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RWoA, aka Lily, is a gifted writer. A creative soul that has the ability to turn her words, into your own story. You go on the journey with her. Feel with her. Know of what she speaks.
Like many that relate to music in general, she has shared music throughout her posts that have meaning to her. I love when someone introduces me to a new artist or as is the case, a new artist in a genre that isn’t typically on my playlist. Especially one that brings forth memories, feelings and emotions. Good or bad.
David Nail- Kiss You Tonight.
Tomorrow is counseling day. Marriage counseling. I admitted to IHAA in an email conversation that it’s not an easy road. Nor should it be, but I’m definitely a bit fatigued by it right now. And to be fair, so is DH. It’s been just over a year now, DH & I have been diligent in our attendance, doing the homework and taking each day as it comes. We have good days, okay days and of course, bad days. It’s been a long while since we’ve had a complete shit-show day and that’s good too except that it feels as if we are at a stalemate in terms of progress. The last few sessions we’ve started to touch upon incredibly hard and deeply seeded issues but it’s always in the 15-minutes of the session and only after our counselor has gone through a herculean effort to bring it out of DH. I am more than cognizant of the fact that I’m all in when it comes to therapy and participation and so I work at patience and letting whatever needs to be said to flow from DH in his time and when he’s ready. Even our counselor has said that I can’t do all of the work. As much as he may want to punish me or be angry, which he has every right to do and be, he also has work to do and if he isn’t willing to address that and talk about that then I can’t do any work if I don’t know what it is he wants to address. It’s a cycle.
We have been dancing around the topic of PTSD related to childhood abuse and yet some of the things still haven’t been addressed or done that DH has committed to. In our marriage counseling and his own therapy. Our counselor asked him again, why not. His answer of “why”? Made her stop in her tracks. She asked him, “Do you want to try to understand IsMe and her own journey?” . Silence. Not the kind where you could hear a pin drop more of the hushed kind. I was about to speak but she silenced me with a wave of her hand. Wanting DH to ruminate on her question and wallow in the silence. When DH finally took a breath he was honest in his answer. “Can we talk about it next session? Maybe? I don’t know…” and our time was up.
So, next time is tomorrow. The past two weeks have been okay. Not great, a couple of very difficult trigger-filled days for both of us, but the majority of the time ok. Every time we’ve tried to start a conversation about us or our relationship was quickly moved to the parking lot. As in, let’s park this until our next session. Tomorrow is the next session.
Exactly.
I have learned through my own life and experiences that as much as we may want to fix people in our lives, that’s just not possible. Change comes from within us. This coming from someone who was pretty broken. Many tried to change or save me, unsuccessfully. Change only happened when I was ready for it. When I was ready to embrace it and willing to put in the work for it. We all have our own dysfunctions, insecurities, fears and flaws. The best type of partner is the one patient enough to stick around, support from the sidelines and love you unconditionally, until the day you can love yourself that way.
International Women’s Day…no matter our circumstance, our stories, the journey’s we are all on, we are indeed all women and moving forward. One step at a time.
Ok, ok. So it’s not a real word, yet, at least not according to Merriam-Webster or the folks at the Oxford dictionary, but it should be. Or at the very least, added to the “meeting b-i-n-g-o” cards that circulate around the office now and again.
We all have that one person in our lives, personally or professionally. Come on, admit it you do. I am currently dealing with two such people on my new work team. They literally send mail to the larger team of 32 and ask for advice over every little aspect of the project they are responsible for. And when they don’t take our advice and something goes wrong, they can’t understand how that happens.
I was out on mandatory sick leave for the last little bit and I’m catching up on work, trying to clean out my inbox ahead of the work week beginning tomorrow, and there it is. A woe is me soliloquy from the team member, sent to a distribution list of over 100 people including 4 VP’s and several other executives asking for advice. Forget the email etiquette: 1) think before you hit send 2) limit distribution and 3) check for spelling & grammatical errors…it was the ps: that got me. As in PS: I promise folks, this time I will listen to any advice given.
OOF.
The other day, Ann St Vincent, wrote about how one word can deflate one’s balloon so to speak. You can read the post here. And then in the same timeframe, several other bloggers had posts filled with anxiety, writing about triggers that can bring out anxiety, reminders of old feelings or needs to be validated. One comment on ASV’s post got me thinking, they asked her “Why do you crave assurance so much?” Ann was honest in her response: “I don’t know”
We all have triggers, things that we are learning about ourselves as we continue on this roller coaster ride we call life. In reading all of ASV’s posts and those of others, we can all be very self-aware of what it is we need, what we *think* we need and what we believe to be true. And yet, all of the self-awareness doesn’t always prepare you for that word, that trigger that can come out of nowhere, sending you back to that moment or that feeling that took over your being at that moment.
For some, it’s buried deep and may never seek release. For others, it’s never far, lurking just beneath the mask or façade that they need to wear everyday to get through. Now, I haven’t met ASV in person (yet) but I know myself and my own insecurities well enough to know that when I finally get to share in that bottle or bottles of Prosecco with her and Lady M, *I* am the one that will be in awe of these two strong, sexy, intelligent women. Both happen to be much taller than my 5’2″ and I know for a fact, I am “bigger” than both 🙂
Amen!
immediately thought of many but especially @thewomaninvisible for her courage this weekend. no matter.
Butterflies. I can’t explain it but even after all this time I still get butterflies just before I see him in real life, again. Of course, then there’s also the anxiety and nervousness that takes over my consciousness: “what if he doesn’t desire me anymore?” “will he be happy to see me?” “what if…?” “Or, what if…?”
I hear the familiar click of a keycard in the door and before I can shut my laptop and look towards the door, there he is. There. He. Is. All 6’4″ of him.
His hair is a bit mussed up, he’s wearing a hoody topped by my favorite coat of his. His cheeks are red from the cold and that sexy, shy smile spreads from his cheeks to his cerulean blue eyes that sends fissures of lust straight to my core. I know I gasped out loud as I said “Hey!” and blushed thoroughly as I leapt from the desk and on to my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close for a kiss. Suddenly self-conscious that I probably look more bookish and geeky in my NFL fan jersey and glasses instead of sexy. But then there’s his kiss. The kind of kiss that renders me speechless and leaves me weak in the knees. I take a deep breath, in order to inhale his scent. Have I mentioned how much I love his scent? It’s fresh and clean and uniquely him. Tears of happiness threaten to spill from eyes as the kiss deepens and his embrace engulfs me completely.
Just as I think I can’t get any closer to him, he growls in that low, husky way that soaks my panties and I find myself pushed against the wall, my arms up above my head, held firmly with one of his large hands as the other runs down my body to the edge of the jersey before dipping lower and touching my sex “Mmm just as wet as I know you’d be hun” he says as he’s devouring my mouth. I can only whimper as his hand then grabs the hem of my jersey and easily pulls it up and off me. Unf.
From there it’s a blur of my mewling in pleasure as his hands and mouth are focused on bringing me to the edge yet again, only to push me into the abyss with a nip then a bite and a soothing tongue on a nipple. I feel his cock, hard and twitching underneath his jeans, begging for release. Who is to say that I can’t reciprocate, especially as I collapse to my knees after the first orgasm, I eagerly undo his belt and work his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his straining cock right into my mouth. I was wet everywhere. My pussy wet and my mouth salivating in anticipation of all of his deliciousness. When I’m on my knees I can deep throat him and free my hands to tease and tickle the boys and the soft skin underneath. I bob my head and swirl my tongue around his thick shaft and silky smooth head, gagging in my eagerness. His hands in my hair and his head thrown back when I look up, I increase the pressure with my hands, wanting to taste more than the pre-cum that coats my mouth.
Sadly that’s not to be as he pulls be back up and while I expect to be led to the bed he bends me over and enters me from behind. Fast. Hard. And my eyes roll to the back of my head as my body gives way to the pleasure. Oh good lord not again, is all I can think as I soak his cock and my inner thighs.
At some point we manage to say “hello” “I’ve missed you” before falling on the bed. Needing to taste me he easily flips me over and my legs fall to the side as his beard tickles my legs as he kisses, nips and licks his way up to my twitching pussy. this is a man that knows his way around women and he knows me better than I know myself. Always self-conscious about the size of my clit, small and tucked under her hood, he’s the only one that’s taken the time to figure her out, tease her, bite her and seduce her until she has me writhing in pleasure and signaling the release of energy and endorphins as if he had direct access to the pleasure centers of my brain.
After the third wet and wild orgasm that leaves my thighs shuddering and me incapable of speech he doesn’t stop. I don’t want him to stop. Ever. “Flip over, ass in the air”…is what I hear as I scramble in anticipation, ass up, hands gripping the sheets as he continues his thorough and complete reclaiming of me.
is me is really me 