The shaping of our own life

is our own work.

It is a thing of beauty or

a thing of shame,

as we ourselves make it.

- star

        These words have haunted me since i first read them.  i don't think i can explain why, just that they seem to be telling me something, and i shall continue to read them until i understand what it is that has touched me.

        i spoke with Sir on the phone last night, for quite a long time.  i have been given more tasks, including the order to be sure to have paper and pencil handy at all times, to write down these tasks.  Lest i forget.  So i shall have to remember to jot that down as well.. to put the paper near me always.  i can imagine an endless stream of sticky notes all over my house, with "don't forget ... " on each of them! 

        i am still deciding on how far i wish to go with sharing the journal/tasks.  The one i am about to share has taken most of the day to decide on doing.  i am still not sure i should be.  But i think i need to.

        Sir and i discussed future play party wear.  Which led to His questioning me about why i have difficulty with the idea of exposing my breasts in public.  Which, because of my non-answer at that moment, led to a task of explaining what my thoughts about it are.  What i couldn't express immediately, was the vivid image that went through my mind, while i was lying there with my eyes closed, listening to His voice as He posed that question.

        i hope those whom are reading this understand and are patient with me.  i am taking the largest of breaths before typing further.  Not because it is so horrible a thing.  It is just that i am letting anyone who is reading this, into a tiny part of my head space. 

        As He was posing the question i felt myself drifting back to being about ten or eleven years old.  i don't remember the exact age, except that i was becoming aware i was female.  It was the end of the summer and my body was starting to lose the tan it had acquired.  my skin was mottled looking.  my mother had an obsession with dirt and she had taken myself and my siblings, one by one, and rubbed our skin with a dry facecloth until the tan wore away.   Several days later, while i was undressing for a bath, she entered the room and noticed that across my upper chest, i was still patchy with tan.  She was horrified, insisting that i had not been washing properly, since it was not gone.  She grabbed me firmly by my arm and pulled me to the living room, and to the front door, opening it and calling to my father.  There were several of my father's friends outside with him, helping to level out some ground for our new front lawn. 

        "Look at how dirty she is."  i remember those words clearly, as she had taken my arms and pushed them to my sides.  And i remember my tears and embarrassment as i realized that everyone there could see my naked chest.  i can still hear my father's chiding voice to her, and her anger at him for undermining what she had done.  And how i was punished afterward.

        A tiny incident, but one that has stayed with me.  There are other things; being teased about being flat-chested, to being told they would be nicer if they weren't so droopy.  The usual feminine insecurities that seem to be a by-product of the era i was raised in.  But i find it curious that my mind drifted so definitely to that one particular event in my life, as i lay there listening to Sir's voice. 

        Is this the first time i remembered that day? No, definitely not.  But this time, as i was feeling the hurt again, i think i started to realize how it affected me.  And i think i am beginning to understand that i don't have to allow these events to continue influencing me.  That i need to let them go. 

        And maybe i can indeed expose my breasts in public without feeling shame.  Maybe i just have to try.