The "Best Self" Conundrum (Part 1)
Shadow Work is not a one-size-fits-all process; and feeling feelings is hard.
Having a slave/partner who is an expert on vulnerability work means that question of my “best self” arise on a regular basis. I have discovered that there is no definitive manual on how to be your “best self.” Yes, there are plenty of self-help books; I’ve read so many that they all blur together. After years of work, however, I’ve realised that — like so many religions — each was saying basically the same thing, just using different terms and contexts. Whether it was the ever-popular Brene Brown, the Buddhist sage Mingyur Rinpoche, or Carolyn Elliott’s Existential Kink (not to mention others along that line by the wonderful Lee Harrington, Raven Kaldera, an Master Skip Chasey), each was orbiting around the fact that to find our best selves, deep self-reflection is required; and to do that deep self-reflection, we need an honest and unflinching self-awareness that exists in that elusive space ground between self-critique, self depreciation, and self-loathing.
In some circles (and as my slave loves to tell me), this is “shadow work.” I know, many may cringe at this deeply-woo term. Regardless of how we feel about it, the mechanisms of these processes are a variation on the same theme: look at the aspects of yourself around which shame, pain, and or self-loathing orbit … but don’t just look at them, engage with them. Be curious about them. Feel them. This is how we work through them.
This was something my slave has been encouraging me to do throughout our, relationship, and it was something that I was subconsciously (and sometimes very consciously) resisting. At first I thought was doing shadow work, because I thought that simply acknowledging something was processing it: Oh yes, I am ashamed of those things I did. Oh yes, those things make me feel like shit. Right, yes, I self sabotage because of these deep childhood traumas, yadda yadda yadda.
I’d look at all of those things and wonder why I wasn’t feeling any better. I had acknowledged them after all. Bless my slave for her patience.
For my purposes, that wasn’t enough. I had to be curious about them. I had to see how (and why) they worked. I needed to understand the mechanisms of them. Thankfully I found a kink-forward therapist who continues to help me to do just this, and Mercy has never faltered in her support as I worked through things. In fact, her support has been a major part of the process. Why? Because her loving encouragement and reassurances that she would be there no matter what made it “safe” for me to tread into those very vulnerable waters.
One particular day, I was stressing about an upcoming weekend with my slave. Mercy and I don’t live together; we each live with our respective nesting partners. This can create specific challenges with our M/s, particularly when it comes to having time alone with each other. So our weekends away are very important ways for us to reconnect and fully engage our dynamic in person and in real time. So, for me, trips together can carry a lot of significance.
I was falling into a spiral that I know many other Doms and Masters have felt in one form or another: putting pressure on myself to make it the GREATEST WEEKEND EVER and that we would do ALL THE KINKY THINGS and be fully “in” our dynamic as much as possible; I would be sure to give my slave the most cathartic floggings, the biggest and greatest orgasms, in the most Domly and Masterly way possible, etc., etc.
But just as soon as I was pumping up my expectations for the weekend, I found myself starting to sink into a quicksand self-doubt: How are you going to fuck it up this time, ‘Sir Quill’?
Thankfully, I was able to have a mindful moment and just sit with that doubt for a moment. And in that silence, another question arose. It wasn’t judgemental, accusatory, or hostile. It was calm, lighthearted, and quizzical:
Why do you do this?
Perhaps it was my year and a half of therapy; perhaps all the books I’d read about shadow work had finally fermented into something that my thick head could process, but this time, when the question arose, I didn’t push it away. I committed to engaging with it, and answering it — not rhetorically or figuratively, but literally.
I answered it in writing, first starting in longhand. As the ideas started coming through and I was facing it in real time, the thoughts came through even faster. I switched to typing so I could keep up.
And I just wrote. It felt physically awful. My chest started to tighten. My head started to pound. I felt like I was coming down with the flu or COVID. But I had the wherewithal (again, thanks to my slave’s guidance) to know what was happening. I was processing the emotions that went with things. I leaned in and kept going.
Why, [Quill], are you thinking that you’re somehow going to fuck this weekend up? Why are you immediately assuming that you’re going to do do something wrong, or disappoint, or somehow step in it? Why are you setting yourself up for failure? Why are you assuming inadequacy? Why are you being so fucking hard on yourself?
After the initial waves of ick subsided, I found myself writing with a kind of frenzied ease, and a sense of relief. It was all coming out, and I wasn’t holding myself back.
More next week in part 2!