The Tricky Business of Being Submissive

In response to my last post, Beloved wrote:

You wear many more titles than WIFE and MOM. You are mentor, organizer, teacher, student, submissive, slave, life-saver, cute poly chick, etc. Just because there is not a single perch upon which you call home does not invalidate the contributions that you make to others lives, and to your own, in each and every role your flighty heart calls you to land upon.

There is more room to write upon your collar. If there is a calling in your heart to find room to enscribe SLAVE or SUB upon it then you should do what you do best and follow your heart.

One of the things I do best is write, so here I am trying to unscramble the lines of communication, straighten out the paths, and make sense of what is in my head. This is one of those times that I have to go all the way back to the beginning, so bare with me...


To be clear, it was never my dream to be a mother, let alone a stay-at-home mother. Although the decision to become parents was mutual, "The Plan" was that Beloved would stay home and I would return to work...until Beloved was offered an incredible opportunity and it made more sense to go for it. I tried to suppress my disappointment, frustration, and fright. Society tends to not appreciate the role of housewives and stay-at-home moms. I tried to put on a good face, but I was crumbling inside. Six months after Boy was born, I fell apart. I was forcibly committed to a mental hospital and Beloved had to rescue me.

Something HAD to change...and so I began looking for something. The term "odalisque" came up and I was curious. Of course, being excused from housework and reserved for sexual service was quite enchanting. I wanted a collar because it would be my salvation. *sigh* There is a D/s fantasy world where all the submissive's cares are magically taken away, where the Dominant has endless resources and always has the answers, where there are no challenges presented by colicky babies or tight budgets or lack of time.

But no matter how many books you read, how wonderful the roleplay is, how hard you wish for the fantasy, the Real World intrudes. I remained myself. I didn't appreciate being told what to do, and Beloved didn't relish the chore of sorting it out for me. I resented limits on housework because things never seemed done to my satisfaction. I struggled with formal protocols that weren't clearly explained or understood, regardless of who tried to implement them. I rejected my collar over and over and over again. I wasn't "doing it right". Where was the reassurance and peace and confidence that was "promised" in the lifestyle?

Attending SJW was an incredible experience and it validated my sense of service. Being surrounded by others who claimed "submission" and yet were perfectly normal PEOPLE helped my understanding, but I still see the external status, the sugar-coat.

I am also frustrated by the occasional questions about my life as a submissive. I try to describe my day-to-day and can't explain how my relationship is different than an ordinary albeit healthy husband-wife relationship.

I am a stay-at-home mom. I do my best to keep up with the housework, keep the kids busy, keep food in the fridge and meals at regular intervals. Unlike many women I know, sex hasn't gone by the wayside because we have kids, but that hardly makes a D/s relationship.

On the BDSM score, I was disillusioned with club, circumvented the rules and got into trouble with Cole, threw away the explorations with Master Ron, ran away from Sir. There seemed nothing about the lifestyle that I could embrace.

My second pregnancy took a real toll on an already struggling "lifestyle". The last three months were void of any involvement with the D/s or BDSM community or even "normal" huband-wife intimacies. We agreed that the collar I had worn...a key on a black silk cord...wasn't going to be a collar any more. On July 22nd, Beloved cut the cord because I was having a c-section.

That didn't change anything in our lives. I continued to do my best to keep up with the housework, keep the kids busy, keep food in the fridge and meals at regular intervals. But as we have slowly gotten back in touch with the lifestyle community, I have fretted over my lack of a collar when attending events.

Last Wednesday, I finally asked Beloved what it would take to earn a collar. I wasn't happy with his answer. There are changes he'd like to see if we going re-enter a collared relationship...protocols, conditioning, training. I rejected this instantly...I struggle to keep up with what I HAVE, let alone adding to it! I just don't have more to give right now, and I was furious that Beloved would ask it of me!

We talked again Thursday night, and I was resigned. I wasn't going to have anything to do with a collar ever again. I was going to give it all up. It was pointless because I just am not collar-material.

Friday was MAsT. There was going to be drumming again, and more importantly, there were going to be people I liked there. I wanted to go but questioned the appropriateness...after all, I wasn't collared. I don't want people to know I'm just a housewife.

Even as I write that, I know how idiotic that is. Submission isn't defined by a lock on a chain. It isn't something that can be given or taken away. Submission is allowing other peoples' will take priority over your own.

I delight in serving others, in providing them with tokens of my service. It brightens my day to hear the surprise in someone's voice when I remember a preference or present them with something they needed/wanted. I have always styled my home around being open and available to others.

Beloved asked me to explain what what a collar means to me, and in the process of writing this, I think I have figured out the answer. For me, a collar isn't something that will drastically change my life or my relationships. While I have fought HARD with labels and titles, the core reason that I sought out D/s has never changed.

A collar...Beloved's collar...excuses me from society's expectations and enables me to embrace my life in service. I want and need to be recognized and celebrated for what I am. A submissive.