Mixed Feelings

I once dated someone I referred to as an emotional sadist. And if emotional sadists are a thing, then emotional masochists must be too… right? Because sometimes, I catch myself leaning into the emotional burn on purpose. Like part of me wants to jump into the boiling water just to feel it—to finally release everything I’ve been holding in. My brain turns into a pressure cooker, and when it builds up too much, I need the steam to escape somehow. Sometimes that means letting myself hurt, just to get it out. Maybe this is what spanking feels like for some of y’all. A sharp little zap, a thud many thuds. Until you cry. Then the amazing aftercare that feels so good. I wish I was less of a baby about pain.    I’m sure a therapist would trace it back to the marriage I spent my early emotional years in. The slow, steady kind of damage—the little things and the medium things that added up over time. The fights, the tears, the aftermath. And then the weird high that came after, when att...

Every serious relationship I’ve had has taught me something—sometimes gently, sometimes the hard way. I’ve grown a little more each time, even when it hurt. Right now I’m really trying to focus on the good things I learned from each one… the ways I’ve changed, the ways I’ve softened or gotten stronger.  My marriage was hard—damaging in more ways than I can count. But when he took away the choice to work through things, I had no option but to sink or swim… and I swam. I learned I’m stronger than I ever thought. I did the damn thing, even when it hurt. First, there was the long-distance guy… The care and passion we had made me brave enough to do something wild—like drive super far, on the actual highway, all by myself. That might sound small, but back then it was huge. He made me feel bold and wanted, and I’ll always remember that. There was a man who helped me rediscover something I didn’t even know I’d lost—my connection to intimacy, to touch, to pleasure. With him, I learned that ...

Recently Rockman wrote me a beautiful message about how simple it is for him to be an amazing man.  Giving credit to his parents his upbringing so on.  I've told him a lot about my life and he wrote me this beautiful comparison to being cold forged steel.  It was beautiful. I won't share the whole thing but I have to share this part, because it is so very me.  "Yet there you are... After all the hits, the hurts, the abuse, the neglect... There you are... There.  You.  Are.  I think that you are akin to some incredibly intricately and delicately-wrought long stemmed rose of iron (which still has well-earned and very well-forged thorns)." The lengthy writing that he wrote went directly into my compliment's bank.

Journal Entry 3 min read March 31, 2023 (long personal one) TW suicide, abuse, growth This is the story about my husband going missing. You don't have to read it Today’s the day. Today’s the day he walked out the door and never came back. Two years ago, Erica had a very interesting day. So what happened? Well, I asked him for a divorce. He said no. I told him I wanted to see other people, explore polyamory, learn more about myself and what I really needed. He asked me to give him time and to not date yet. I said okay—because I was a coward. That part's a longer story. For 12 weeks, we lived in a strange, stressful limbo. That could be its own story. He was at his best during those weeks. The kindest, calmest version of himself I’d ever seen. Maybe he sensed the end. We talked a lot. I told him about the ways he had hurt me, how scared I was of him sometimes, and how scared his kids were too. Then spring break came. We had a decent week. We even went and got a puppy—almost like ...

Today’s the day he walked out the door and never came back. Two years ago, Erica had a very interesting day. So what happened? Well, I asked him for a divorce. He said no. I told him I wanted to see other people, explore polyamory, learn more about myself and what I really needed. He asked me to give him time and to not date yet. I said okay—because I was a coward. That part's a longer story. For 12 weeks, we lived in a strange, stressful limbo. That could be its own story. He was at his best during those weeks. The kindest, calmest version of himself I’d ever seen. Maybe he sensed the end. We talked a lot. I told him about the ways he had hurt me, how scared I was of him sometimes, and how scared his kids were too. Then spring break came. We had a decent week. We even went and got a puppy—almost like we were celebrating that he was trying to be good to another living thing. But after the break, we argued. We argued because I told him I was never going to be monogamous again. We ar...

 You ever have one of those nights? The one that feels like a rom-com—intense eye contact, deep convos, forehead kisses, maybe some light trauma bonding. You go home buzzing. Smiling like a teenager. Butterflies having a twerking contest in your chest. You wake up thinking, “Wow. That was something.”   Hell you message your emotional support person "GIRL!!!"  And then… crickets. Or worse—dry, half-assed texts like “last night was fun lol.” Sir. You cannot spend hours talking about life, snuggled up like we’re writing our own indie love story, and then vanish like I was just your emotional Airbnb. ***I didn’t soft-launch my feelings for you to hard-launch your indifference.*** Now I’m thinking back, rewatching the night in my head like it’s a Netflix docuseries called “The Man Who Faked Emotional Intimacy.” Was it real, or just a glitch in his avoidant attachment matrix? Honestly, I think I just got emotionally catfished by my brain thinking about potential. Anyway, s...