I hate talking about my feelings.
Growing up, talking about how I felt wasn't safe--not at home, not at school. Crying was especially frowned upon. It was easier just to keep everything inside until it overflowed and I couldn't hold it in any longer. It spilled out into poetry, artwork, and anything else I could escape to in order to avoid self-confrontation.
So, I have become adept at ignoring how I feel about people, situations, or myself. I judge my feelings before speaking my mind.
(Don't ever ask me to free associate, because it isn't happening; Daddy found this out the hard way!)
My feelings don't matter, you see. Not to me. They're stupid. Ridiculous. Without merit. Meaningless.
But in any D/s relationship, emotional transparency is paramount, or at least that's what I've come to understand and believe. I've got room for improvement.
"How are you feeling," He'll ask.
"Fine," I reply. Always.
I get The Look(TM) and I know he knows I'm bullshitting both of us. Very rarely when I say I'm "fine", do I really mean it. But I have already judged my feelings to be unimportant and in just a split second I realize I've taken away his authority over me. I've taken away his ability to help, to give advice...to be Daddy.
Understandably, this frustrates him; not once has Daddy ever judged or ridiculed me. But the fear is still there.
He needs to know what's going on in my head in order to be able to make an informed decision about how best to help me, or give advice. In the middle of a scene, "I'm fine" is not an acceptable answer. I've at least learned that much, and am fairly good about giving an honest answer.
For everything else, I try my best to be a brave girl, a stoic girl.
In reality, I'm a sensitive, sweet, kind little girl who is afraid of her own shadow some days.
In reality, I just want to be loved and to love others with my whole heart. But there's a part of me which remains on guard, at all times. I've closed the most sensitive, vulnerable part of myself off from everyone because it was never safe to leave open.
Slowly, carefully, little cracks in the walls are appearing and the light is pouring through. He is patient. I have friends and loved ones who help, too--who truly do care for me. They all care if I'm hurting; they want to be there for me to cry with. To laugh with. To share my frustrations.
I do the same for them and not once have I ever judged; I believe feelings are their own justification. Yet applying that same logic to myself...? Forget about it.
I hate talking about my feelings.
But I'm learning to do it anyway. I owe it to my partners. I owe it to myself.
SOURCE: https://fetlife.com/users/73989/posts/5564833