A Leap of Faith was born in January 2018.
This space was created as a task for sir. He asked me to create a blog, write the story of how I became the woman I am today, make it good… He told me we were going somewhere with it and he believed in me.
And so I got to work.
I’ve always used the written word to express myself. Never in the form of a diary, though I was given the obligatory journal with a padlock two years in a row in my pre-teens. No, I was the kind of girl who would scribble a ferociously vivid dream down upon waking and then weave a world around it over the days that followed. There were penpals too, and book reviews. I had folders full of poetry which I kept hidden away until a maternity cover English teacher suggested I enter one into a county wide competition. I was highly commended and my poem was immortalised in print. The triumph of a 14 year old author in the making! Somewhere along the way my brain decided it didn’t need to empty itself onto the page, my creativity was stifled by hormones and grief, later parties and shame.
I didn’t so much forget about them as they just vanished.
No longer relevant to me somehow.
I no longer recalled the way that writing made me feel. The way that emptying my head onto paper gave me clarity and calm. I would write letters to an old school friend, or thank you notes for Christmas, but never anything with real depth and meaning. When I met Sir we would exchange emails, his always direct and concise. Mine the exact opposite, words being released at last. Thoughts, hopes, fears, distractions, dreams, fantasies… everything. Having his steady, calming influence in my world allowed my creativity to flow. In the storm of my vanilla world he was my calming rock, unlocking parts of me that had all but ceased to exist. Not only were the emails I typed out late at night helping him to learn about me, but they were providing me with a way to relax back into myself, to relearn who I really was.
And so, when he set the task, I trusted him.
He knows me, often times it seems better than myself. Soon after the writing began he tasked me to start running again. The two combined to make my mind calm and clear, grounded. I would thrash out blog posts as I put one foot in front of the other. The trust in him was easy, he had a plan, and as I progressed that plan came to light. Fear and trepidation but determination to do him proud. But then fate (and work) took him away again. As he knows, I was devastated, but these feelings would pass, they always have done. He had set me a few big tasks prior to his contract offer, but restrictions were lifted and I was free to follow the tasks or not. He left me one last important task though.
To make myself happy.
While I continued to write I lost my way. This space took on a mind of its own and while I am proud of the words I have shared it is a hodge podge of ideas which I shall enjoy sifting through and tidying up. Then came Eroticon and I met so many wonderful bloggers, I came away inspired. Overflowing with information and ideas. The one person I wanted to tell about it I couldn’t, but I hoped that he was still reading my blog. When, three weeks later, I completed one of the big tasks he had set me, and again I wanted to tell him but could only hope that he would see the post. My words started to dry up. I started posts but couldn’t finish them, I took pictures but couldn’t share them and one of the lovely bloggers I had met at Eroticon had sent me a toy to review and it took every ounce of willpower to fulfil my commitment.
I decided to recuperate for a while, let the words rest and the dust settle.
I wasn’t unhappy, I was filling my world with sunshine, smiles and medals. Mischievous road trips and meaningful conversations. But along with preventing the sadness of missing sir I inadvertently shut down the words again.
This space waited.
The amazing community remained.
And I… paused.
Around this time I met a man. This is not the time for sharing that tale, chronologically you have a while to wait for that delight, but he was uncomfortable with a few things. He loved my writing, but obsessed over it and my pictures. Out of respect for his feelings, or perhaps it was to protect this haven of me, I added a password to the site. The words were completely clogged by this point anyway, my study put on hold as there was no room for new information either. At the start of this year my PTSD had reared its ugly head again, and not only could I not write I also couldn’t fuel myself for running. Neither avenue of relaxation was available, and I was a mess. I began to believe that the world I had created was never real, I felt the hatred he directed at me and am shocked at how fast I slipped back into the mindset of the abused. Of course that is all part of being shamed day-in, day-out, and sometimes something happens to snap you out of it. For me that moment came when I realised I wasn’t the one who needed to be ashamed.
When we split for good I felt the darkness seep out of my brain.
The sensation was of black treacle ebbing away from my grey matter, draining away slowly. I decided to reopen my blog, to unhide myself from me and from anyone who wanted to see. The words weren’t quite back yet, but I was toying with the idea and kept popping into my drafts folder. As the weeks passed I became less blocked, the first draft ready to go… But then two bombs dropped within 7 minutes of each other. One vile, and I hope nobody has to deal with that. The other exactly what I needed. A familiar voice in a brief message. Unexpected, as before, but most assuredly welcome.
And just like that the posts started to write themselves.
My focus returned with extra passion and drive. I truly believe that I needed the lessons that I received in the relationship, and the reminders that came at its end. And now I can continue to relax into myself, build a life that I am proud of, and share those stories here.
“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished; that will be the beginning.” – Louis L’Amour