Hello there, readers. I took last week off because I had a health issue (which I’ll tell you about in a minute), and because I was traveling. Thankfully, the crazy hustle and bustle of fall routines starting up again has settled into good routines for all. Jason and I are in a fantastic place. After we hashed out our distance from a few weeks ago, we’ve put some systems into place. We know that for us, check-in’s have to happen with regularity. We need to intentionally carve out the time we spend with each other. Last night, we had a lovely in-house date, and I’m feeling very content today. Life is good.
But about a week and a half ago, we had a pretty traumatic event happen. I mention it here on this blog because it put both me and Jason through the test with our roles.
So it was a day like any other. My older, somewhat snarky teen-aged son had come home from school and was in a mood, and he hadn’t done what I’d asked him to yet. I came upstairs from turning over the laundry, and he was gaming. Grr. Not happy, I asked him to finish his chores, and he gave me an attitude about it. He’s a good kid, and we don’t have a lot of friction, but sometimes it happens. He came barreling out, grabbed the recycling he was taking out, and was so loud I got worried he’d disturb Jason on his conference call upstairs. So I turned the corner, came up behind my son, adrenaline rushing as I told him to keep it down, and I went to smack the storm door open. My aim was off. The door was old. My hand smacked the glass and my hand and arm went straight through.
It was bad, you guys. Really pretty bad. Glass everywhere, abrasions all along my arm and hand, some really deep. I don’t do blood very well and it scared the hell out of me.
I screamed to Jason to help me and I’m not gonna lie.I lost every shred of self control. I totally lost my mind. I was petrified. It hurt like hell. There was shattered glass and blood everywhere, all over me, and once glance at my hand terrified me. I was so afraid that I’d severed a tendon, damaged myself so badly I’d hurt my writing career… I was a wreck. Jason, from the top of the stairs, only heard yelling and smashing glass. He came down, and didn’t understand right away what had happened.
Like a lunatic, I yelled at him to grab some towels, anything, so I could stop the bleeding and see if I needed stitches. He grabbed a towel, sat me down, and bandaged me up as best he could, but he knew I had to go to the hospital for stitches.
It was not pretty.
I was not submissive. I was terrified. Looking back on it now, I’m pretty sure I was in some sort of shock. I told him there was no fucking way I was going to the hospital. I don’t really know why I said that, honestly. I was sobbing, he was growling at me and telling me to listen to him, and I was telling him off.
I never do that. I really really lost my mind.
Weirdly, when one of my kids gets injured, I handle it just fine. Very calm. When it happened to me, I did not. Finally, after I was bandaged up and heading to the hospital, he leaned down to me and hissed in my ear, “You are going to the hospital whether you want to or not. And when you come home, you’re getting the worst spanking you’ve ever gotten. Your temper caused this, and this was totally preventable.”
He hates to see me injured. He hates to see me in pain. I’m not allowed to lose my temper.
But…I knew that I hadn’t lost my temper. I really hadn’t. It’s the truth. I’d smacked the door from behind my son. Yeah, I wasn’t all sweet and calm and adrenaline was pumping, but I wasn’t in a temper at all.
Hours later… seven stitches later… sigh… the kids were getting ready for bed. I was home, and took some pain meds, and laid down next to Jason. This entire time I hadn’t had a single sweet daddy word from him. He was totally Very Stern Dom. And I was feeling so sad. Devastated, really. I couldn’t use my hand, and I couldn’t write. I was just shy of finishing a book. I was traveling to a family wedding in two days. All I wanted to do was climb up on his chest, bawl my eyes out, have him hold me, and be his little girl. But it didn’t happen.
I talked to him about what happened, and he was still angry. He said, again, “You could’ve hurt yourself worse or someone else, and I can’t believe how you talked to me. You were so out of line, and tonight, there is no question you deserve a serious spanking.”
I don’t even remember the last time I got a serious spanking. It was months and months ago. And to be brutally honest, I did not think I deserved a spanking.
I was devastated. But I also recognized that I’d put him in a really tricky position. He still thought I’d lost my temper and caused the injury. And I’d sworn at him. Screamed at him. Disobeyed him. Finally, with a sigh, he said, “We have these rules for a reason. I discipline you for a reason, so that at times like these you focus on me and let me take care of you, and you didn’t.”
He was right. But I was so sore. I was exhausted. I was already crying, and sorry for having lost my mind. And I really didn’t even mean to lose my mind like that. I was ashamed, really. I so did not want a spanking. He went downstairs to see my sons to bed, and I laid on my bed and just cried. I chatted with a good friend, who agreed with me that I’d not been in the right frame of mind when I lost it. “It’s shock,” she said. “You reacted in shock.” I really had. I knew in my heart it was right, and I wasn’t just trying to get out of punishment. I’d been terrified. And when he hadn’t understood how badly I’d been hurt at first, I’d gotten angry and desperate.
So, upstairs and alone, I couldn’t help crying. And finally, I made up my mind. I knew I didn’t want a spanking. I knew I didn’t think I deserved one.
But I also knew that Jason is my leader. And the man loves me so, so much. It killed him to see me hurt. Killed him. He did not want to punish me. If after all that, he still decided I needed to be punished, I decided I would take it. I had to.
After all… what was the worst that could happen? I’d been punished before. I’d survive. And I would not drive a wedge between us. I would trust him to take care of my needs, including punishing me if he thought I needed it.
So, I brought myself downstairs to see Jason. I sat down on the footstool near his chair, and he reached for my hand. “How are you feeling, honey?” I broke down in tears again, because it was the first tender word he’d spoken, and I was craving the sweet daddy side of things so badly. I told him I hurt, a lot, but that more than anything I was upset about the idea of being punished. I promised him that I hadn’t been in a temper. I told him that I really thought I’d been in shock, and it was the terror that caused me to lose my self control.
It takes enormous self control to submit. I didn’t have it then. I hated that I didn’t… but looking back, I can honestly say that I didn’t.
So, I laid it all out for him. But then I told him the truth. “I love you. I’m so sorry. And I’ll do whatever you tell me to. I don't want to be punished, but if you think I should be, I'll submit.” I had truly decided I would.
Finally, he nodded, smiled at me, and pulled me into him for a hug. “You weren’t in your right frame of mind,” he said. "I know that now." I nodded, so relieved he understood. And then he said, "I’m not going to punish you.”
You guys, I sobbed. I was so emotionally exhausted. It had been a very trying day.
He brought me upstairs and helped me get ready for bed. I fell asleep almost instantly, after a very short time with Jason.
I can type again now. I’m still not fully recovered, but every day I get better and better. It’s remarkable how quickly the human body can heal. I’m being careful not to overdo. And things with Jason and I are back to normal.
Somehow, after all that? I've been in a very submissive frame of mind, even during my most hormonal times (when I'm usually kind of a lunatic). I've obeyed him, and followed his lead, and submitted. He didn't punish me, but knowing that he would, and knowing that he didn't, knowing that he loved me and wanted what was best for me... well, there's nothing that will make me want to obey him more. I didn't need to go over his lap to get me there.
I decided after some thought that I needed to share this story, because it’s just another one of those real-life example of how things don’t always work as planned. Sometimes, we don’t really know how to handle things. But when we focus on open communication, truly listening to each other, eventually, always… peace reigns.