This week, I needed an adult. I strained my lower lumbar region. My kiddo broke their finger. A friend of mine called CPS on his wife and started hunkering down at my place with their kids.
And more.
*sigh*
It's been a lot. And the whole time, my back has had me living life at elbow-height. It's been difficult to stand up, to get into cars, to sit, to lie down... to exist. And other people were relying on me to take care of them.
I needed someone to take care of me.
So I called on the Domme inside.
This week, I was my own parent, my own mentor, my own best friend. I flicked the whip by setting boundaries. I negotiated with myself to clear my calendar and rest. I flogged myself into asking other people for help. I gave myself aftercare when I was hurting.
I set the scene by preparing my days in advance and setting myself up with supplies - only instead of lube, shears, ropes, and floggers, I set out healthy snacks, disposable plates, lidocaine patches and prescription muscle relaxants.
I booted my cranky, pained self to walk gently for a few moments at a time. I lured myself into doing gentle stretches. I took naps and called myself a good girl.
Accessing my inner Domme was like doing inner child work, or assuming an alter ego, or playing dress-up. There was no erotic charge. This was nurturing, but nurturing I gave myself from a place of power, control, and command.
And it worked. I've come through this week with fairly high levels of energy, in relatively high spirits, and I'm healing right along. My kid is okay now that they've got their splint. My friend is still in trouble, but he's taking concrete, sensible steps.
Breathing in and breathing out.
I needed an adult, and, this week, my adult was the Domme inside.
And more.
*sigh*
It's been a lot. And the whole time, my back has had me living life at elbow-height. It's been difficult to stand up, to get into cars, to sit, to lie down... to exist. And other people were relying on me to take care of them.
I needed someone to take care of me.
So I called on the Domme inside.
This week, I was my own parent, my own mentor, my own best friend. I flicked the whip by setting boundaries. I negotiated with myself to clear my calendar and rest. I flogged myself into asking other people for help. I gave myself aftercare when I was hurting.
I set the scene by preparing my days in advance and setting myself up with supplies - only instead of lube, shears, ropes, and floggers, I set out healthy snacks, disposable plates, lidocaine patches and prescription muscle relaxants.
I booted my cranky, pained self to walk gently for a few moments at a time. I lured myself into doing gentle stretches. I took naps and called myself a good girl.
Accessing my inner Domme was like doing inner child work, or assuming an alter ego, or playing dress-up. There was no erotic charge. This was nurturing, but nurturing I gave myself from a place of power, control, and command.
And it worked. I've come through this week with fairly high levels of energy, in relatively high spirits, and I'm healing right along. My kid is okay now that they've got their splint. My friend is still in trouble, but he's taking concrete, sensible steps.
Breathing in and breathing out.
I needed an adult, and, this week, my adult was the Domme inside.
