I don’t know the woman I was before. I have mulled the question over in my mind, and I can’t answer it. It would be like describing a sunrise to someone who’d never seen color. An absolute impossibility. And I don’t mean to other people, I mean to myself. I don’t know who I use to be.
I do remember her. At least, I think I remember her. I remember how other people described her, and still (occasionally) do. I remember what they thought of her; their judgements, classifications, and the way she became that because it was the expectation. The real her feels as distant and separate from who I am now that talking about her feels like talking about some woman I bumped into at the store. We exchanged pleasantries, noticed the weather, complimented each other’s boots. She was happy and nice, polite-nice anyway. But still, a woman I don’t know. She was a woman who I can talk about later, make some judgements on her personality, her actions, either good or bad. I would recognize her if I met her again, and smile or maybe nod ‘hello’, but I would not know her name or ask her to coffee.
That’s who my old self is to me: a woman I bumped into and then went on about my day.
Yet once, she is all I was.
Now there is only me.
minnie is submissive. She feels deeply, and knows her worth, her value, her purpose. She is happy in a way that ‘happy’ doesn’t do her justice, and she spreads the joy around, making everyone else happy around her. She has undying love and devotion to her Master. I know, logically anyway, that the old me would have made the same proclamation. But minnie, knowing both sides, would know she was wrong. As minnie, my experiences are too big for words. So powerful at times, she is brought to her knees and can think of nothing better to do then curl up like a kitten at her master’s feet, purring. From here, the only act more fulfilling, more satisfying, would be the need to serve her Master. For that, she would gladly rise.
There are some things I remember about the old me – the lady in the grocery store. She questioned herself a lot. She questioned her purpose, her place in life. She grew angry quickly, and sometimes wildly. She would have considered herself perfectly normal, content, and happy – if asked. She was satisfied in her life, and felt there was nowhere to go, but up.
Minnie, however, she knows better. She knows submission. She knows her Master. She knows the release. She knows what it is to be at his feet.
And it is sweet.