I recently stumbled across a new fragment of myself. The more I dig at it, and brush away the debris and dirt, the larger the discovery is. It was like pulling on the corner of an errant piece of cloth in a sand dune, and eventually unearthing an entire Spanish war galleon- sail first.
I am Jack’s confusion and curiosity- an amateur archaeologist, delving down through the layers of sand and igneous rock and organic detritus inside of me. Buried beneath the strata of time and misunderstanding, I am coming to realize that the galleon was always there, that it was always a part of me. It may have all started from pulling on the corner of a sail- but now that it’s been disinterred, it simply cannot be ignored.
Since the age of ten or eleven, I’ve used different words to describe myself in my private thoughts and reveries. I’ve always written to rein in and understand my wild mind better. I would often describe myself as “just a hippie”, or someone who “loves to love people”, and that my “heart wants to love everyone”. I had friends tell me consistently that they thought they loved me romantically throughout middle school and into high school. I craved to understand those I even remotely cared about. I would relish when they allowed me into their heads, when they were vulnerable enough to share their traumas and their joys, and I would listen to them and talk to them for hours, doting on them gently. All to then find I was suddenly head over heels for them.
I never acted on what I might have wanted at any given time. I was always strictly monogamous and unerringly faithful in all of my romantic relationships. But there was always a tug on my heart from other directions, even while I was deeply in love with one partner. I felt these deep, passionate stirrings about the friends and classmates I cared most about in my life, and I felt immense, crushing guilt. It didn’t seem normal. I didn’t feel normal. I thought I was broken and wicked and that there was something deeply wrong with me. I just had to suppress and stifle and work through it in silence… right?
When I tried to hesitantly voice these feelings to friends and family, they seemed confused but were quick to reassure me. I was told that I was just young and naive, and that the intense feelings would pass. I was told that I was just extremely hormonal and was experiencing drastic chemical highs and lows that were causing me to form immature attachments. I was told that it was because I was female and that it was just my ‘nuturing, motherly instincts’ kicking in early. I was told that once I became a mother, these ‘instincts’ would be channeled in a healthy way to focus entirely on my future hypothetical spouse and child.
You know what they say about hindsight. I’m a mother now. And if anything, the feelings I have felt on and off since middle school have only intensified.
My heart is Yggdrasil- the world tree of Scandinavian lore. Expansive. Unfathomable in it’s depth and proportions. It’s branches and roots stretch away in either direction- penetrating eternity. And up until this point- caging my heart was like trying to shove Yggdrasil into a wooden crate. Taking care of it was frustrating and claustrophobic and a little humiliating. My heart received just enough meager sunlight and small drips of water to stay alive- but it was never allowed to grow beyond the capacity of the box, so it essentially had to remain half-starved at all times out of survival necessity. It could never be what it was meant to be in such conditions.
And then came the Spanish war ship in the sand dune, crashing into my life- shattering the box, setting me free.
I discovered that I could be polyamorous. My heart has been given room to expand for the first time in seventeen years and I feel like it is rapidly doubling, tripling, quadrupling in size before my very eyes. It’s dizzying to behold. And terrifying.
This realization has spurred a lot of research on polyamory, a lot of soul-searching, a lot of conversations with my husband, and a lot of tears on both sides.
I struggled very deeply with feeling like I was a failure as a Domme, and especially as a wife. My husband is my best friend and my whole world. I love him so deeply and completely. Every single day we’ve known each other, we grow to love and appreciate each other more- even on the days when we want to scream. He is my rock and my number one fan. He is the most raw and sincere and natural father I have ever seen. He is my everything. I would traverse multiple, torturous dimensions in the afterlife just for the chance to find him again if one of us dies first.
The more I connect with subs who have approached me, the more I grow to care about them and harbor a fondness for them. There has been an older sub that I had gentle, teasing affection for. I liked to hear about his hobbies and his worries and his work. His insecurities and his life aspirations. He is a darling kinky friend.
There has been another who I adored for his sharp ferocity, his feistiness, his fire. I could tease him and rain affection on him and we would have cerebral talks for hours and hours. Days and days on end. Silly, intricate things that could range from “I find it so fascinating that humanity has chosen this course of action repeatedly over time-” to “Bruh. Fite me!” and gif wars in a matter of seconds. We shared movies and songs and artwork. He is very dear to me. I still adore him and hope he finds happiness.
And there is solnyshko, the sub who has made me have to stop and re-evaluate everything I thought I was so sure of- again. The one who arrived in my life after I was tugging errantly on the sail in the sand dune, thinking that I probably was just aroused and not polyamorous after all- that I was just a fool. He gave everything he was to me so freely- with complete vulnerability and gentleness. His honesty was disarming and utterly charming and he made my heart ache with the sweetness of it all. He makes me want to take risks and explore things I normally never would. There have been a lot of firsts with him- he knows my real name. I don’t trust people very easily, yet I trust him. And he accepts me exactly as I am. I know I’m a big, yggdrasil-hearted fool, but I love him.
All this love and appreciation for those who I have come into contact with on my Domme journey. I began to realize that my affection for these people did not seem to dim or cheapen the love I have inside me for my husband. If anything, loving others has made me love him with a brighter, stronger vibrancy. I can appreciate all the ways he is effortlessly mine. The ways I don’t have to explain myself. The gentle, loving silences that don’t need to be filled with words. The way he knows me from the tips of my fiery hair to the roots of my wild heart. All this time, I thought I had to be a miser that hoarded and protected my heart to keep it small, keep it in the box for just one person at a time. But it is so much more fulfilling to give away love freely to those who are worthy or deserving enough in my life. Every time I reach into the cupboard to dote on those I care about, I am pleasantly surprised. Instead of finding an empty cupboard after all of my giving, I keep finding my stores replenished fully- two, three, four-fold. It was like the more I gave away in a day, the more I had to give away on the morrow.
Who knew that hearts held such secret magics and capabilities all along? It’s an insane fairytale.
I still can’t pretend to know all of the answers. I’m not even close, I’m afraid. But I do know this- I am more likely than not a polyamorous, Domme-leaning switch with heteroflexible or even bisexual tendencies. I still have a million more miles to go before I sleep.
And I feel so empowered getting to meet, know, and finally love myself.
Nice to meet you, Delia.
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