(Writing this post was emotionally draining to me, so I apologize if it seems a bit disjointed or if it seems I am jumping from one subject to another. It’s also a bit different than my usual sex posts – so consider yourself fair warned.)
I tend to write a lot about sex. A big aspect of my relationship with Mad Baker (and Victor) tend to revolve around sex – not the whole aspect of each relationship, but a large part of it. But to me, being submissive is far more than just sexual behavior.
To me, a big aspect of submission is being feminine. Now, I don’t want to hear comments about how dominant women can be feminine too, or how submissive men can still be manly while being submissive. I accept all of that and do not discourage it! But submission means something different to each individual, and to me, it is intricately and irreversibly tied to my sense of feminine self.
To that respect, I find I have always felt drawn to the old-fashioned aspects of womanhood – housekeeping, sewing, crocheting, cooking, canning, and just general traditional female responsibilities.
I want to make my bed each morning with a quilt that I spent several painstaking hours creating. I want to prepare meals for my family with food that I grew and stored. I want to send my kids off to school with homemade cookies rather than store-bought. I want to wear clothing that I created. I want people to walk into my home and stand in awe of the comfortable and relaxing hideaway that I designed.
I want to see Mad Baker come home from work to sit in a comfortable chair by the fireplace on a cold winter night. I want to kneel at his feet, remove his boots and massage the aches of the workday out of his soles. I want to see him curled up on the couch with a blanket that I crocheted while he laughs at the news program on the T.V.
I want our children to feel that home is an oasis from the pressures of daily life. Growing up is a stressful thing to do, I want to ease that pressure as much as humanly possible. I want them to bring friends home, and see the sense of pride as they show off their room and their treasures.
Unfortunately, reality rushes in on my dreams like a cast-iron skillet to the head.
I am not the greatest housekeeper, I freely admit. When I was a child, I grew up in a home that was run by an insane man with control issues. If there was a single speck of dirt anywhere, you were guaranteed that you would be yelled at and smacked around a little. On bad days, you WISHED you were just smacked around a little. Housecleaning was an activity that was full of fear…I remember washing the dishes three times before rinsing and drying, because I KNEW that a single speck on a dish would bring pain and punishment…and that was just one of my chores.
A side effect of this upbringing is that I feel incredibly anxious when the house is close to perfect, cleanliness-wise. For example, the other week I had the kitchen near-spotless. Dishes were done, the floor had been mopped (by hand, no less), the cupboards had been wiped down, the stove taken apart and thoroughly scoured. Mad Baker walked into the room just as I noticed that there were some splatters on the wall from having fried chicken earlier that evening. And as he walked in, I cringed, fully expecting to be smacked across the face for failing in my duties.
(a reaction which kinda annoys Mad Baker, I know, because he has NEVER hit me outside of a BDSM scene. He’s just not an abusive man. And of course Mad Baker didn’t hit me – in fact he complimented me on how quickly I had gotten the kitchen clean, and then invited me to join him for some television.)
I feel shame when I feel that way. On one hand, my reaction is completely understandable. But that doesn’t make it right.
The only way I have found to be able to handle this reaction is to keep parts of the house intentionally cluttered. Not filthy, but cluttered. An example – like most women with multiple kids, I don’t always get the laundry put away immediately after it is washed. But in my case, the clutter centers my emotions. Seeing it there in an otherwise clean room reminds me that I won’t get beaten or hurt for not having put it away…it’s gotten to the point where I always make sure there is at least one load there for my own comfort! And this is not a healthy reaction.
I want to be able to present my Dom(s) with a clean house…but the reality is, a clean house causes such anxiety that I can’t bring myself to do it. And this leaves me feeling like a failure, both as a woman and as a submissive. My desires to present a clean and comfortable home clash with my need to reduce my anxiety.
So for the next several weeks…months…well, honestly, however long it takes…I will be working on becoming a better homemaker. Learning to deal with these anxiety issues, and working beyond them. I know this isn’t what most people are used to reading on my blog, but damn it, it’s my blog and I am going to type whatever I feel applies to submission…and to me, homemaking is a HUGE part of my submission.
There will still be entries about sex – but those will be intermixed with entries about homemaking and womanhood in general. Feel free to comment on anything I say, I encourage feedback and criticism. I hope this post wasn’t too much of a downer to any of my readers.
~hugs~ from patricialynn