My chest aches with the weight of held breaths…
Every fiber tightens, my inner self screaming to release the energy trapped within me.
But I CANNOT.
I will not.
I absolutely refuse.
Growing up in a household where tiptoeing and holding breath was the norm, one wrong move could very well become my undoing.
Everything needed to be absolutely perfect in Her eyes.
Or else…
The problem— She moved the goal posts in any which direction Her heart desired.
Mommy Dearest
The concept of “mother” became, for me, the ultimate Dominatrix archetype.
Cruel. Vindictive. Merciless. Punitive. Contemptuous.
Observing her treatment of father…
This must be what all men secretly crave—to be reduced to mere threads of their former selves as She tossed the remnants into the air, frustration with his very presence permeating every corner of our home.
She belittled not with her appearance or sexuality, but with raw, verbal force, instilling fear through her venomous words. She knew precisely how to both elevate and devastate you with just a glance.
Father wasn’t the only recipient of Mother’s “love”…
I, too, was subject to the same treatment. It wasn’t the homophobic slurs meant to shatter father’s self-esteem, but rather the constant attacks on my femininity and purity. To Mother, I was tainted from birth, a scarlet letter sewn into my being. Any hint of softness, nurturing, or gentleness provoked her scorn.
I became a hollow version of what was required. Survival, after all, demanded it.
I embodied this version of Her for the majority of my young adult life.
Seeing men as a means to control, demean, humiliate. It was their purpose for existing.
I became curious in the art of tinkering within a man’s mind using my words, my tone, my gaze.
I became a duplicate of Mommy Dearest, while also allowing my repressed feminine essence to radiate through. This energy, hiding my sexuality, my sensuality, is potent and has the ability to both create and destroy worlds.
My previous career in helping facilitate the dissolution of marriages in the NYC divorce law [battle] field allowed me to further navigate intense environments of emotional turmoil.
After years of simultaneously destructive and constructive living, I sought out intensive therapy and medication, from modern medicine to holistic, shamanic practices.
Spiritual and somatic practices of mindfulness and breath work merged with classical BDSM scenes of flogging and breath play. Oh, the irony.
I’d existed in the extremes of life and reveled in the limbo states between the duality.
I’d veered too far into one aspect and life would remind me to get my ass back into equilibrium, return to harmony.
The pendulum will swing back at a point…
It always does.
(to be continued)