I’m not in my early thirties, anymore. Someone told me that I “looked like a Barbie doll”, the other day. When I was in my teens and twenties, I heard things like that. It’s been awhile, though.

Most days, I put some effort into how I look. I very rarely wear just a t-shirt or sweatpants. I think I own maybe three to five t-shirts. Most of my wardrobe is tank tops, or crop tops/tank tops with a sweater or plaid shirt over. I have a ridiculous amount of blue jeans in my closet. I might have a problem with hoarding blue jeans. I wear black leggings often, too. I also love jackets. Any and all jackets. I’ve never bought a purse. Ever. All of the ones I’ve had I got as gifts from family or friends. I couldn’t care less about those. Unless it’s the Louis Vuitton. I am a little bit crazy about that one. I have had the same pair of sneakers since…gosh? Probably since my daughter was a baby. I have a whole lot of boots, heels, and sandals. I do like to look nice. I mostly put in effort for Adam, though. I don’t really care that much anymore about what anyone else thinks. I wanted to cut my hair to just below my shoulders and Adam made a face. I didn’t end up cutting my hair. After our wedding, I donated 14 inches of my hair to a wig charity for children and women with cancer. My hair was just at my shoulders for awhile, after that. I think that’s the only time I’ve had “short” hair. I guess I’ve grown up. I hadn’t really thought much about it, until I got called “Barbie”. It’s always nice to have someone compliment you, I just don’t live to impress anyone other than Adam. I mentioned to him that I’d discussed Botox with someone and he told me “absolutely not!” He doesn’t think I need it. So, I told him I was going to do it and see if he noticed. He assured me that he would notice. I told him that I, clearly, needed it then! It’s not because I feel the need to impress other men or women. It’s because I can see myself changing everyday, when I look in the mirror. I want Adam to always think I’m beautiful. I’m very afraid to get old. My kids already think I’m old! Hell, twenty year old me would’ve called me old now. Maybe it’s vain of me?

It’s deeper than just superficial outer beauty that I’m afraid to lose with age. Yes, that scares me, but my mother, and her mother let themselves go. It was almost as if they wanted to be old women. They gained weight. Stopped trying. They spent most of their time “doctor shopping”, looking for whatever drugs they could get prescribed. I can still do my moves from cheerleading in high school! One handed cartwheels, handstands. I can go outside and jump on the trampoline with the kids. I can keep up with them at the park. I don’t groan and struggle everyday when I get out of bed. I’m not up all night because something hurts. I’m horny almost all the time! Our friends can’t believe how much sex Adam and I have. I’m terrified to lose these things. I don’t want my body to go to hell. I don’t want to let my mind deteriorate. As the age or forty looms where I can see it coming, my fears grow. I don’t want to be a plastic, fake, “real housewives” looking bimbo. I only wish I could know what my future looks like. Will Adam still think I’m pretty in 10, 20, 30 years? Will my kids have kids that I can still play out in the yard with? What if I turn into a burden for my family? My greatest fear is to be like my mother, and her mother. My hope, is that I can be like my dad, and his side of my family. My grandma, his mom, is still beautiful. She never acts “old”. She still gardens, paints, loves to cook and bake. She lives at the same home my dad and his siblings were raised in. She’s so tough, and she’s had her share of heartache. She has, around, 25 great grandchildren, and my sister’s about to give her another! My dad just turned 60 years old. He’s in great shape. He’s healthy. He’s active. He’s still nowhere near ready to retire and sit in a rocking chair waiting to die. Please, God, let me be like that!

As I’ve mentioned from the beginning of my journey here in “Chronicles in Submission”, Adam has always handled me and my shit. Pretty much from the start of our marriage, he would spank me. It was more in a sexual/sensual way. Occasionally, it was a bit more serious. If I back talked a little too much, or if I blatantly disobeyed something, he would come over to me and swat my butt enough to leave a stinging sensation. The thing is, even that was done on a much much more rare occasion, until recently. I honestly used to read other women’s accounts of trouble they’d gotten into with their husband and think to myself, wow, I must be a saint of a wife, because I hardly ever make Adam that upset with me! As it turns out, he just let a whole lot of shit slide for a long time. He isn’t a hard ass. He really is the most generous and considerate man! He hates to see me crying, especially tears that he brought on. He actually respects me and my opinions, too. He appreciates my insight. He recognizes that I am not an unintelligent, incapable, weak minded partner. In fact, I’m pretty darned smart, and I can back it up with plenty of evidence proving my intellectually gifted brain I’ve got here in my head. I was taking care of myself, by myself, when Adam and I met. I wasn’t “needy”. And, I’m certainly not “weak minded”. I don’t imagine there’s a single soul who’s met me who’d suggest that! I know it seems as if I’m near constantly sharing my vulnerabilities, my tough moments, my insecurities on here, but that’s because I don’t often share them anywhere else. I don’t just sit and talk about my feelings everyday. I might be struggling inside just to make myself get through the day, but I don’t show it easily. I smile and I fake it til I make it. I think Jackie has seen me really cry maybe a handful of times in the nearly 20 years we’ve known each other. My sister, even less. I do talk with Jackie a lot, and I occasionally will even send her one of my blog posts to read. That’s much easier for me to do than to sit and try to form the right words face to face with anyone. I started this blog back in like 2019. I didn’t tell Jackie or my sister or my friends about it. I didn’t even tell Adam much.

We moved into our new house shortly after Christmas 2022. It was almost right away that things started to look different between Adam and I. My dad had lived with us in our old house for a year and a half and only bought his new house right before we bought ours. Adam wasn’t ever exactly afraid to stand up to me, even when my dad was there, but it was different. As I’ve written about, we were also going through the hell that my mother was putting us through. I wasn’t in the healthiest mental space. Adam showed me a lot of grace, patience, and understanding. I’m not suggesting that he was wrong for doing that, either. There should absolutely be extenuating circumstances that call for forgiveness without the need for immediate confrontation and punishment. I needed him to love me through it. I was getting beaten down in every way by my mother. I would get angry and lash out sometimes. I wasn’t always patient with him. Things are different now. Adam and I both recognize that. He was starting to stand up to me and my bullshit much more. The only problem was, he wasn’t often successful. He will even admit that, when it comes to fighting words, I will win. I am good at either disarming him by making him laugh when he confronts me, or letting “angry Eve” out and trading him “punches” with hurtful, damaging words. Ultimately, nobody wins. Neither of us felt good about ourselves. Nothing was solved. Hateful things said couldn’t be taken back.

I started to write in my blog again. I found myself, so often, trying to explain something I’d written to Adam and failing miserably. Finally, I began to talk to him about my writing after I shared some of it with him. This made it easier to have conversations with him, because he understood where I was coming from. We talk so much more than we have in, maybe ever. I don’t know if Adam has ever seen this deeply into my heart and soul before. I don’t think I’d ever let him that far “in”. We had talked about many of the things I’ve written, but I didn’t necessarily share everything. If it was too hard for me to talk about, or I just wasn’t ready to let him know that much of me, I’d leave those parts out. That didn’t help. He was only getting a pieces of the puzzle. How could he see the whole picture that way? I’ve finally began to understand that he loves me, all of me. He wants to be involved. He needs to know things, even if they’re hard to share with him. He’s never been judgmental or criticized me. It’s just the opposite! We are still learning and discovering things about one another. I was told, a long time ago, that I’m a “hard shell to crack, but a good egg”. I’ve also been told many, many times that I insist on learning things “the hard way”. These are accurate descriptions of me. I’ve told Adam, even recently, that “I can’t know what I don’t know”. Some of the things he’s asking of me, like not “side stepping”, which I understand is, essentially, lying. That’s just not something I used to feel guilty about. I know that makes me seem awful, but it’s the truth. It’s not easy to never do that, now. I don’t think he’s wrong for insisting that I knock that off. It’s things like this that we’re learning about each other. Opening up and being brutally honest with ourselves and each other makes a world of difference. I often ask Adam if he’s really mad at me? I can’t know what I don’t know! It can be hard for me to determine whether he’s being seriously serious, or not. Spanking me like he did last time he wasn’t happy with me, though…yep, he meant it. I’ll tell the truth, if he had brought his hand down like that one or two more times, I’m not sure I could’ve held back tears. I’ve never cried from the physical pain of a spanking, yet. It was knowing he was serious that made me cry. When I can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, and feel it in my behind, fuck, that breaks me. He’s never done that until recently. Not like that.

Here I am, over a week out from the last time Adam got upset with me, and I know I don’t look forward to that experience happening again. Having said that, it’s amazing how much it’s affected each of us. Adam is much more confident. He isn’t afraid to tell me no. Occasionally, I panic just a little bit about that. I can’t “take it back”. The genie is out of the bottle now! I trust him, though. I pray that he keeps wearing this confidence. I hope that he is unafraid to “humble” me again the next time I do something stupid. I know what a spanking that actually really freaking hurts is like. It isn’t fun. I’m not about to set myself up to do that again. Most of all, I’m amazed and thankful for the growth we’ve both experienced. I think our marriage is more solid than ever. I look at Adam and see someone who can take care of me. He’s stronger, braver, softer, and harder. He isn’t letting me talk or walk my way out of trouble. I can’t escape it. That seems like it would be terrifying! It’s reassuring to me, actually. There’s an even deeper level of trust that’s growing inside me for my husband. He’s here. He’s there. He’s not going anywhere. And, he’s going to make sure that I don’t, either.

Y’all….I hate the cold! We almost moved to Florida instead of staying here. Almost. My kids are such Tennessee kids and I didn’t want to take them from the friends and family we have here. I would’ve been perfectly fine with decorating palm trees for Christmas, though.

I spent the afternoon baking, yesterday! Made chocolate chocolate chip muffins (essentially, they’re brownies at that point). I made chocolate chip cookies, and I made banana bread. I don’t actually like chocolate all that much. Adam and the kids love it. The banana bread is my thing. I sometimes make chocolate chip cookies without the chocolate chips, because I love them like that.

Adam, the kids, and I are making a quick trip to his mom’s this weekend. It’s an 8-9 hour drive, so not pumped about that, but I love his mom. We’ll leave Friday and be home Sunday night. So, a very quick trip.

Today is Tuesday. The day I’ve found myself in trouble the last several weeks. I have done absolutely nothing that would piss off Adam this week! Last night, I was extra in the mood to jump my husband’s bones. He asked me what came over me? I explained that I felt good. I wasn’t sad about something. I wasn’t feeling guilty about anything. I just felt…good. I didn’t need him to assure me he still loved me. I need him to love me, of course! I just didn’t need that to be the biggest reason for sex with him, last night. I climbed on top of him and started to kiss and softly bite his neck and his earlobe. I undressed myself and then him. I was showing Adam how much I wanted to ravish him. It was great, but I’m a little sore now. Anyway, I believe I am going to have a historically different blog post for tomorrow, Wednesday morning, because I’m not getting spanked tonight. Well, not like…that.

I had told Adam how I felt about the sweater I’d worn when I most recently got into trouble with him. He wanted me to wear it for my sister’s baby shower. He told me I looked beautiful in it and that I could turn it into a “good luck” sweater. Also, it was the right color to wear to support our Nashville Preds! I wore it. Everything went perfectly with her baby shower and we all had a great afternoon.

Saturday evening, we watched the “Ghostbusters” movie with the kids. My daughter and I made popcorn and we had a quiet night just us. My boys passed right out during the movie.

If I can just make it through the day without doing or saying anything I’m not supposed to, I think I can get through Tuesday without being in any trouble! It’s always either Sunday or Monday that something happens, and then Tuesday when Adam learns it happened. I was proud of myself a couple of days ago, because I went and told him about something I’d really rather not have. I didn’t do anything wrong, it was just one of those things that comes up and I’m worried it’ll make him stressed out. Normally, I’d have avoided mentioning those kinds of things and do my best to deal with it myself. Adam does not appreciate when I do that. He told me that he can handle things, I don’t ever need to protect him from stuff he really should be aware of. He said “How can I fix it if I don’t know about the problem?” Then he told me that he “has the penis in our relationship”, suggesting that I need to remember that and let him handle shit. I’m trying to be better about it. I think I have made pretty decent progress! I tell him a whole lot more these days. I slip up some, but it really isn’t nearly as much that I hold back from him as it used to be.

October is a rough month, for me. It happens to me every year since the Halloween night. Every year I think, maybe it won’t happen this year! And, every October, there comes a day when I “hit a brick wall”. Anniversaries of things are weird. Halloween, itself, isn’t that awful for me. I’ve got my kids to help get dressed up for trick or treating. I’m busy. It’s always before that when this wave of ick hits me. It’s frustrating, too, because I have sooo much good and happy going on in my life! I get kind of angry with myself for feeling sad. I don’t like to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they’ve hurt me. I feel I lose my power when I do that. While I was writing the post “more of my story”, my Apple Watch alarmed that my heart rate had risen above 100 beats per minute while I appeared to be inactive. I definitely had some emotion going through me, but I’m honestly okay. It helps to allow myself to remember and process tough stuff once in awhile. I’m not consumed by it. I’ll be just fine, like I always am.

Adam knew before I did what was happening to me, yesterday. He’d asked me to smile at him. I gave him a big, cheesy smile. He told me that was fake and then I laughed a little, for real. He was sitting on the couch awhile later. I came to him and asked to sit on his lap. He scooped me up into his lap and hugged me close. I told him I couldn’t understand what’s wrong with me. That I “hit that brick wall” today. He said, “it’s October, baby”. He knows me all too well. I hate that I spent my sister’s baby shower feeling sorry for myself, and then the next day feeling sorry for myself. I need to find that strength I usually carry. I don’t particularly like it when Adam feels sorry for me. I know that seems like a strange thing to say. I just don’t like to be so “weak”.

To this very day, there are weird “quirks” I have left over from trauma. Adam cannot “make out” or kiss me for long periods of time. I can’t stand shirts touching my neck. I can’t have ANYTHING in my face, especially covering my mouth and nose at the same time. I occasionally have panic attacks when I can’t escape his grip. I can’t predict when it’ll happen, it just does. He is always understanding and accommodating. There are times we are having sex, he’s on top of me, and he knows exactly when I’m starting to feel that panicky feeling. He will flip us over, so I’m on top of him, or he’ll just sit up and give me more room to breathe. There are times, even when I’m in trouble, he can sense that I’m freaking out and he will let me go. It’s only temporary, but he helps me get out of that panic before he continues on. Masks during covid were a very big struggle, for me. I can’t explain the absolute PANIC when something is around my neck, or covering my mouth and nose. It isn’t even like it happens always. It’s sporadic. I honestly don’t understand why it happens only sometimes? This is something Adam recognizes, though, often before I even do. Last week, when I was taken into our room and saw the belt and spoon on the bed, I turned to walk toward the bathroom door. I don’t know what my next move would’ve been, just that, it was a way to get further from the punishment about to come to me! Adam wasn’t even paying attention to what I was doing, so I thought! He was shooing the dogs out so that he could close the bedroom door. Without even turning around, he reached his arm back and grabbed ahold of my arm. I was shocked, because he almost never grabs my upper arm that way. It’s another weird quirk I have. I usually go into full blown freak out mode. I didn’t, though. I was actually just impressed how quickly and easily he stopped me from escaping.

This morning, I’m feeling much better. I woke up to the temperature in our house being only 67 degrees. My son just walked into the kitchen and said “dang mama, you got the whole winter ‘fit on today! Your heavy robe, fuzzy socks, pajama pants!” Well, this time of year, when the mornings are cool, but I’m not ready to cut on a furnace, I usually turn the oven on to heat up the kitchen a little bit when I get up. Adam doesn’t like when I do that. I did it Sunday morning, and when he came into the kitchen and caught me, he grabbed one of my wooden spoons and spanked me. It wasn’t hard like when he’s seriously upset with me, but he kept going as long as I kept telling him NO. I, for one, don’t think it’s that big of a deal to just let the oven run for 15 minutes to make the kitchen cozy! Finally, I told him “No, sir”. He fell for it! Told me that was more like it and put the spoon away. Hah! I told him “no, sir”. The response should’ve been “yes, sir” if I was trying to imply that I would listen to him and I won’t turn on the oven! Despite this “win” that I felt so proud of myself about, I did not turn on the damn oven today to warm up the kitchen. Even though I think he’s being ridiculous…

I moved out of my parent’s house when I was 17 years old. I moved into a little apartment with my first love, or I thought I loved him, anyway. I finished high school. I got straight A’s. I worked everyday after school. When I was around 22 years old, our relationship was over. I’d fought so hard for years to make it work with him, but he’d found someone else to care about, and I finally found the courage to walk away from this “doomed to fail” relationship. I had 2 jobs. One as a dispatcher at the sheriff department. One working with adults with developmental disabilities. I worked near constantly. Nights at one job, days at the other. Work and sleep when I could. I got my very own two story, two bedroom townhouse. I felt very proud, so independent, for the first time. Adam and I had reconnected through some mutual friends. We’d gone to many of the same parties when we were younger. We had friends in common. We’d never been anything more than acquaintances, though. I was absolutely not interested in a relationship at the time. I had a fling I’d been seeing briefly, but I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. Adam would show up at my place with a pizza and DVDs he’d rented. We’d watch them and he’d let me lay on his lap while he played with my hair. He never pushed me to go any further with him.

One Halloween night, I’d agreed to go out on a real date with Adam. First, I had this work party I needed to make an appearance at, and then I was going to call Adam and meet up with him. The work party was at one of the coworker’s house. When I arrived, he had made a “Bloody Mary” drink for me. I’d never had one before. I sipped on it, but drank less than a third of the cup. I remember waiting for others to get there and feeling awkward. This guy was old enough to be my grandpa! He was being weird. Flirty. I’d gotten up to use the bathroom, and I couldn’t even walk straight. He helped me up the one step to go into the house and showed me where the bathroom was. I remember texting friends that I didn’t feel right about this. When I opened the door, he was standing right there. I told him I wasn’t feeling very well. Next thing I know, we’re sitting on his couch and he’s putting his hand up my shirt. Rubbing my belly, moving slowly upwards. Then, he started to go down. Gripping the inside of my jeans with his fingers. I made an excuse to use the bathroom again. He told me to “hurry up”. My brain and body were not working together anymore. I stumbled to the bathroom. I tried to text friends. I’d texted Adam and asked him to come get me. He didn’t know where I was, though. He asked me to give him an address. Next thing I know, this guy, I’ll call him grandpa, busts in the bathroom door. I don’t remember but bits and pieces of what happened next. I know what happened, but my brain doesn’t like to tell me the story. My next solid memory is being in the bathroom again. I had managed to text about everyone I knew. I don’t remember this, but Adam tells me that I had called him at this time also. Adam had heard this guy banging on the door and yelling that “I’d better not be doing anything stupid”. One coworker responded and was heading that way to get me. This was the “fling” I’d been seeing before Adam. I walked back out, trying to be casual, although I was shaking and crying and fucked up on whatever he’d spiked my drink with. I put my boots on, my jacket, and walked out to my car. I started to drive as fast as I could away from there. My gosh, it’s a miracle I didn’t crash my car and hurt myself or someone else. Fling guy was coming toward me, in his car, but I couldn’t make myself stop my car. He wound up literally stopping his car sideways across the road so that I had to slam on my brakes and stop. He came over to me and I lost it. I screamed and cried and shook violently. He picked me up and put me in the passenger seat of his car. He parked my car along the road and got back into the drivers seat of his car and drove me home. I heard him talking to someone on his phone. Saying my name and to come to my house. I screamed “NO!!” I started to slap him and tried to smack the phone away from him. I didn’t want anyone to come over. All I wanted was a shower and sleep. As it turns out, he was on the phone with my best friend, Jackie. She and her then boyfriend overheard me scream NO and assumed it was fling guy who had hurt me. The police were called. Fling guy carried me into my house and laid me on my couch. I heard a knock on my door. I don’t even know who I expected it to be? I was still very out of it. I cracked open the door and it was another cop coworker. I tried to slam my door shut and he pushed his foot in so I couldn’t and opened my door. I screamed at him that I didn’t want to talk to them. They wouldn’t care. It would make things worse. I wanted everybody out of my damn house! I’m not sure how much time passed, but my next memory is my dad arriving to my house. It had to be after midnight by then. I was on the floor, refusing to speak or move. The police wouldn’t let Jackie or her boyfriend in, but they stood just outside on the porch. My dad just about punched someone who tried to stop him coming in. They allowed him inside. He sat on the floor with me and held me. He asked me to please tell them what happened. The freaking FBI, well the states version of them, showed up. I sat at my table and told everyone that grandpa had tried some things, but I didn’t remember if he’d been successful. I wasn’t lying. To this day, I have no memories of actually being raped. I only know that it happened because they found semen in my panties. I had no reason for it to be there. I hadn’t slept with anyone. They tested my blood alcohol level and it was zero. I was not drunk! They waited almost 9 hours to test my blood for drugs. At this point, they weren’t likely to find anything. I spent the night giving them my story and answering questions. They took my phone for evidence. They talked to Jackie and to fling guy. I was taken to the hospital the next morning. They did some of the rape kit on me. Took my clothes, plucked hairs, cut my fingernails. They gave me the plan b pill and antibiotics to prevent STDs. They tested for HIV and I had to come back, I think, 6 weeks later and then 6 months for retesting to ensure I didn’t have it. When it came time for the internal exam, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be violated any longer. I was exhausted. I wanted a cigarette so badly! I wanted out of this room I’d been trapped in for 6 hours while they poked and prodded me. I was done and I didn’t care to find anymore evidence or information anyway. I went home and Jackie stayed with me. She and her boyfriend had gone to Adam’s house and explained what had happened. Poor Adam had spent hours driving around waiting to hear from me that night. He thought maybe I’d just blown him off and gotten drunk and it had broken his heart. Hearing what had actually happened made him furious. Not with me, with grandpa guy. Jackie, her boyfriend, a few other friends, and Adam spent the afternoon with me. We watched movies and they grilled supper for us. The next morning, I was alone for awhile. I started to have real thoughts of harming myself. I felt dirty. I felt ruined. I felt like I would never be me again. Like a burden to the people I cared about. I also had this awful pain in my back that made it hard to even walk. I hadn’t noticed it until the evening before. It felt worse that morning. I walked into my doctors office and told them I needed to see my doctor. She was amazing. She got me right in and spent nearly an hour and a half with me. She made me promise not to be alone. She made appointments for me to come in and see her weekly. She scheduled an appointment for me to see a psychologist. She had me go in for a CT scan to see what was happening in my back. It turned out, I had bruised, swollen kidneys. She informed me this was only seen in terrible car accidents, or…violent sexual assaults. I was prescribed medications to help with the pain, and to help me relax and sleep. For the next several months, I’d only take them when I needed to dull my senses. I couldn’t even leave my house most days. Facing people anywhere was near impossible for me. The grocery store, the post office…everywhere I had to go was traumatic. The medication helped me to get through things like this that I couldn’t make myself do otherwise. This was the start of the addiction I struggled with.

Adam saved me. He was there for me through all of this. He was patient and kind and gentle. He never pushed me to give him affection. He never made a move without my saying it was ok. There was one evening, after I’d learned he would be allowed to return to work, I’d decided I was going to take my handgun and go shoot grandpa guy and then myself. I was driving in my car, gun in my purse, on my way to his house. Adam called me. He knew something was very wrong. Somehow, he talked me down and got me to turn around and go back home. He met me there. I never spent another night in that townhouse. I went to stay with Adam. Something intended to be temporary. I kept paying for my townhouse expenses for almost a year, even though I was never there anymore. We got legally married in secret. Didn’t tell anyone. That’s when I got out of the lease on my townhouse and officially called Adam’s house, home. That place was my safe place. It was anytime I had to leave it that my numbing medications became necessary. Somehow, it went from occasional use to everyday. Then, to everyday, several times a day. Adam, once again, saved me. He took charge and confronted me. He helped me to see what I was doing to myself and to us. He supported me through my decision to give up all my medications. I quit taking anti depressants, anxiety meds, pain meds…everything. I felt better than I had in longer than I could remember when I did that! I’ve never looked back. I quit, and I’ve stayed quit. It was about this time that Adam first began to punish me. It was very infrequent. I was pregnant and then busy with babies for several years. He was away with his work a whole lot more back then, too. He’s home every night, with rare exceptions, these days. I trust Adam with every fiber of my being. I know that he is always looking out for me. I understand why he holds me accountable for things. I love him for it. I may never know how many times my husband has helped to save me from spiraling downward and missing out on the wonderful gifts that life has brought me. If it hadn’t been for the sexual assault, I don’t know that I’d have ever let Adam “in”. I didn’t think I wanted or needed a man anymore. I don’t like to even think about where I might be had things not happened the way they did. I’m not exactly thankful for that situation! I think I just have learned to focus on how much good has come to me that probably wouldn’t ever have otherwise.

These are my thoughts for today.

I hosted my sister’s baby shower for her today. I’ve been seriously stressing it because I wanted everything to be perfect for her. I was 8 years old when she was born. I couldn’t wait! I loved that little sister and acted like a second mama to her. I spent a lot of time with her, even when I was a bratty teenager. She calls me her “sister mom” because, well, our mother isn’t exactly “mothering” these days. I had a tough moment this morning. While I was getting ready I had music playing, like always. It played a song by Nina Nesbitt called “When you Lose Someone”. That song is like it’s written for me with my mother. I realized, she should be here today! She should be helping to put on a baby shower. She should be part of all this. Our dad and his girlfriend (who’s amazing) were here. Our mother should have been here, too. I started to feel so sorry for her. Missing out on these huge moments in our lives. And then I got angry. Angry with myself for feeling sorry for her. Angry that I let tears roll down my cheeks, crying for what she threw away. Angry as hell at her! What kind of mother isn’t there for their own child’s baby shower? I haven’t seen her in almost three years. Neither has my sister. Our brother hasn’t seen her in even longer. She’s gone, but she’s not gone. She’s out there, somewhere. She’s probably too fucked up on Xanax, weed, alcohol, and pain pills to care that her children are living their lives without her. I am so mad at her. At the same time, I so wish she loved me. I wish she could love my baby sister the way she deserves to be. I wish I didn’t have to be my sister’s only “mom” who’s there for her when she’s celebrating big moments. I know this has to hurt her. We don’t talk about it much. I want to scream and cuss out that stupid bitch who refuses to give a shit! I also, deeply wish she could be here to hug me and support me and love me the way a mother is supposed to. I can’t imagine doing this to my babies. My GOD! I love them more than I can describe. It would absolutely kill me to not be a part of their lives.

My son had gotten his first “girlfriend” only a few weeks ago. He was pretty crazy about this girl, though. They’d played softball together. Gone to the homecoming dance at their school together. He talked to her everyday after school on his phone. Friday afternoon, I was plugging my iPad into the charger sitting next to my side of the bed, and I turned around. My son was standing there and he threw his arms around me and sunk his head into my shoulder. I asked him what was the matter?! He told me his girlfriend had text him and they’d “broken up”. His tears landed on my shoulder and I held onto him as long as he wanted me to. We just stood there, in my room, while he cried on his mama’s shoulder. That means everything to me! My little man comes to me for comfort. He came to me for advice. He needed me when he was hurting. I told him that he shouldn’t let that make him stay inside and be sad. I advised him to keep on playing baseball like a star and laugh, go hang out with your buddies, enjoy this time. When you’re his age, girls and boys don’t have a clue about each other! You want to, but you have so much learning to do. I told him “heck, your daddy don’t always find it easy to be married to me! It’s not always easy to be with him, either! You have to grow and learn. This is part of it. I know it hurts like hell, but I promise you, it’ll be ok.” I never want my children to have a time when they can’t come to their mama. I will be here for them for as long as I live! If my mom taught me anything, it’s what not to do.

I sent this to Adam this morning. I knew I was having a hard time dealing with the emotions flooding my system. I knew that he would understand. I just needed to tell him so that he knew what was going on with me. He was nothing less than amazing to me all day. I kept asking myself if this ever ends?? When does it stop hurting? It isn’t fair that so many happy moments get clouded by thoughts of someone who isn’t here for them. I have no solutions. I’m just going through the motions. Fake it through when it’s tough. Smile and do my best to be everything that the people I love need me to be. I know one thing, for sure. I couldn’t do it without my husband and children. Adam is the only solid ground I truly can always count on to be there. My kids are the reason I keep going. My family are my whole world. How can it be that my mother doesn’t feel the same way?

Not my typical blog post, but I have some opinions I’m fixin to write down here.

1) Our second amendment (in America) is unbelievably important. Restricting gun rights for law abiding citizens is stupid as F and I will not comply.

2) I’m not even a little bit “anti vax”, but forcing people to put a brand new, operation “warp speed” drug into their body, if they don’t want to, is beyond ridiculous. Get it if you want to. Don’t get it if you don’t. I ain’t gonna tell nobody what to do with their own body.

3) Speaking of “pro choice”, I’m an enigma on the issue of abortion. Personally, I think you’re killing a baby. I’m sorry. I’ve had babies. They’re unique, individual, human beings who would’ve grown and could’ve become something, given the chance to be born. I was in a situation, with my daughter, where I had to consider this myself. I went in for my 4 month check up with my OB. Two days later, I got a phone call from them saying they had discovered something abnormal in a blood test that suggested my daughter had a “neural tube defect”. Meaning, she could have a brain stem, but would never develop her brain. She would die at, or shortly after birth. They sent me to a specialist and asked me to “consider my options”. Meaning, I could abort her now so that I didn’t have to continue with a pregnancy that would result in a baby with no chance at a life. I had 3 days to think this through before I had the specialist appointment. I’d considered it, I honestly did. Could I keep this baby, who I could feel moving inside of me? She got the hiccups. I knew she was a baby girl. We’d already named her. I had considered how old she’d be for her first Christmas. When she would graduate high school. Would she have her daddy’s nose? My eyes? I debated for a brief time, and ultimately landed on a solid decision. I would not abort her, no matter what this specialist told me. She had a perfect heart, lungs, hands, feet…Maybe God would see fit to work a miracle between now and then? Who was I to decide whether my baby lives or dies? Even if the very worst happened, and she was born to die way too soon, I knew I could give her beautifully healthy organs to save other babies who might need them. She could have a purpose. I needed her to have a reason to have been placed in my womb. A reason why God would choose this for her, and for us. I wound up having to have weekly sonograms to monitor whether she was developing normally. I carried her up to about 8 months pregnant. Went into labor at 35 weeks and she was born at 5 pounds and 3 ounces. She was perfect. She was healthy. It turns out, she’s an actual genius. She tested in the entire country’s top 3% of children her age. She read at a 12th grade level when she was in the second grade. She’s gorgeous. She’s amazing. I could’ve snuffed out this incredible child before she got a chance. I will, obviously, never regret my decision. Having said all of this, I don’t believe the government should be involved in these kinds of tough decisions. I hate abortion, personally, but if a pregnant woman makes that choice early in an unplanned situation, I just don’t feel comfortable telling them that they can’t. Of course, I have to add, I think late term abortions are disgusting. I had another baby who was born nearly 3 months too early. Healthy, happy, sassy little dude who is his mom through and through. There is just no reason to kill a baby at that point in their development. If mom needs baby out for her health, deliver! The baby is going to come out, dead or alive. Why not alive??

Did I mention I was going to get controversial?

4) I am absolutely fine with adults choosing to live their lives as they please. Straight, gay, trans, whatever. You do you! I have friends within the LGBT community and I love and support them. Now that I’ve made that clear, I think medically transitioning children is literal child abuse. Statistically, over 80% of children and young adults who believe they are trans, change their minds when they’re grown and typically discover they’re simply gay. So, why would anyone put chemicals into a child that could cause bone problems, cancer, infertility, and a whole host of other health consequences? Biological boys who aren’t allowed to go through puberty can never develop an adult sized penis. This means, not only can they never experience sex and orgasm, if they do decide they are, in fact trans, as an adult, they can never get sex reassignment surgery either. There’s just not enough to “work with” down there. Should a boy be allowed to wear a skirt and paint their nails? Absolutely! A girl can cut their hair short and play with stereotypical “boy toys”, too, if they would like. It’s the medical side of this issue that deeply concerns me. For whatever it’s worth, my LGBT friends feel exactly the same way I do about this. It isn’t a hateful opinion. I believe it’s the best way to protect children and their future well being.

Have I managed to annoy just about everyone, yet?

5) Joe Biden announced plans to pardon all federal offenses of simple marijuana possession. Good! Let’s do it! I don’t believe anyone should be thrown in prison because they have a drug habit. If you commit another crime, while high, you should be punished for that, but nobody should be in prison because they got pulled over with a little weed in their car. Or, for that matter, any other “illegal” drugs. Don’t drive drunk or high. Don’t hurt other people. Additionally, addiction is not an excuse to do bad things, ever. I’m in Tennessee. Our governor is a republican. He does some things I like, and some I don’t. Today, our local news has printed that he will “not consider pardons following Biden’s announcement”. Why, dude? Because it was a dem who suggested it?? The political bullshit is maddening.

6) Let’s talk about the Mexico/United States border! How many women, children, terrorists, and drugs are trafficked through our border? A fuckin’ lot. We keep the cartel in business with our “bleeding heart” approach to illegal immigration. Do we need a better, more efficient system for immigration, yes! Do we need a secure border? Yes! I have compassion for folks who are simply looking for a better life here. I welcome these hard working, law abiding people. I also don’t think it’s hateful to suggest that we need to care for our country’s well being first. Put your own oxygen mask on before you attempt to save anyone else kind of thing. People will have no America to come to if we implode on ourselves.

7) Finally, Afghanistan. Jesus, where do I begin? I think most all Americans felt we needed to get out of there. The way we did it, though…I have no words to describe how disgusted I was. I’m ashamed of the way our country handled the withdrawal from Afghanistan. I’m livid. That’s about all I’ll say about that.

Well, that’s my thoughts for today. I welcome respectful debates and comments! I don’t expect that I am always correct in my opinions. I’ve changed my mind on issues. I don’t think everyone in my life should agree, either. Hell, Adam is much more conservative leaning on several issues than I am and we, clearly, get along just fine. My sister is generally more left leaning than I am, but I love her and we have some very healthy, productive conversations. These things were on my mind, this morning. Probably not the kind of content expected to be found on my blog, I suppose, but I like to write what I’m feeling. So, I did. 😉

This is the Fall sweater I wore, for the first time, on Tuesday, the day that I got the worst spanking EVER. Now me and my superstitious self think it’s bad luck. Probably never wear it again. Doing laundry and just looking at it makes me cringe!

I finally got to sleep good last night! I was able to sleep on my side and my back, which is how I most often get comfortable. Yesterday afternoon, I realized my behind was feeling much better. I still feel it, where his hands landed, but not in such an “ouch” kind of way.

I told Adam that I had written on here yesterday, but I didn’t want to send it to him. I wanted to read it to him when he was home. I wanted him to hear from my mouth how I was feeling. I hoped he would see that I understand what he was trying to tell me. When I read out loud to him, there were a couple of places I started to fight not to cry. Reading him how sorry I was that he had to be so “hard” to get my compliance, and how awful I feel about that. Also, reading out loud about sincerely not ever wanting to become like my mother. The only objection he had was when I read the part I’d written where I said that I didn’t think I fought him too much when he was undoing my jeans and pulling them down. Apparently, I was attempting to thwart his attempts, although I, clearly, was not successful. I honestly do not remember putting up a fight! My memory gets hazy when I’m thinking back to something that was difficult for me to get through. Adam pulled me into his lap and wrapped his arms around me after I finished reading to him what I’d written. I think it helps for me to show him that I really do care about what he’s trying to teach me and about how he feels when I refuse to learn from previous “lessons”.

Today is Friday. I’m throwing my sister’s baby shower for her here tomorrow. My baby niece is due next month! Our daughter, Mj, is going to have a cousin who will be called Pj for short. She thinks that’s so cool 🙂 Paisley Jean will be her full name. In the southern parts of the US, double names are very common. Most of my friends have them. Jackie does, too. Me? I’ve only got one. Although, I have a shortened version that I get called by certain family members only. Adam has a cutesy, longer version of his name with a “y” added at the end that only myself and my family can call him. Think like, “Addy”. It’s like that. We very rarely call each other by our actual names, come to think of it! I’m not sure why I didn’t want to use our real names when I started this. I guess it was another way for me to keep this blog “private”, so that I could always write freely without worry that someone would figure out who I was, or who my family is. Our dogs names really are “Oliver” (pit/lab mix) and “Diesel” (miniature Australian shepherd). Diesel just turned 9 years old last month. Oliver turned 1 year old in March of this year. I was telling Adam, last night, about how I never write things just for entertainment purposes here. It’s always my real thoughts, my real story. I didn’t talk about stuff with my mother until recently, but I wasn’t ready to. Other than our names, everything is just me and my life. Sometimes it’s pretty boring. Sometimes, too much lately, I’m writing about trouble I’ve found. I don’t do it on purpose, though. I definitely have done things to push Adam’s buttons. To maybe test the waters, but I haven’t done so much of that in awhile. There’s a very big difference between a half hearted, knock it off “or else” spanking where we can both smile and go on with our day, versus the “I’m so disappointed in you”, pained look in his eyes, serious, hurts like hell spanking. I don’t ever seek those out. I find myself feeling sorry for Adam, even as I’m getting my butt whipped, because I know that it’s my fault. I can see that this hurts him. I understand that it isn’t easy or fun for him, either. I’d like to avoid another one of those for as long as possible. I’d say for forever, but that’s not exactly realistic. I won’t make promises that I’m not certain I can keep. When Adam asks me to tell him that I’ll never do this again, I can promise that I don’t want to. I can promise that I will try harder not to. I can promise that I will fess up to him if it happens again. I can’t promise that I won’t fuck up again, unfortunately.

I still have a lingering reminder in my behind telling me what not to do. I also have a serious reminder placed on my conscience, because I don’t want to hurt Adam again. I’m so glad I started this blog. It does me good to look back and see where I’ve grown, where I’ve failed, and remember how it feels when I’ve done something really great, or awful. It’s such a blessing to have found this outlet and gotten this much out of it. Life is pretty darned awesome, for me, overall. My gosh, I’m so unbelievably grateful for Adam.