Perfectly Flawed

I have a lot of flaws. Some I embrace, pieces and parts of me that make me unique; some I accept with weary defeat, having finally realized I’ll have them forever; but one flaw in particular is a bitch to kick.

I don’t know how to disagree about something important. I simply do not know how.

(I *am* learning what doesn’t work though! )

I was just never taught how to express a differing opinion in a healthy manner. It was never done in my house. My mother ruled with an iron fist. Us kids were not. allowed. to. argue. Ever. At the first sign of disagreement, she’d plop us into separate rooms and there we’d stay until no trace of dissension remained. If it was a toy we were squabbling over, that toy disappeared immediately and forever. And none of us ever argued with her, unless we had our own obituary in hand. She’d crack us the very second she even *thought* we were about to raise our voice or give an opposing opinion.

Any discipline was done by her. Any questions we had, permission needed, decisions to be made – done by her. My mom definitely wore the pants in our house. My step-dad still doesn’t cross her. I can recall two serious disagreements between my parents during my years at home: One had my mom standing in the kitchen whipping plates and glasses across the room, smashing them against the wall demanding that my step-dad give in to whatever it was that she was wanting at the time, and the other time, my mom simply left. Left all of us kids, checked herself into a motel and refused to come home until, again, my step-dad gave in. Other times, she’d lock herself in the bedroom, or give us all the silent treatment (for days. DAYS and DAYS.) or refuse to cook or clean or get off the couch. All temper tantrums, holding out until she got whatever she wanted from any of us. (ask me again why I don’t want a female president? My experiences with women aren’t generally positive or stable.)

So. I’m sure you can imagine how any of those scenarios would work in this house, yeah?

Master and I don’t disagree a lot. There’s really no room or reason to, given that he’s the final decision on most things. I’m glad for it usually. I don’t have a whole lot of trouble allowing him that control.

There’s just that one thing though. Isn’t there always?

There is one thing that I have VERY strong opinions on. That one thing is also the last thing left in my life that I have a deciding vote on. He also has a say in it. Sometimes we disagree about it. Vehemently.

And there’s the problem. I do not know how to say something and make it have the impact I want it to have. Obviously I can’t start tossing dishes across the room. I can’t lock myself in the bedroom or pretend everyone around me is dead. Yet, my attempts to discuss it in a rational manner seem so.. ineffective. It’s feels, to me, like what I’d just said about that very important subject was given as much attention as me announcing that American Idol is my favorite television show. I know he hears me, I know he understands the words, but it seems to have no *impact*. This is The. Important. Shit. (to me). Seems like there should be something to indicate an understanding of that importance. Fireworks, or trumpets, or *something*.

You know what used to get me fireworks in past relationships? Announcing that I’m leaving. Done with the relationship, done with it all, just leave me alone and let me go. Those other men I pulled that on would stop what they were doing, come to me, BEG me not to leave and then *listen* to my Very. Important. Shit.

I try that on Master? He says okay. See ya later. Good-bye.

He simply doesn’t allow that sort of emotional manipulation. Which is a good thing, I guess. Though it sure doesn’t feel that way at the time.

Once I’ve said it, once it’s out there.. man.. things get so fucked up. I feel bound by my words, absolutely crushed that he’s not fighting to keep me. It starts the whole insecurity ball a’rollin’. He never wanted me, he’d be better off without me, if he wanted me at all, he’d try and stop me, he hates me, he hates my kids, he resents me, he’s tired of me…. and on and on and on. It takes on a life of it’s own, the original subject entirely forgotten.

I’ve done this exact same thing a couple of times now. We’ve only been together for 4 years, we still have a LOT of learning to do, a lot of growing to do. Old habits die hard. It’s not easy to accept that what worked for years and years will not work now. I even tell myself as the words start to form in my head, this isn’t going to work for you, dumbass. He doesn’t play this game. You know this. And yet the words come tumbling out anyway. Once it’s said, it can’t be un-said.

This time was made particularly difficult because the last time I went down this road, he told me he’d never do it again. The next time I threatened to leave, he was going to help me pack and send me on my way. This bullshit of using my collar and my submission as a bargaining chip is so fucked up, so ridiculous… and yet I’d tried it, again, and here we were. I’d already gone through the process and worked my way back to pulling my head out of my ass, ready to apologize and get on with life.. but there HE was, with his words from the last time hanging in the air between us.

It really was touch and go. He doesn’t say things lightly, and he doesn’t go back on his word very often. Love or no love, commitment or not, he means what he says. And really, what else could he do? The very first time he allowed me to manipulate things like that, the whole D/s concept would crumble like a house of cards.

What happened this time is that I was beginning to understand that I was losing this thing that I’d worked so hard to have, that I’d wanted for my whole life. That *I* was singlehandedly destroying us by holding so damn tightly to this one last thing to control, throwing away my marriage, my Master, my world, to keep my iron fist wrapped around this ONE thing…

So I gave it to him. It doesn’t matter what it was, not to any of you, it’s only meaningful to me and him. But I gave it to him and it was a huge step forward for me. In the right direction, for a change. I didn’t do it in the spirit of desperately trying to sway his decision, I did it because I know my reasons for squeezing it so tightly were out of fear and insecurity. Trust is not given or received in one fell swoop, it’s taken and offered in tiny spoonfuls, here and there. I was holding that last little spoonful, that last little out… and now I’m not.

It feels good. Scary, but good. Freeing. A little sad, too. That “thing” was my friend, my security blanket. Now it’s not.

But we’ve definitely turned a corner, too. Every bump in the road that you overcome is a victory.

Carrie said this not too long ago: “I wonder, sometimes, about those relationships where everything seems to be smooth all the time. My conclusion is that, for the most part, folks are lyin’. Lying to us, lying to themselves, lying to feel better about… whatever. Learning each other, living with each other, loving each other… none of that comes without some bumps along the way.

And I’ve decided I rather like my bumps.

They build character, yanno? They make us who we are, create the facets that create unique individuals. The bumps are what make us shine as couples, yanno?

The eye glazes over a smooth surface but lingers on the details of ridges and facets and… bumps.”

So yeah, one more bump. One more flaw identified, fought and conquered. One more step on the path.

You’re perfectly flawed
You’re perfectly incomplete
A work in progress
Perfection is killing me…

Perfectly Flawed. (damn good song. You should give it a listen.)

~cunt

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