Journals

I was cleaning out closets today and found my old journals. They were tucked away in a box and when I cracked them open I was surprised at just how much I had written down.

The journals date back to 2002 and my first steps in the lifestyle with a man I will always love, my first Dominant. We parted ways in 2004 and I will always regret the hurt I caused him. He certainly did not deserve the annoying, bitchy, willful "submissive" that I was. It was very unfair to him and reading my journals and the one comment he ever wrote in them reminds me how I really needed to grow up and actually become an independent woman. What gift could I offer him really? The gift of a little girl trapped and lonely and trying desperately to escape from the hell she found herself in.

No I had no real gift to give him, nothing to offer in return for the care he showered on me. So I took and took, feeling inadequate but somehow justified too. I look at the collar he once placed around my neck with fond memories, I even saved the ribbons and the box from it. The notes he tucked inside, the cards for holidays and birthdays. Endearments that he lavished on me.

My journals from those days are filled with fear and hate. The confident, sexy, independent woman I am today was well hidden. I thought being strong was unattractive and that if I was to strong that no one would ever want me.

The most basic human need is to belong, and so I hid away my strengths and flaunted my weaknesses in hopes of belonging.

I was so very wrong.

I am strong, smart, beautiful, alluring and powerful!

I love who I am inside and out, that frightened little girl inside me has found peace in the stability of knowing I am capable.

It is wonderful to know that I belong. Not so much to another person, which is very good. Or to a community that is supportive and upbeat, which I adore.

The best part is knowing, without any shadow of a doubt, that I belong to me. I carry my sense of well being and of belonging inside of myself.

The little girl has reconciled her past and become a woman. There are so many people to thank for it along the way, but mostly I thank myself.

I never gave up on me. I grabbed out for help when I was desperate and alone and used that help to regroup and regain my sense of self. I never quit trying to become free of the shame and shackles of my past. Now I give back in small ways, hoping to help others. Being trapped is not something I would wish on anyone.

I am free, and I am me.

The journals have been tucked away again, they are a poignant reminder of the struggle I came from and to be careful with myself and with those I love. The man that I wrote of communicates with me occasionally and I know he is well enough. I will never in a million apologies be able to atone for the mountains of grief I piled upon his dear heart. I will always remember the wonderful moments we shared, and cry alone in sadness at the pain I caused.

I can not regret any of it, all of it merely steps on the path I travel. I can not wish any of it was different, only hope the people whose lives I touched, regard me in the same way as I do each of them. A lesson to be studied and learned.

Precious self, keep on your journey, it is after all, not about the destination at all.

Thank you Goddess for being with me and in me through it all.