This tapestry called life…

I am tired. More than tired. What is happening is weighing on me more than I want to admit. Even to myself.

I keep telling myself ‘things happen for a reason’. Most times we never know what that reason is until we are well past it and can look back without all the emotions submerging us within their density.

Each event is another thread in the tapestry, we call life. I’m the hand that guides the needle. It is the choice I make that decides what color of thread, and just wear the needle will poke into the tapestry to begin the stitch or end the stitch.

Sometimes we are blessed to find our tapestry joins with another and our needles are guided by the same hand or two hands joined as one or we find our threads complimenting one another as we are joined to form a pattern together.

Then at other times we again find ourselves alone weaving the beautiful patterns within our personal tapestry. Or we find ourselves in contrast to others and the tapestry becomes beautifully discordant.

I have a good imagination. Throughout my life I have always been able to imagine the road I want to take, or a variety of roads available to me. Today though, ever since I have chosen to embrace my submissive and then the diagnosis of breast cancer, I have trouble imagining the various roads ahead of me.

Let me clarify that a bit, to explain what I mean. I can see the possibility of having two paths, one where I meet a Dominant and I have a choice, the first either to talk with him or the second, to not talk with him. This I can see. I can comprehend. However, in the past I could imagine all kinds of scenarios taking place for each path I would choose and I could imagine it in great detail. I would write them in my head like a story and I would decide which one of these paths I would prefer to take. For instance, with the path of meeting a Dominant, say I chose to talk with him. I could then see several other paths, one where we talk and go our separate ways, the second where we talk and only become really good friends, the third where we talk and build a relationship and become lovers, or even a fourth where we talk, we feel the sexual attraction and we agree to explore it knowing it will never become anything permanent. In each of these, I could weave many detailed stories how each happens.

Now, I can still comprehend the pathway, say of me meeting a Dominant, understanding the choices I could make to either talk with him or not talk with him but when I try to visualize or imagine in great detail different scenarios which could take place; that is the part I am finding I can no longer do.

I don’t know what this means. Does it mean I’ve lost my will to imagine or to try and create? I doubt this is the case because I can create fictional stories which have nothing to do with me trying to imagine different scenarios in my real life. Does it mean I no longer want to imagine the future? Or does it mean I do not trust myself?

I think about all the decisions I’ve made in my life and the results of those choices. Knowing now what I do about myself I can see how those choices helped me to hide who I was not only from others but from myself. Now that I know this about myself and have embraced being submissive, I feel lost. I am no longer sure if I am making the right decisions. I am no longer sure of how I desire my future to go. I don’t want to create a fantasy world that will fall apart with the slightest breath. I want to build something strong. Something which will withstand the winds of time and hardship. My imagination doesn’t know how to do that. It is afraid that if it imagines something fiercely beautiful, strong and daring, naked and intelligent, it will not be real and it will not last.

I will take the chance. However, it won’t be from weaving an imaginary tapestry. It will be from a graceful courtship of the tapestry of life.

What I need to figure out though is how to break this stalemate. I know without a doubt ‘things happen for a reason’. I also know without a doubt that we need to have a clear vision of what we need or desire in our life. That clear vision is what aids in drawing that very thing to us.

One of the problems I’ve had is having a clear picture of my submission. I don’t like labels. I know some submissives call themselves baby girls, and they know they want a Daddy Dom. I know others call themselves slaves and they know they want a Master.

But is there really a clear demarcation for everyone?

I have always resisted being labeled. I have blonde hair yet I rarely ever called myself a blonde. I have some red in my hair and some would call me a strawberry blonde. I have some darker browns in my hair so some others would call me a dirty blonde. My hair could even be called light brown now or even brown because I’m no longer that sunbathing sun lover I used to be. Just for conformity sake on forms I’ll mark blonde. I’ll mark protestant for religion when I no longer claim any religion and my spirituality doesn’t conform to any religion or spiritual entity.

So when I consider myself as submissive I don’t look at it as a label. I feel it in my being as of being my true essence in the sense of what characterizes a submissive. Would I classify myself submissive? I know I have said I am but I do so for others to be able to grasp some kind of understanding of what I need to feel complete with a partner. Will I be that submissive who kneels and has a collar and has to have a set of rules to follow every day?

I honestly don’t think I could fit into a nice tidy little box like that.

Someone recently said I am complex. He is the first person who really said that to me and when he did, I could tell he found this exciting. I’ve never in my life had anyone be excited over my complexity. In fact, I have no doubt many of the men I’ve known were glad when we went separate ways because of my complexity.

Sometimes I tried to hide that complexity but in doing so not only was it difficult to maintain but I had to constantly weigh and measure what it was I wanted to say, then for me it became a falsehood something I do not respect in others and so I found myself not respecting myself.

I don’t fit into nice little categories. I never have. All of my doctors past and present found this out and are currently finding this out. I don’t fit into their nice little tables when it comes to comparing my stats with others my age.

The truth is. I don’t want to fit into nice little categories. My parents tried to put me into the category of a sweet little girl when I was growing up. They were soon disillusioned of that idea. More often than not I was found playing in the dirt with my brother’s dump trucks, or playing cowboys and Indians and most times I wanted to be the indian. I didn’t care that television portrayed them as savage. The indian I was wasn’t savage. My indian didn’t fit into that box. Girls at school wanted me to fit into their little clique, wearing the makeup, sexy clothes, and being the girls the boys all wanted. I wasn’t that girl either. I was more comfortable without makeup than I was with it, and I’m still that way.

All I ever really needed in my life was one or two really good friends, and to live and believe the way I wanted to live and believe. But in this day and age if you don’t fit into any categories people have a hard time connecting. They want to be able to look at their friend and in their mind know exactly what box their friend fits into. When they can’t do that, then friendship seems to be too difficult to maintain. Which I find ironic. I find trying to categorize anything a difficult chore. I’m horrible at filing paperwork because of this. So, my friends are not nicely placed in a box. In my mind, they stand out by my side, and they help catch what I cannot catch. It doesn’t matter if they are male or female, in my book I’ll play dolls with anyone, male or female. I’ll play ball with anyone, male or female. And lately I’ve begun to believe the same for intimacy.

This tapestry of life isn’t about me, and it isn’t about you. The threads represent what we have learned along the pathway of our journey. And my journey isn’t about nice tidy little boxes, or categories, or labels. My journey is about exploring the texture of the tapestry. It’s about observing what happens to the colors as we merge, as we move, as we explore.

So, when I think of my submission, I have difficulty visualizing what it would be like. So, when I try to create a clear perception of what I desire, all I can visualize is a man, a Dominant, who is in need of a submissive and will be excited to discover all her complexities as we explore together the patterns in the tapestry each choice is creating.

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About Kate Spyder

I'm a creative individual finding her way in her writing. I enjoy expressing my deep thoughts through poetry and stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them.
This entry was posted in A Submissive's Journey, Journal and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to This tapestry called life…

  1. Pingback: Out of order and things that bind, rub and constrict… | Breathe In My Touch

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