok to hide my dark places
behind the happy exterior defense, to chalk it all up to the stress of being a
teen in a high pressure, high expectation environment who was dealing with some
internalized homophobia.
My psychiatrist, on the other hand, distinctly didn’t seem
to like me. It was as though my happy façade bugged the heck out of her, and
the $90 check I wrote her after every 50 minute appointment for a med refill
made our encounter feel even more like a transaction vs any kind of a
therapeutic experience. I didn’t like her, but I suspect if I had actually had counseling
sessions with her, she would have broken into that inner sanctum where I hid
the places I didn’t want to see of myself.
I stopped therapy when I left for college, at 18. I called
my psychologist once or twice to check in, but otherwise launched out into the
next phase of life with a minimum of fuss and trauma. I fell back into some bad
self-injury habits that first year; cutting, binging and purging. I made a pact
with my then-future girlfriend to stop self-injuring. And after that year,
things kind of got better. I kept taking the Prozac, and life just generally
improved. By the time that same friend (who was now my girlfriend) went into a
deep downward spiral in her depression and anxiety, I no longer really got it,
I was in a different place that was far removed from the depths of her pain. We
broke up, after her 5th or 6th ER/inpatient admission,
both only 19.
By the time I was 20, I had stopped taking meds. Not
purposefully, mostly just forgot from time to time, and at some point I
realized that I didn’t even know the last time I’d taken it. I had a relative
die (somewhat distant, but one I remembered fondly) and I cried when I got the
phone call. That’s when I realized I’d been off the meds for a long time,
because for 4 years I hadn’t cried, not once.
The next time I considered therapy was a few years later,
when I was 23. I was in Peace Corps and my dad and step-grandfather died within
weeks of each other, I had broken up with my girlfriend, my new girlfriend (and
major support person) was moving back to America, and the country where I was
living had been dealing with ongoing civil unrest for pretty much the whole
time I’d been there. Basically, situational life stress was getting me down in
a big way. I called the Peace Corps therapy line, to set something up for when
I flew back to the country where I was serving. Some guy picked up the call and
asked me to tell him what was going on. I had no idea who he was, for all I
knew he was a receptionist, but he kept asking me to tell him more details so I
finally concluded he must be ok knowing all of the shit that was happening in
my life and I told him. His comment was “Wow. That is a lot to deal with.” Uh,
yeah, I know, aren’t you supposed to be helping me with that? He told me the
medical folks in-country could talk to me, but I could call back if I needed
more support. I just left it at that and asked for a bottle of melatonin when I
was having trouble sleeping. I liked our medical people, but it was a small
community, I didn’t want to use the people who tested my poop for amoebas as my
therapists.
Now I’m in grad school. I’ve been feeling like I should talk
to someone for a while, pretty much since I got to campus and found out that
the counseling center is free to students. My ex (the one from Peace Corps that
moved back to America) got me started on a pretty deep path of
self-exploration, always pushing me to figure out why I did or thought or said
particular things. I’ve missed that push to be more honest with myself, I think
I need that kind of push.
School is stressful, but I don’t think it’s that. I finally
decided to make an appointment when my relationship (what else?) kept becoming
a main feature in my stress. Long distance sucks, and having very different
ideas of what makes a happy relationship sucks even more. The anxiety, the hurt
over the breaking of nebulous boundaries, and the emotional roller-coaster have
been causing me more stress than Professor Wilson’s indecipherable lectures.
I’m trying to figure out what I want out of therapy. This
time it really is a focus – I need a reflection of my thoughts and behaviors,
in a way that allows me to analyze it and make changes to move me towards
getting back to a place that was happier. Right now I feel constrained,
uncertain, tentative, isolated. I don’t let myself be open to anyone but her,
my recently-maybe-kinda-ex girlfriend. I’m also engaging in some terrible
eating habits, becoming increasingly antisocial and unmotivated, and having
trouble focusing on school work and studying, which at the price I’m paying for
tuition is just not acceptable, even if I am getting A’s. I need someone who
will help me parse out what I’m actually trying to get out of kink and poly. Is
it something I will probably want in the long term, and how do I build a
healthy and respectful relationship around that? Is it something I will grow
out of, that I just need to get out of my system, and how do I get that without
stepping all over other people’s emotions along the way? How do I set good
boundaries with my former GF in a way that is healthiest for both of us?
Because right now my desire to avoid hurting her in the short term might be
setting her up for worse damage down the road, and I’d like to change that.
The good news – right now in class we’re studying Major
Depressive Disorder and its relatives. I can safely say that MDD and I are no
longer friends. Even with all the other things that are making me sad and
stressed and lethargic and guilty, at least I can say that, which does actually feel like a bit of a victory. Going into therapy with a goal - prevention, improvement - rather than as a last ditch effort to keep from drowning. At least one thing has changed in 10 years.
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