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Submission In Uncertain Times

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Letting go of control when life feels out of control.

A written assignment.

It’s been a week. With the threat of nuclear Armageddon hanging over our heads, many of us have been sent into a heart-wrenching panic over the events in Ukraine. I’ve tried to function, but in half-expecting a series of cataclysmic events that would lead to a global nuclear war and my untimely destruction, getting anything done has been hard to do. Why do anything? Why plan anything? Why do anything when my life and future feel so certainly gone?

I didn’t get to write on Friday. Even if I knew I should have, I couldn’t bring myself to write. I’d seen signs of diplomacy prevailing and yet I felt so certain that things could still go horribly wrong. Why bother then? Why do anything?

Why hope?

In the past few months, I’ve remained in contact with someone I swore I was over. We tried to be over one another, and yet, maybe there was still always that one more thing to try. We got rid of the journals and we emailed one another directly with our problems, only using journals for non-essential, not-emotionally-loaded stuff. We understood one another’s biggest fears and insecurities and we’ve helped one another through them. We haven’t argued since and we’ve been closer and more empathetic to one another, too boot. If only we’d done it all that much sooner.

I’m not allowed to say his name right now because he fears that publicly disclosing us may once again spell our demise. Those who have been around for some time will know, and those that haven’t, unfortunately won’t. We’ll call him the Captain on my blog, after all, that’s who he is to me.

This was the Captain’s first written assignment for me.

The Captain serves in the Royal Navy and has a fascination with Pirates of the Caribbean. I’ve come to accept that now, and I find it endearing in its own way. “Parle” is my safeword with him, and “Poppet” is his favourite nickname for me.

An anchor will be his mark on me, eventually.

I knew that he was my Captain almost no sooner than the last time he left. Things had felt different under his command, he knew exactly what I needed without ever having been told. I could resist him all I wanted, of course, but The Sumisa still knew her name.

We had to make it work.

My relationship to the Captain is different to what it is with my husband. Whereas my husband sees himself as husband first, the Captain prioritises my welfare through my submission. He presses harder when I need to be guided, mindful that I will listen. He encourages me to take care of myself and gently guides me in the right direction.

This past week, getting out of bed has been monumentally hard as I lay in bed shaking with fear. The defeatist in me had kicked in – why do anything if we’re all just going to die at any moment? Somehow, bed felt safer.

The Captain won’t have this, of course.

What are your plans for today? I relay off a basic self care plan and a chore or two to do. Staying in bed and “doomscrolling” all day is apparently no longer an option.

I tell the Captain about my fears, about my fears of a dreaded “letter letter number” (WW3). He assures me that it’s not, that he’s not scared of the rhetoric. Right now, my inner calm feeds off of him.

Now that Dad’s gone, I don’t have anyone in my physical life that I can talk to about the Cold War, nobody that can calm my nerves. Dad knew, Dad understood, he was alive during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Try as she might, Mum doesn’t help me, if anything, Mum makes my anxiety worse. The Captain agrees with me on this, Mum can be a bit irrational sometimes, and I think my occasional irrationality comes from her.

Do you trust me? I take a deep breath into my lungs as I consider my answer. I know that he’s not really asking.

So many people believe that BDSM is just about whips and chains, handcuffs and leather, and yet it is so, so much more. This past week, then in one way or another my boys have kept me sane, they’ve kept me grounded, they’ve helped me see hope where I couldn’t see hope before. I argue that I’m right, they’re wrong and we’re all doomed, of course I do, but then neither of them move.

I had to concede it, even my own version of catastrophic events sounded illogical sometimes

Right now, I don’t feel as though I have a lot, and yet, I know that I have faith. That faith in them is at least is enough to power me on and to get a few errands done between times, or at least until my life feels more stable again. The Captain is gentle on me right now and he is still firm, keeping me doing something productive, even if it is less.

“The Captain has spoken” I remind myself during my moments of anxiety, “everything WILL be okay.”

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