Thanks to my main therapist, I have realised that I am deeply insecure. You’d think that’s the kind of thing that I might not have hidden from myself. But such are the wiles of the insecure mind and heart, that they are master-deceivers. Forever hiding the mirror from ourselves, just when we should look into it most.
I have to say that the session where we got to this realisation was a bit like when a dear friend holds your hair when you vomit. Thankfully, known only vicariously. Though I have held someone else’s hair when they let it rip for a wee while. So I guess I know what it feels like. In any event, I am grateful to her for showing me this and then for coping with its ugliness.
And now, there are few other things that I can think about. First off, you can’t just say to yourself, “okay, now I am going to be confident.” It not only doesn’t work like that, but it just seems to make it worse. She commiserated with me as I lamented the injustice of it all.
“What parts of you do you push away or deny?”
“I’m deeply insecure.”
“You can start by recognising it.”
“What good’s that going to do?”
“It’s the first step. Recognition.”
“But how do I make it go away?”
“You have everything you need already. Look at the root cause. What’s producing the feeling in the first place?”
“And then what?” I was making her work for her fees.
“What does being insecure feel like?”
“It feels wrong. Self-harming.”
“What else?”
“Shame. It feels shameful.”
“It can help to walk towards what we are afraid of.”
“Well, I am desperately afraid of shame, desperately afraid of being insecure.”
“You don’t want to look at your own needs. But you know what they are. Don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. How much do look outside myself to satisfy a need, a craving. How much I seek validation.”
“And yet, it is by looking inward that we find peace and joy.”
“It seems hard.”
“Own where you are and be with where you’re at.”
But as I have been rattling around in the halls of my life over the past week, her words have stayed with me. Some time ago, I read somewhere that a slave needs lot’s of feedback, reassurance that they are doing okay, are being pleasing. That was a huge salve to me and made me feel a lot better about the feeling.
Apparently, this is less common amongst the submissive. There is probably not much science behind this…just someone else’s considered opinion. But knowing that this was something I value, it felt good to see it in black and white. And this has been true of my dynamics in the world of BDSM. “What a nightmare,” I hear you say. Perhaps. But surely that is a small trade-off for acts of service and devotion? A simple ‘good boy’ or ‘good girl’ or ‘good it’ always lands well. That’s a bit facile…but the fevered mind of this slave just loves to know that s/he is in the good graces, appreciated by, the Domme served. And to know how that can continue, can be improved upon, be grown.
God surely has a sense of humour. Take one insecure person and then let’s make them trans. Oh, and let’s make them a late transitioner too. No chance of passing. Let’s also make them super tall, so everyone can see them. You know like suddenly you find yourself on stage with your pants down and the floodlights come down. That’s pretty much the life of a ballerina giraffe. And in such circumstances, the best one can do is to waltz through life with grace. That’s something I learned from my mother, the most glamorously beautiful woman I have ever known…a true original ballerina giraffe.
Her lessons to me where about her. “Don’t hunch your shoulders. You look like a teenaged girl trying to hide her boobs.” Well today, I stand with my shoulders thrown back, wearing a thin blouse and a lovely bra that, well, shows I am proud of what I’ve got. And I am towering on heels as I walk through the airport (yes, I know, I do fly a lot). “The prettiest girls are the loneliest. The boys are too intimidated to ask her out. Don’t be that boy.” Mom, I want to be that girl! And FYI, that peculiar quirk of my attraction to women/girls has always meant I walked up to the prettiest in the room. After all, mama said.
I don’t think that I am insecure because I am trans. It sure makes things interesting though. Nobody who knows me generally, except for maybe a clutch of people who are really, really close, knows the truth of that. Most think I am supremely confident. And what else can you do? Admitting to insecurity is one thing that is terrifying, so vulnerable.
My therapist suggested that I just own up to at my next Board Meeting. “But I work in the most cut-throat industry, in the most cut-throat field, the most macho, most manly industry and function of all. “Maybe admitting that you are insecure about something will break the ice. Maybe everyone will feel more relaxed around you because of it.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
I think she’s right. She seems to be pretty much always so far. People talk to me. They always have. Usually quite openly. I think this is for a couple of reasons. I am open too. Innocence is right there at the surface, and innocence is the bedfellow of vulnerability. And if not taken to excess, this is an unfailingly endearing quality.
When I first began in the world of BDSM, I fell into so many online traps, sharing way too much information with scammers, with catfish, with people who were nominally out to get me. Several of them set out to blackmail me, threatening to out me, to compromise my identity, to share inappropriate images or films of me. Yes, I was that foolish. But in the end, nothing bad happened. I am lucky. But there was more to it.
With one catfish I was able to continue with her after she removed her mask. Actually, this happened twice…and you know what, we had fun together online both before and after the reveal. And one of them even tried to blackmail at one point. Another one offered to teach me how to do what she did, and wanted to take me under her wing—catfish in training. I was intrigued and loved the business model—that I hand over a tithe to her—10% of my earnings. I never did it, but I imagine that there are catfish farms, organised criminals, that kind of thing. Thankfully, I was just “playing” with individuals.
Where I live I really stand out like a sore thumb. And people just stare at me. Oh well. I love it here. I have decided that not only does every community need a trans person, but most likely several. If we are one in 100, then there must be several thousand in these parts. I’ve only seen one—and she was really gorgeous. Maybe I should organise a party.
And curiously, I am meeting more and more people as a trans woman. Boy me never really met anybody. Jack was a dull boy. Jill, however, is finding people want to talk to her. And I want to talk back, to get to know people. And so, little by little, my circle of acquaintances is growing, even if I live in a conservative environment.
And I am getting closer and closer to having no aspect of my life that is not out. I am living 99% out now, and my feminising body is a fact, my breasts are a fact. This is existential, it is who I am. It isn’t a show. And in a strange way, nothing has ever given me such confidence. Crazy no? To think that the thing that would absolutely kill confidence is proving to be the thing that gives it to me, and also gives me strength when I feel weak.
In other words, by facing insecurity square on, it has no place to hide. Who could have expected that outcome?
Yes, I do still need feedback. Maybe that will go away. Maybe it will go away at the same time as feeling I need or want to be a slave. That’s what my head tells me, but then I find myself with a woman who exercises her dominant energy around me and I drop right into line with it, and it feels good.
And what of ulterior motives? The epiphany that I had boarding my flight was that insecurity and ulterior motives are the two faces of a coin…If I am doing something for someone because I want something, need something from them, it is a form of insecurity. And as I strive to let go of “networking” with people, and just revelling in their company, not seeking anything from them, but just living and loving the moment, I realise that I have nothing to feel insecure about.
And gosh, this is truly yummy.
What it makes me realise is that when we get out of our own way, just allow ourselves to flow, allow others to flow, just get into that flow with others and let it happen, our lives happen in more and more magical ways.
The bounty of the universe is showing itself to me more and more with each passing day. And yes, that is God laughing…and I start to get the joke.
Becoming the perfect slave for the perfect domme, and both are me.
i think inercuity comes from not really knowing who we are and that we are just figuring it out. Step by step and security come from knowing who we are and being who we are.
And you my friend are getting more and more secure because you are also knowing and understanding your true self.
I hope you are right. I saw a post on Instagram a day or so ago which was a series of memes about having ADD…and insecurity, lo and behold was chief among them. It had never occurred to me. It stems from the supposed increased or hyper-sensitivity of ADD people to stimulus (we lack an ability to filter out “noise”)…and I wonder if that isn’t what leads me to slavery…that it is a necessity as it reduces the noise. Something to ponder on. Thank you for your comment.