I left with little S after breakfast this morning and we came home again in the afternoon. It's a fact of life in our family that we all actually have a better time if we split up. It's sad and not at all how we thought it would be to be parents, but it is what it is. We do things all three of us every now and then but we need a lot of time apart too.
So in a way it's been a really good day, little S and I had a good outing and now she and Mistress are playing downstairs before bedtime and I'm relaxing upstairs. I think the little one has had a good day, and both me and Mistress has gotten time on our own and a chance to rest and recuperate. What we haven't got is anytime together.
We said a brief good morning before breakfast, but we can't have any normal grown up conversations over the meal or around it. And when we came home we pretty much changed shifts at the car. Mistress stayed outside and played and I went inside and rested. Before bed I'll watch a video with little S in bed and tonight it's my turn to read the bedtime story.
When little S is asleep, it's our time, we can be grown ups for an hour or so, and say anything we need to say. Cuddle and hang out and possibly doing something sexy or kinky. But we go to bed at around ten, and we would even if we didn't have to go to work or school because little S always wake up early and can't abide one minute without a parent.
One way to look at it is of course that we have a spoiled kid, that if we just raised her better she would be able to let other people finish a conversation uniterrupted or stand that her parents hug each other. Another view is that she's perfectly normal and behaves like every six year old and that the idea that parents would be able to exchange a sentence during a day together is asking for too much (that's my mothers' view, by the way).
I honestly don't think there's all that much we can do differently, without resorting to threats or physical violence. We've tried a lot of different tactics and I'm pretty convinced little S does everything she can to please us and do what we want her to do. I also don't think she's exactly like every other kid on the planet. I've seen the other kids, and even more, I've talked to their parents. They can do stuff we can't, without even thinking about it.
I do think we have an intense kid with a high need for social interaction and with a low impulse control for her age. She's all over the place and need a lot of time and attention in order to manage ordinary everyday things. If we don't support her, her anxiety levels goes through the roof. She's also really smart, kind, sweet, a good friend, has a great imagination, she's brave and caring and wonderful in many ways. But... no. She's not like most kids.
And that means that we can't do things many parents, many families, can. Get five minutes, or even one minute, alone together during a day, being the one we miss the most. We need to arrange things, make sure we get that time, because it doesn't just happen.
On the other hand this spring we went on a trip to Iceland and we rode Icelandic horses all three of us. Little S rode on a horse on her own, trotting and galopping and climbing the rocks and wading the rivers just like the adults. She had better control over her horse than most of the adult tourists on the tour. There's things we can't do, but there's a lot of things we can do and do that other families wouldn't. I don't want to change her a bit. I just want her to go to sleep soon so that I can cuddle with her other mother...
Showing posts with label housework. Show all posts
Showing posts with label housework. Show all posts
Jan 24, 2016
Dec 2, 2012
Whine and stuff.
When the baby is sick everyone's unhappy. This working full time/studying full time and then handle the kid when she gets a cold, is tough under any circumstances. Add in me being on the verge of going back into depression and still having nowhere near my usual capacity, and Mistress getting more and more rundown by the double burden of job, commute and housework - well it doesn't work.
We get exhausted and grumpy from the effort of simply trying to get our day-to-day life to work out some how. Bleeergh.
I wish we could get a vacation. Unfortunately, what we get is half a meter of snow and -20 degrees Celsius. Just what we needed.
We get exhausted and grumpy from the effort of simply trying to get our day-to-day life to work out some how. Bleeergh.
I wish we could get a vacation. Unfortunately, what we get is half a meter of snow and -20 degrees Celsius. Just what we needed.
Nov 22, 2012
Playing hairdresser
I realised one more thing I do that I'm good at. I cut Mistress' and little S' hair. I've been training on Mistress since little S was an infant and the last time she was at the hairdresser resulted in her feeling hurt and upset. They never get how she wants it, and they always try to turn her into a girly girl. No matter how many times she says "classic mens look". Even when she brought me along for extra support could we manage to explain to the girl with the scissors that no, she did not want girly sideburns. Or hairspray. Or a nice feminine touch to her bangs.
So I've been practising, and shortening it gradually. Every time she reacts with an "Oh my God! What have you done!" and after an hour or so, she's used to it and likes it. Now I'm done to a 5mm buzz cut, and it's suits her perfectly.
Little S just gets her shortened at the neck and straight bangs at the front, so that the hair doesn't fall in her eyes. She's not overly found of combing, and her hair is kind of thin and flying all over the place, so it looks best a little shorter.
I guess cutting hair is a service, of sorts. I think that if I want to look for things I could be said to do specifically for Mistress, it makes much more sense to look at the specialised, once in a while-things, that takes guts and creativity. Those I'm good at. Routine stuff? Naaah. Not my thing.
So I've been practising, and shortening it gradually. Every time she reacts with an "Oh my God! What have you done!" and after an hour or so, she's used to it and likes it. Now I'm done to a 5mm buzz cut, and it's suits her perfectly.
Little S just gets her shortened at the neck and straight bangs at the front, so that the hair doesn't fall in her eyes. She's not overly found of combing, and her hair is kind of thin and flying all over the place, so it looks best a little shorter.
I guess cutting hair is a service, of sorts. I think that if I want to look for things I could be said to do specifically for Mistress, it makes much more sense to look at the specialised, once in a while-things, that takes guts and creativity. Those I'm good at. Routine stuff? Naaah. Not my thing.
Nov 15, 2012
How it is.
Mistress worked from home today, but was away between breakfast and lunch time. When she was on her way back, she called me, and among other things she asked me to make her a cup of coffee for when she returned. I dutifully said "Yes Mistress!" and then promptly forgot about it. I finished my own coffee, changed clothes, managed to corner the dog so that I could get his little jacket on, and then went out on a run with him. Five minutes later I remembered the coffee.
I turned around, jogged all the way home (with a confused doggy jumping beside me) and made coffee. When I was finally done and had made it out of the house again, Mistress arrived. She completely agreed on my prioritising, and kissed me good bye as I went out on a second try at getting some exercise.
Anyway. The point is that this is what happens when you've bad working memory. I was officially diagnosed with ADHD a week ago. This is who I am. This is how I function. I can absolutely be meaning to do something, and then completely lose track of it for a while. And I spent the whole last year fighting this, trying my absolutely hardest to change, to do better, to straighten up and manage life like everybody else does. The only thing that got me was a complete, clinical burn-out, depression and a lot of anger and arguments.
I can't make this go away.
I can compensate. I can use things to make me remember. I can live a life where nothing catastrophic occurs if I don't remember. But most of all, the most important thing, is that I can forgive myself.
Before, I would have berated myself all the way home, I would have had a furious monologue in my head about what a terrible person I am, what a disappointment and burden for Mistress, how stupid and worthless of me to not even be able to remember a direct order for five minutes. It's a strategy of sorts - emotions help memory, fear and anger can help to motivate actions, and it probably would raise my ability to remember a similar order in a similar situation a little bit. But only a little bit. And to a monstrous cost.
It was so good to realise I don't do that any more. Now I actively try not to be ashamed, not to be angry. When the inner monologue start I identify it and ignore it. It's not true. I'm not bad. I'm not disrespectful. It's not a matter of not trying.
This is just how I'm wired. I'm impulsive. I've got a bad working memory. I have problem concentrating. I need more sleep than most people. I have strong feelings, strong impulses, fast reflexes, intense energy. This is just me. The only thing that happens if I hate myself over it is that I have less energy left to other things.
Luckily, it's me Mistress wants. She did say I was an "epic failure" at being a house wife a while ago, but added that I was a very good slut. And I guess that's how it is. If she wants someone to manage her house work, she'll have to get another slave.
(That would be kind of cute. She could get some pretty submissive boy who could walk around here half naked, help us out with little S, and keep things clean. I bet that when I've graduated and have a job we could support a third person together.)
If she sticks with me, what she'll get is a devoted mother to her child, a loving partner, a obedient slut and an understanding friend. But she wont get someone who remembers a lot of things or has any sense of order and structure. That's just how it is.
I turned around, jogged all the way home (with a confused doggy jumping beside me) and made coffee. When I was finally done and had made it out of the house again, Mistress arrived. She completely agreed on my prioritising, and kissed me good bye as I went out on a second try at getting some exercise.
Anyway. The point is that this is what happens when you've bad working memory. I was officially diagnosed with ADHD a week ago. This is who I am. This is how I function. I can absolutely be meaning to do something, and then completely lose track of it for a while. And I spent the whole last year fighting this, trying my absolutely hardest to change, to do better, to straighten up and manage life like everybody else does. The only thing that got me was a complete, clinical burn-out, depression and a lot of anger and arguments.
I can't make this go away.
I can compensate. I can use things to make me remember. I can live a life where nothing catastrophic occurs if I don't remember. But most of all, the most important thing, is that I can forgive myself.
Before, I would have berated myself all the way home, I would have had a furious monologue in my head about what a terrible person I am, what a disappointment and burden for Mistress, how stupid and worthless of me to not even be able to remember a direct order for five minutes. It's a strategy of sorts - emotions help memory, fear and anger can help to motivate actions, and it probably would raise my ability to remember a similar order in a similar situation a little bit. But only a little bit. And to a monstrous cost.
It was so good to realise I don't do that any more. Now I actively try not to be ashamed, not to be angry. When the inner monologue start I identify it and ignore it. It's not true. I'm not bad. I'm not disrespectful. It's not a matter of not trying.
This is just how I'm wired. I'm impulsive. I've got a bad working memory. I have problem concentrating. I need more sleep than most people. I have strong feelings, strong impulses, fast reflexes, intense energy. This is just me. The only thing that happens if I hate myself over it is that I have less energy left to other things.
Luckily, it's me Mistress wants. She did say I was an "epic failure" at being a house wife a while ago, but added that I was a very good slut. And I guess that's how it is. If she wants someone to manage her house work, she'll have to get another slave.
(That would be kind of cute. She could get some pretty submissive boy who could walk around here half naked, help us out with little S, and keep things clean. I bet that when I've graduated and have a job we could support a third person together.)
If she sticks with me, what she'll get is a devoted mother to her child, a loving partner, a obedient slut and an understanding friend. But she wont get someone who remembers a lot of things or has any sense of order and structure. That's just how it is.
Oct 25, 2012
Trust and things
The thing is, I'm deadly afraid to lose her. That's the fear that drives me when I get angsty. That she'll leave me, that I wont be good enough for her, that she'll decide she doesn't want me any more. Being sick makes me more of a burden, at the same time as this particular sickness (depression) makes thoughts like that seem real and plausible. That's kind of what depression does.
But I fear too that I'll lose her to illness. That the burden of taking care of me and little S and her job and not having enough fun things in her life will make her depressed too, or exhausted. That she'll drift away from me, not by intention but because of fatigue. That the sheer effort to put one foot before the other will take all her energy and there will be nothing left to me. Like I was this summer.
So when she express thoughts about being unhappy, about not getting enough of the things she needs (like sleep, or time for herself, or time and energy to exercise) it makes me really really afraid, and really really motivated to do something about it. And when she doesn't respond to all my helpful suggestions and doesn't follow through on my excellent (in my view) plans, I get frantic and frustrated.
And there I go again, taking responsibility for things that's not mine. I don't own that. She does.
If she tells me what's going on with her, it will ease my worries and make me feel more in control, and it will also let her take advantage of my perspective and experience. So that's generally a good thing. But she doesn't have to do that. She has every right to solve this problem the way she sees fit, involving me as much or as little as she likes.
And even though the depression keeps screaming other things in my ears, as long as she doesn't say anything else, my primary job is still 1) manage school and 2) get better. "Overseeing and managing Mistress health and make her tell everything so that I can have control" is not even on the list. It's on a different list. A black one. Crossed out.
I just have to trust her.I don't get why that's so god damn hard.
But I fear too that I'll lose her to illness. That the burden of taking care of me and little S and her job and not having enough fun things in her life will make her depressed too, or exhausted. That she'll drift away from me, not by intention but because of fatigue. That the sheer effort to put one foot before the other will take all her energy and there will be nothing left to me. Like I was this summer.
So when she express thoughts about being unhappy, about not getting enough of the things she needs (like sleep, or time for herself, or time and energy to exercise) it makes me really really afraid, and really really motivated to do something about it. And when she doesn't respond to all my helpful suggestions and doesn't follow through on my excellent (in my view) plans, I get frantic and frustrated.
And there I go again, taking responsibility for things that's not mine. I don't own that. She does.
If she tells me what's going on with her, it will ease my worries and make me feel more in control, and it will also let her take advantage of my perspective and experience. So that's generally a good thing. But she doesn't have to do that. She has every right to solve this problem the way she sees fit, involving me as much or as little as she likes.
And even though the depression keeps screaming other things in my ears, as long as she doesn't say anything else, my primary job is still 1) manage school and 2) get better. "Overseeing and managing Mistress health and make her tell everything so that I can have control" is not even on the list. It's on a different list. A black one. Crossed out.
I just have to trust her.I don't get why that's so god damn hard.
Fighting again.
I just went off the phone with Mistress, she hung up on me. Right after I declared that I didn't want to talk with her anymore, because everything felt wrong and bad and unfair. I'm crying and I have been for awhile.
Turns out that she refuses to share things with me because she claims that leads to catastrophe and negative consequences she can't deal with, and that she's sorry she ever showed me that she was unhappy.
And I feel that if she can't share things with me, if I can't support her and be allowed to be there for her when she's in trouble, what kind of relationship is this? What good am I, if I'm so horrible at supporting her that she'd rather lie than tell me things?
And what kind of relationship can we have when she's deliberately lying to me, and claims that is the responsible choice? I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with her being unhappy, knowing full well that she is unhappy, and having her tell me to my face that it's not the case? All the while seeing her unhappiness manifesting itself in a thousand ways.
Most of all I'm pissed off that she thinks she can hide things from me. She can't. She's a terrible lier. I know when something is wrong, and knowing it and not being told about it turns me in to a nervous wreck. I can't understand how she thinks that is better for me or would be less harmful to my health than her simply telling me straight out.
I get that she's in a tight spot. I know, I know very well, that she does a lot more than her share around here, and that time and resources are limited. I know that our decision that I should continue in school despite being sick and instead leave off responsibility for home and kid has left a big burden on her, and now that I'm starting to feel better it is gnawing on me that I get to do things; rest, be creative, exercise, meet friends, that she rarely gets to do.
But the thing is, the infuriating things is, that I know this! It's no secret. She's not protecting me or her pretending that all is fine, especially when no one buys the act. There is nothing I want more in this world than for her to be happy, and I would gnaw off my left foot if that could make it happen. I want to support her, help her, be there for her in any way I can, and I could do that a lot more and a lot easier if only she would talk to me.
But she doesn't. She lies and hides. And when something slips, like it did yesterday, she actually apologised to me for letting it slip. I think that classifies as around top ten of least wanted apology in the history of apologies.
I don't want to be open and honest and vulnerable and straightforward to someone who isn't the same to me. The idea makes me frantic.
---
We skipped that whole talking-in-the-phone-part and went to emails instead. Actually a good medium for us - we're so damn emotional and reactive that a IRL-conversation very easily spins out of hand.
No, she didn't mean she would or should lie to me. Yes there are things I can do for her. Yes, I'm a valuable part of her life and having me is a lot more on the pro-side than on the con-side. Yes, I shall back off and give her space and we'll talk about it in good time, together and unstressed.
Crisis averted. Or well, the actual problem of us having much to small resources and her being exhausted and me being sick and our support-network totally bailing on us still exists. Those wont go away by writing emails about it. But now it feels like we're on the same side again, and that's the most important part. The rest of life will sort itself out, one way or another.
Turns out that she refuses to share things with me because she claims that leads to catastrophe and negative consequences she can't deal with, and that she's sorry she ever showed me that she was unhappy.
And I feel that if she can't share things with me, if I can't support her and be allowed to be there for her when she's in trouble, what kind of relationship is this? What good am I, if I'm so horrible at supporting her that she'd rather lie than tell me things?
And what kind of relationship can we have when she's deliberately lying to me, and claims that is the responsible choice? I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with her being unhappy, knowing full well that she is unhappy, and having her tell me to my face that it's not the case? All the while seeing her unhappiness manifesting itself in a thousand ways.
Most of all I'm pissed off that she thinks she can hide things from me. She can't. She's a terrible lier. I know when something is wrong, and knowing it and not being told about it turns me in to a nervous wreck. I can't understand how she thinks that is better for me or would be less harmful to my health than her simply telling me straight out.
I get that she's in a tight spot. I know, I know very well, that she does a lot more than her share around here, and that time and resources are limited. I know that our decision that I should continue in school despite being sick and instead leave off responsibility for home and kid has left a big burden on her, and now that I'm starting to feel better it is gnawing on me that I get to do things; rest, be creative, exercise, meet friends, that she rarely gets to do.
But the thing is, the infuriating things is, that I know this! It's no secret. She's not protecting me or her pretending that all is fine, especially when no one buys the act. There is nothing I want more in this world than for her to be happy, and I would gnaw off my left foot if that could make it happen. I want to support her, help her, be there for her in any way I can, and I could do that a lot more and a lot easier if only she would talk to me.
But she doesn't. She lies and hides. And when something slips, like it did yesterday, she actually apologised to me for letting it slip. I think that classifies as around top ten of least wanted apology in the history of apologies.
I don't want to be open and honest and vulnerable and straightforward to someone who isn't the same to me. The idea makes me frantic.
---
We skipped that whole talking-in-the-phone-part and went to emails instead. Actually a good medium for us - we're so damn emotional and reactive that a IRL-conversation very easily spins out of hand.
No, she didn't mean she would or should lie to me. Yes there are things I can do for her. Yes, I'm a valuable part of her life and having me is a lot more on the pro-side than on the con-side. Yes, I shall back off and give her space and we'll talk about it in good time, together and unstressed.
Crisis averted. Or well, the actual problem of us having much to small resources and her being exhausted and me being sick and our support-network totally bailing on us still exists. Those wont go away by writing emails about it. But now it feels like we're on the same side again, and that's the most important part. The rest of life will sort itself out, one way or another.
Sep 25, 2012
Love, sandwiches and getting better
Sometimes I dare to think that maybe, just maybe, I'm getting a little bit better. It's the beginning of the fourth week in school, and so far I'm not behind in my work. I manage to tag along with the rest, and for now, I can picture myself managing full time this whole semester. I still have an easy option of going down to 75% in February if doesn't work out, but it would be great if I could do this, it really would. We'll see.
We've kept strict to the idea that going to school is all I'm supposed to be doing. Today, Mistress would really have needed to stay at her job past her usual hours because she was heading up a workshop with foreign visitors, and it would have been polite and proper to see them off before heading home. My father was supposed to come and have pizza with me and little S, but he cancelled on us in the last minute, and noone else was available. And it really only was a matter of an hour or so, of her coming home maybe six o'clock instead of five.
But she didn't. When we couldn't get anyone to keep me company, she left at her usual time and came home to help me, so that I wouldn't have to deal with making dinner and taking care of little S by myself for an hour.
I love her. I love her so much. And I'm so grateful not to be expected to do things that is hard on me. To be allowed to rest for a while, to for once live in a way that isn't to difficult for me, or wears me down.
But the best thing isn't when I get to rest, or don't have to do something that would make me tired. The best is the moments when I have a little bit more energy than expected, when my resources for once is greater than the demands I face, and I can go a little beyond what she expects. That is the best.
This morning I helped make her a sandwich to eat on the bus, because she was running late, and later she texted me and thanked me, saying that not only was I making her life richer, I was also helping her out and making it possible for her to hold an advanced job position in a different city and still have family. I almost cried. I so very much want to be an asset to her, something that makes her life brighter and better, and I'm so often afraid that I'm not.
I wish I could make her a thousand sandwiches. What I can do is obeying her, and loving her, and do every thing in my power to get better and healthier, and do what I need to do to stay healthy. I know she much prefers the healthy, happy me, even when that means that I'm in the couch while she does everything else, than me working to hard and getting depressed. But I long for the day when I have energy to spare - because then I'm going to spend it all on her.
We've kept strict to the idea that going to school is all I'm supposed to be doing. Today, Mistress would really have needed to stay at her job past her usual hours because she was heading up a workshop with foreign visitors, and it would have been polite and proper to see them off before heading home. My father was supposed to come and have pizza with me and little S, but he cancelled on us in the last minute, and noone else was available. And it really only was a matter of an hour or so, of her coming home maybe six o'clock instead of five.
But she didn't. When we couldn't get anyone to keep me company, she left at her usual time and came home to help me, so that I wouldn't have to deal with making dinner and taking care of little S by myself for an hour.
I love her. I love her so much. And I'm so grateful not to be expected to do things that is hard on me. To be allowed to rest for a while, to for once live in a way that isn't to difficult for me, or wears me down.
But the best thing isn't when I get to rest, or don't have to do something that would make me tired. The best is the moments when I have a little bit more energy than expected, when my resources for once is greater than the demands I face, and I can go a little beyond what she expects. That is the best.
This morning I helped make her a sandwich to eat on the bus, because she was running late, and later she texted me and thanked me, saying that not only was I making her life richer, I was also helping her out and making it possible for her to hold an advanced job position in a different city and still have family. I almost cried. I so very much want to be an asset to her, something that makes her life brighter and better, and I'm so often afraid that I'm not.
I wish I could make her a thousand sandwiches. What I can do is obeying her, and loving her, and do every thing in my power to get better and healthier, and do what I need to do to stay healthy. I know she much prefers the healthy, happy me, even when that means that I'm in the couch while she does everything else, than me working to hard and getting depressed. But I long for the day when I have energy to spare - because then I'm going to spend it all on her.
Aug 21, 2012
Strengths, weaknesses and forgiveness
One of my main problems is that the responsibilities of a relatively poor thirty-something mother to a small child requires a skill-set is utterly unsuited to my strength and abilities. Kids and homes need structure, routine, predictability, order, the same things done at specific times at an even speed throughout the day. It's all about remembering time, keeping track of schedules, finding things, keeping things in order, focusing on several things at once, sorting information and keeping your calm.
I suck at all those things.
And since this is the work load I've got, I go through my days feeling constantly inadequate, with a never ending nagging feeling of not being good enough, of letting down my kid, and even worse, of letting down Mistress. I can't seem to shed the idea that she will look at me with disdain and cast me aside, seeing me unworthy as a partner and as a slave, since I'm so bad at the things I'm supposed by the circumstances and society to be doing.
And, since I spend a lot of times doing things I'm inherently bad at, I lose focus of the things I'm actually good at. I mean, I'm not useless. I just have some areas that I'm unusally weak at. But I also have some amazing strengths.
I'm full of life and laughter and fantasy. I'm imaginative and a good story-teller and an excellent mingler. I'm good at making friends and making people feel appreciated and at ease. I'm a good people person. I read very fast, and I learn very fast, and I have an intuitive nack for grokking systems, I can understand very complex things at a glance. I'm practical too, I'm good at carpentry and gardening and sewing and constructing things, and I'm good with animals. I'm physically strong, I can lift heavy things and work hard. I can take care of myself.
Actually, I'm good at almost everything that doesn't include paperwork, administration, order, routine, keeping an even speed at work or doing boring stuff for a long time.
I've been trying my hardest for the last year to be something that I'm not. To live up to a role, that of a classic mother and housewife, that is extremely illsuited for me. I've done this in part because I've thought it is what Mistress demandes of me. Because I thought that what she most needed was an equal partner in the house, or even more, a housewife, someone to take care of her home and her kid. I wanted to be that.
But what it got us was me being sick. In the end, I succumbed to exhaustion and eventually depression. I can't do it. Not that I don't want to, or am afraid to try it, what happened was that I broke down trying.
I have to rearrange my everyday life to get better and to stay better. I have to seek out and spend time at things that gives me energy and self-esteem, and accept and forgive myself for not being good at the things I'm weak at.
We've talked about it, and the thing is that Mistress has made it very clear that 1) she knew this about me since she met me fifteen years ago 2) she doesn't mind covering for my weak sides and complement my weaknesses with her strengths and 3) as long as I am myself I can't fail. She will never ever tire of me, abandon me or despise me, and I believe her.
And to her, she much prefer having a healthy slave that she has to tell to do the vacuuming and empty the dishwasher, to having a depressed, exhausted one who really really tries to remember but still forgets...
So right now, I'm scratching my creative writing itch by blogging, while she's busy playing with little S, much as she has all day. And I wish it was the other way around, but right now, I'm focusing on getting better, and instead of beating myself up about being a lousy slave, wife and mother I'm full of gratitude for the things she does for me, and proud of myself for taking care of me and making constructive choices in order to get better.
I'm never going to be a good housewife. But that doesn't mean I can't be a valuable partner, a good property and a good enough mother. But I do need to focus on my strength and allowing myself to do the things that comes naturally to me and is easy for me, instead of beating myself bloody over things that is near-impossible.
And yes, if I was a single mother, I would've been in debt, living in filth, having a child with dirty clothes that ate things out of boxes most days. Or, perhaps, getting help from society in various forms. That's my reality. That doesn't make me less valuable as a human, though, and since I'm blessed with a fantastic partner, our home is clean and our child is healthy and we have enough money. I just have to forgive myself for not being the one that makes it happen.
I suck at all those things.
And since this is the work load I've got, I go through my days feeling constantly inadequate, with a never ending nagging feeling of not being good enough, of letting down my kid, and even worse, of letting down Mistress. I can't seem to shed the idea that she will look at me with disdain and cast me aside, seeing me unworthy as a partner and as a slave, since I'm so bad at the things I'm supposed by the circumstances and society to be doing.
And, since I spend a lot of times doing things I'm inherently bad at, I lose focus of the things I'm actually good at. I mean, I'm not useless. I just have some areas that I'm unusally weak at. But I also have some amazing strengths.
I'm full of life and laughter and fantasy. I'm imaginative and a good story-teller and an excellent mingler. I'm good at making friends and making people feel appreciated and at ease. I'm a good people person. I read very fast, and I learn very fast, and I have an intuitive nack for grokking systems, I can understand very complex things at a glance. I'm practical too, I'm good at carpentry and gardening and sewing and constructing things, and I'm good with animals. I'm physically strong, I can lift heavy things and work hard. I can take care of myself.
Actually, I'm good at almost everything that doesn't include paperwork, administration, order, routine, keeping an even speed at work or doing boring stuff for a long time.
I've been trying my hardest for the last year to be something that I'm not. To live up to a role, that of a classic mother and housewife, that is extremely illsuited for me. I've done this in part because I've thought it is what Mistress demandes of me. Because I thought that what she most needed was an equal partner in the house, or even more, a housewife, someone to take care of her home and her kid. I wanted to be that.
But what it got us was me being sick. In the end, I succumbed to exhaustion and eventually depression. I can't do it. Not that I don't want to, or am afraid to try it, what happened was that I broke down trying.
I have to rearrange my everyday life to get better and to stay better. I have to seek out and spend time at things that gives me energy and self-esteem, and accept and forgive myself for not being good at the things I'm weak at.
We've talked about it, and the thing is that Mistress has made it very clear that 1) she knew this about me since she met me fifteen years ago 2) she doesn't mind covering for my weak sides and complement my weaknesses with her strengths and 3) as long as I am myself I can't fail. She will never ever tire of me, abandon me or despise me, and I believe her.
And to her, she much prefer having a healthy slave that she has to tell to do the vacuuming and empty the dishwasher, to having a depressed, exhausted one who really really tries to remember but still forgets...
So right now, I'm scratching my creative writing itch by blogging, while she's busy playing with little S, much as she has all day. And I wish it was the other way around, but right now, I'm focusing on getting better, and instead of beating myself up about being a lousy slave, wife and mother I'm full of gratitude for the things she does for me, and proud of myself for taking care of me and making constructive choices in order to get better.
I'm never going to be a good housewife. But that doesn't mean I can't be a valuable partner, a good property and a good enough mother. But I do need to focus on my strength and allowing myself to do the things that comes naturally to me and is easy for me, instead of beating myself bloody over things that is near-impossible.
And yes, if I was a single mother, I would've been in debt, living in filth, having a child with dirty clothes that ate things out of boxes most days. Or, perhaps, getting help from society in various forms. That's my reality. That doesn't make me less valuable as a human, though, and since I'm blessed with a fantastic partner, our home is clean and our child is healthy and we have enough money. I just have to forgive myself for not being the one that makes it happen.
Jul 29, 2012
It's not a matter of not trying
I need to stop reading about "giving service" to my Owner. Or rather, reading about other people and their view that it's a necessary and integral part of being owned, of being a slave. I've read it to many times, and it's clinging to my mind like a burr. I don't like it.
The thing is, that the things that most submissive seems to describe that they do as "service" seems to be what most women in traditional heterosexual relationships do; have the main responsibility for the home and the kids, if there are any. Do the cleaning, do the laundry, plan the meals, shop for groceries, pick up around the house, clean the bathrooms, tend to the pets. Be the house-wife. More so, of course, if they stay at home and the partner is the provider, but it seems to hold true for those that work outside of the home too. "Giving service" seems to be an endless amount of housework.
And actually, I so wish I could do that. A not small part of me think I should do that. If not as her property, than as her wife and as a mother. I should do my half of all housework, and as the submissive partner, I ought to do even more.
But I can't.
What I can do, what I have done the last year or so, is try. Try try and try again. Make every effort to keep it all together, to take initiative, to remember routines, to get off the couch and do things in time, before she does them; I can try to make myself do the vacuuming, or write a grocery list, or pick up my clothes from the floor. I can try, and I do try.
Unfortunately, the actual end result is very very modest. Not very much vacuuming gets done. The clothes mostly stays on the floor. The grocery list stays half written, and the washing machine stays half full, with the dishes still on the kitchen table.
For the longest time, I've believed all of those around me that want to tell me that it's a matter of effort, of will, of ambition, or maybe of lazyness. That if I only try a little harder, of course I could do all those things. But I don't believe that any more.
I'm depressed now. I need to find what things in my life takes energy from me, and what refills my supplies. And the idea that I ought to do a lot of things that my peers do with little effort even though it's very very hard for me, is one of those things that takes energy. And so I have to ditch it.
Mistress reminded me that it is me she choose. "I could have been dating T." she said, and yes, she could. He's a good guy, no doubt, but rather boring, even though he showed good taste once upon a time and flirted with Mistress. Yes, she could have hooked up with him and had a normal, ordered, boring life with a man that definitely is better at vacuuming and cooking than I am. But she didn't, she choose me.
"And I love it when you do stuff" she told me, and reminded me of the flowers I got for our patio. For how I always go all in when I clean the bathroom. She told me that she likes my crazy projects, all the little things I do that makes our life together better, funnier, more interesting. No, I can't keep a routine for the life of me, and get sick when I try to hard. But I still do valuable things for our family. Just not the classical house-wifey stuff.
We made a pact. I promised to never roll my eyes or sigh or look grumpy when she tells me to pick clothes up from the floor or start the dishwasher. And she promised to never roll her eyes or sigh or look grumpy when I don't do anything like that if she doesn't tell me to. Because it's not doing them that is the problem. It's the actual "get off the couch and do them now" that is ridiculously hard for me to do.
The thing is, that the things that most submissive seems to describe that they do as "service" seems to be what most women in traditional heterosexual relationships do; have the main responsibility for the home and the kids, if there are any. Do the cleaning, do the laundry, plan the meals, shop for groceries, pick up around the house, clean the bathrooms, tend to the pets. Be the house-wife. More so, of course, if they stay at home and the partner is the provider, but it seems to hold true for those that work outside of the home too. "Giving service" seems to be an endless amount of housework.
And actually, I so wish I could do that. A not small part of me think I should do that. If not as her property, than as her wife and as a mother. I should do my half of all housework, and as the submissive partner, I ought to do even more.
But I can't.
What I can do, what I have done the last year or so, is try. Try try and try again. Make every effort to keep it all together, to take initiative, to remember routines, to get off the couch and do things in time, before she does them; I can try to make myself do the vacuuming, or write a grocery list, or pick up my clothes from the floor. I can try, and I do try.
Unfortunately, the actual end result is very very modest. Not very much vacuuming gets done. The clothes mostly stays on the floor. The grocery list stays half written, and the washing machine stays half full, with the dishes still on the kitchen table.
For the longest time, I've believed all of those around me that want to tell me that it's a matter of effort, of will, of ambition, or maybe of lazyness. That if I only try a little harder, of course I could do all those things. But I don't believe that any more.
I'm depressed now. I need to find what things in my life takes energy from me, and what refills my supplies. And the idea that I ought to do a lot of things that my peers do with little effort even though it's very very hard for me, is one of those things that takes energy. And so I have to ditch it.
Mistress reminded me that it is me she choose. "I could have been dating T." she said, and yes, she could. He's a good guy, no doubt, but rather boring, even though he showed good taste once upon a time and flirted with Mistress. Yes, she could have hooked up with him and had a normal, ordered, boring life with a man that definitely is better at vacuuming and cooking than I am. But she didn't, she choose me.
"And I love it when you do stuff" she told me, and reminded me of the flowers I got for our patio. For how I always go all in when I clean the bathroom. She told me that she likes my crazy projects, all the little things I do that makes our life together better, funnier, more interesting. No, I can't keep a routine for the life of me, and get sick when I try to hard. But I still do valuable things for our family. Just not the classical house-wifey stuff.
We made a pact. I promised to never roll my eyes or sigh or look grumpy when she tells me to pick clothes up from the floor or start the dishwasher. And she promised to never roll her eyes or sigh or look grumpy when I don't do anything like that if she doesn't tell me to. Because it's not doing them that is the problem. It's the actual "get off the couch and do them now" that is ridiculously hard for me to do.
Jun 30, 2012
Remembering a few things
"If only you could realise that your enough, as you are, even now when your sick. That's all I want from you. That you stop worrying about not being good enough for me, and keep on being yourself. I don't care if you do housework - as long as you are you, yourself, and stay here with me."
And I get that. I get what she means. And when she's talking to me, I do believe I can do it. When I'm home alone these long, lonesome days, with only my own blaming voice in my head, it's much harder.
"I want you to remember some things. Some important things. You're good. And you're enough. And you're loved. Do you think you can remember that? I'll remind you of it, every day."
In the end she wrote it on my arm, with a heart around the words. That I'm good. That I'm good enough. And that I'm loved. Especially the last bit brought tears to my eyes - but then again, I cry a lot these days.
I'll remember it. And I'll find this damn depression-monster that is sneaking up on me and infecting my brain, and I'll kill it. So there. 'Cause I belong to her, and nobody else, not my own malfunctioning brain either.
(And then she wrote her initials on one of my ass-cheeks, with a ball-point pen that tickled a lot, and she made me laugh. One of the billion things I love her for is how she can always make me laugh, no matter what.)
And I get that. I get what she means. And when she's talking to me, I do believe I can do it. When I'm home alone these long, lonesome days, with only my own blaming voice in my head, it's much harder.
"I want you to remember some things. Some important things. You're good. And you're enough. And you're loved. Do you think you can remember that? I'll remind you of it, every day."
In the end she wrote it on my arm, with a heart around the words. That I'm good. That I'm good enough. And that I'm loved. Especially the last bit brought tears to my eyes - but then again, I cry a lot these days.
I'll remember it. And I'll find this damn depression-monster that is sneaking up on me and infecting my brain, and I'll kill it. So there. 'Cause I belong to her, and nobody else, not my own malfunctioning brain either.
(And then she wrote her initials on one of my ass-cheeks, with a ball-point pen that tickled a lot, and she made me laugh. One of the billion things I love her for is how she can always make me laugh, no matter what.)
May 30, 2012
Summerplans
Exam today, exam tomorrow, my brain is mush.
But next week I have summer holidays, and hopefully wont need to use my frontal lobe at all until September. Or something.
I hope to be able to for once be Mistress' little housewife during June (I have a job starting in July), even though I'm not really good at it. Stepford wifely I'm Bette Midlers charachter before the transformation. "Have you done the dishes?" "No, but I've finished the chapter." I hope a lot of time on my hands, and a sincere will to please may make up for some of my lack of ability.
But mostly, I need to rest, slow down, get healthy and do things that replenishes my energy levels rather than draining them. A lot of free time and summertime and friends will most probably do that.
But first, statistics exam tomorrow. I can't wait...
But next week I have summer holidays, and hopefully wont need to use my frontal lobe at all until September. Or something.
I hope to be able to for once be Mistress' little housewife during June (I have a job starting in July), even though I'm not really good at it. Stepford wifely I'm Bette Midlers charachter before the transformation. "Have you done the dishes?" "No, but I've finished the chapter." I hope a lot of time on my hands, and a sincere will to please may make up for some of my lack of ability.
But mostly, I need to rest, slow down, get healthy and do things that replenishes my energy levels rather than draining them. A lot of free time and summertime and friends will most probably do that.
But first, statistics exam tomorrow. I can't wait...
Apr 13, 2012
Good enough?
On a completely different note, I've been thinking about "service" and about "the Masters needs go first" even though in this case of course it's Mistress. It's all Fetlifes fault. Other peoples ideas, seeping in to my own.
I usually read about stuff like that, shrug and think "well that's not me, or maybe I'm simply bad at it". My first reaction is that no, I don't put Mistress' needs before my own.
And then I contemplated it a bit more, and realised that yes, of course I do. To the best of my ability. But my ability is so far below my own idea of what standard I should live up to, that in my eyes it doesn't even count.
I definitely "put her needs first" in so far that her happiness is necessary for my happiness. If I know a way to please her, I do it. I think my contentment and safety and well-being is necessary for her happiness in equal regard, there's really not much imbalance there.
But often, I don't know a way, or am not able to fulfill it. I'm often tired, and overwhelmed. She's not always that clear about her preferences. Or her preferences is for me to do things for myself, to rest or do something I like. And sometimes, I make sure I do things like that, because otherwise I literary break down.
I have a bad back that's bothering me a bit, and when I stand a lot, it hurts, intensely. It's some sort of nerv damage, one of many side effects of pregnancy. I try to get to the gym a lot and exercise in order to get rid of the problem, but it means both that I have to rest from time to time, even when it's inconvenient (right now, for example - I would much rather dust our living room, but it's wiser for me to sit on the sofa), and also to be at the gym rather than studying or cleaning for example.
This winter, from November and on, I've been sick a lot more than I've been healthy. Two bouts of the flu, both followed by bacteria, the first one giving me pneumonia and the other one sinusitis. I've been eating penicillin for the first time in my adult life, twice in four months. One or two bouts of stomach disease, and a whole lot of colds. Between that, not much service going on.
And winter combined with sickness led to an even greater concern, namnely depression. I was clinically depressed during january and february, and it's not until the spring came and I broke free of it that I've realised just how bad it was. It was horrible. And when everything is a bleak drudgery, interspersed with angst and horrible, pervasive pictures of hurting yourself, that service orientation thing kind of goes out the window. I tried desperately to perform okay as a mother, wife and student, and I tear up even now when I consider how badly I failed.
Depression is a bitch. I know I'm in danger of falling down that terrible hole every winter, I obviously suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder, as do my mother, and epidemically that's worst for women in the end of their thirties. I'm in the beginning of my thirties, so it's likely to get worse each year from now on. It's very clearly stress induced for me, so if I had a choice, I would work half time during december, january and february, and save myself the grief. That might be possible in the future, but right now, the next winter, we'll be as poor as this one, and it'll be just as important for me to do well in school. I dread it a little.
Anyway, depression = bad for everything. But I think my shame and guilt over being sick and not being able to do the things I want to and other people need me to do, makes me a harder judge on myself then necessary. I can't compensate for all the months I lost. But if I stop trying to do that, I am able to see that what I do do now, actually might be enough. At least, most importantly, my Mistress says it is.
She's satisfied with me. She thinks the things I do are good and she's glad I'm doing them. It's just that I do things that come naturally to me, and feels easy, and she does things that comes naturally for her, and feels easy to her, and I've a hard time realising that it might also be the other way around.
She pays the bills, and I'm so grateful for that. But I manage our social calender, make sure we stay in touch with friends, and she's grateful for that. She vacuums and dusts and do the dishes more than me - but I always help, without her asking. And I always clean the bathroom, and the fishtank. And while she does a lot of housework, I keep little S occupied and out from under her feet, and that's no easy task either...
I think I'll simply have to stop berating myself, be content with the fact that my Mistress is happy with me and promises to tell me if she isn't, and that I can't help being sick, in either way. I'm good enough. My Mistress say so.
I usually read about stuff like that, shrug and think "well that's not me, or maybe I'm simply bad at it". My first reaction is that no, I don't put Mistress' needs before my own.
And then I contemplated it a bit more, and realised that yes, of course I do. To the best of my ability. But my ability is so far below my own idea of what standard I should live up to, that in my eyes it doesn't even count.
I definitely "put her needs first" in so far that her happiness is necessary for my happiness. If I know a way to please her, I do it. I think my contentment and safety and well-being is necessary for her happiness in equal regard, there's really not much imbalance there.
But often, I don't know a way, or am not able to fulfill it. I'm often tired, and overwhelmed. She's not always that clear about her preferences. Or her preferences is for me to do things for myself, to rest or do something I like. And sometimes, I make sure I do things like that, because otherwise I literary break down.
I have a bad back that's bothering me a bit, and when I stand a lot, it hurts, intensely. It's some sort of nerv damage, one of many side effects of pregnancy. I try to get to the gym a lot and exercise in order to get rid of the problem, but it means both that I have to rest from time to time, even when it's inconvenient (right now, for example - I would much rather dust our living room, but it's wiser for me to sit on the sofa), and also to be at the gym rather than studying or cleaning for example.
This winter, from November and on, I've been sick a lot more than I've been healthy. Two bouts of the flu, both followed by bacteria, the first one giving me pneumonia and the other one sinusitis. I've been eating penicillin for the first time in my adult life, twice in four months. One or two bouts of stomach disease, and a whole lot of colds. Between that, not much service going on.
And winter combined with sickness led to an even greater concern, namnely depression. I was clinically depressed during january and february, and it's not until the spring came and I broke free of it that I've realised just how bad it was. It was horrible. And when everything is a bleak drudgery, interspersed with angst and horrible, pervasive pictures of hurting yourself, that service orientation thing kind of goes out the window. I tried desperately to perform okay as a mother, wife and student, and I tear up even now when I consider how badly I failed.
Depression is a bitch. I know I'm in danger of falling down that terrible hole every winter, I obviously suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder, as do my mother, and epidemically that's worst for women in the end of their thirties. I'm in the beginning of my thirties, so it's likely to get worse each year from now on. It's very clearly stress induced for me, so if I had a choice, I would work half time during december, january and february, and save myself the grief. That might be possible in the future, but right now, the next winter, we'll be as poor as this one, and it'll be just as important for me to do well in school. I dread it a little.
Anyway, depression = bad for everything. But I think my shame and guilt over being sick and not being able to do the things I want to and other people need me to do, makes me a harder judge on myself then necessary. I can't compensate for all the months I lost. But if I stop trying to do that, I am able to see that what I do do now, actually might be enough. At least, most importantly, my Mistress says it is.
She's satisfied with me. She thinks the things I do are good and she's glad I'm doing them. It's just that I do things that come naturally to me, and feels easy, and she does things that comes naturally for her, and feels easy to her, and I've a hard time realising that it might also be the other way around.
She pays the bills, and I'm so grateful for that. But I manage our social calender, make sure we stay in touch with friends, and she's grateful for that. She vacuums and dusts and do the dishes more than me - but I always help, without her asking. And I always clean the bathroom, and the fishtank. And while she does a lot of housework, I keep little S occupied and out from under her feet, and that's no easy task either...
The fishtankPublished with Blogger-droid v1.5.8
I think I'll simply have to stop berating myself, be content with the fact that my Mistress is happy with me and promises to tell me if she isn't, and that I can't help being sick, in either way. I'm good enough. My Mistress say so.
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