I am still in Pennsylvania with my mother, and will be for another day or so. My visit has lasted longer than anyone intended due to a slight complication she experienced from her medications, which has now been corrected. She is doing well.
She’ll recover from this well enough to continue to live independently, although this health event has raised the specter of her care long-term. She has a church community that can (and did) attend to her in an emergency, but there are some things that only daughters can oversee, decide, and provide. Much to think about…
I’ve been immersed in vanilla life now for more than a week, and am going a little crazy from it. This is not due to being with Mom, but due to being around people in her world and being thrust into the responsibilities of making decisions with and for her.
If anyone ever needed proof of my innate submissiveness, this is probably it: I cannot bear to live vanilla for any length of time.
I perform those functions just fine, but it is a performance, something I play as an actor. I often write about the D/s life not being an act but being real and what I truly am. This week that script has flipped, and I find myself playing the role of a vanilla person in a vanilla world doing vanilla things. It’s hard to maintain this, and I long to be in my slavery once again where I can be the submissive I was always created to be.
I realize now this is what I experienced growing up — living in family and church as a girl who could not be what she really was.
I know this is somewhat the story of all kids growing up — the constraints of normalcy repressing the individual uniquenesses that need to break free. Home and family are the guide wires that eventually need to be released to allow the balloon of life to soar. For many kids, what they climb to is respectable and sometimes impressive.
My life of submissive service is not generally perceived so well.
The saving grace with mother is that she now knows what I am and accepts me in it. I wouldn’t say she finds my life of sexual submission to be “respectable and impressive,” but she at least respects my pursuit of what I need to be. I think she wishes she herself had pursued some things more aggressively earlier in her life.
Still, this visit is an event that portends a life someday in which I may need to care for her full time. I would, of course, and I’d manage to act the vanilla role for the rest of her life.
But it would be different and difficult, and the thought of it is sobering.
I will probably fly back to Amanda on Saturday.