For those who have followed me for a while, you will probably remember at least one time where I have described myself as feeling “blocked.” The coincides with a decreased number of posts and fewer of those posts reflecting my own personal feelings. I refer to this state as blocked because what is going on is that something is preventing me from readily accessing my deeper feelings, and most notably, my ability to enter the vulnerable emotional state where the feelings behind my submission reside.
In most cases there is a definite cause. e.g. a bad fight with T, my depression setting in, etc. Other times it is a prolonged period of minor disruptions to my world that gradually wear me down. When it happens in the slow way it will often take me a while to pinpoint what has changed and led to this. I had been feeling this way for about a week and trying different methods of reconnecting with myself, often with the help of those who are close to me. I finally got to the bottom of it last night.
What I am about to write will probably make very little sense to some people but I will try to describe it as best I can. Lately I have felt too comfortable with myself. People have been too supportive, too accepting, and too kind. My submissive side was born of pain and rejection. It was nurtured by being made to feel “safe,” but not “good.”
Praise or encouragement for the things that I do, the things that I write, the help and support that I may provide, etc. are okay. Unconditional acceptance for who I am rather than for what I do… is foreign to me. I’m not used to it. It actually makes me feel a little uneasy inside. It conflicts with my perceived reality. I’m screwed up. Slowly I start to acclimate. I start to believe with my rational mind. You would think that this would help me.
The words actually remove me from my vulnerable self. They feed my alpha. They create a fragile and precarious balance. They feel like niceties fed to me and create an artificial sense of comfort. I feel like a kid with one leg being told he can be a professional soccer player. Do I dare believe?
My damaged heart does not. It walls off in lieu of wishful thinking. I appreciate the people that try to build me up. I wish I could respond to it like a “normal” person would.
Last night a good friend of mine did me a very large favor. She was honest with me. It took work. It took prodding. The words were blunt. “What a sad broken little man who has to wear that to get aroused.” These ripped down my walls and pierced deeply into my truest self. The result was a sense of peace while I plummeted into my subspace, surrounded by my vulnerabilities and swimming within the feelings that resonate so deeply within me. This is my truth. This is the truth behind the faces. This is what is spoken behind closed doors. This is what is spoken in my absence. What a rare treat it is to experience this level of honesty. I was thankful for her words.
Accepting myself was accepting my truth. It was not convincing myself of something false, it was accepting what is the truth. I am not afraid to face it. In fact, by facing it I feel real. Those who accept me as a sad broken little man are those who I hold dearest. You make me feel safe without trying to convince me of something that I am not. Through this I felt unblocked.