LackOfContent warning: This post contains no sex or suggestive language; no pretty girls are spanked and there are no pictures or videos of Mistress Elita.
You don’t even get to see my bum.
If you are OK with these things, then please read on. If you’d like something more erotic, try this.
Insomnia is an absolute bastard; an unforgiving, debilitating, horrible, sod of a thing. I hate it as if it was a physical presence that had grievously wronged me.
I’m sure it takes different forms for different people but here’s what it is for me:
It’s waking at 3.30, a head full of mental white noise that just won’t go away.
It’s dragging my arse through the day unfocused, unproductive, unhappy.
It’s waking up, thinking “hmm, slept OK but it’s a bit early,” turning over and finding it’s 1.30 in the morning, then being so depressed with that fact that I don’t go back to sleep.
It’s driving the car from the office at three in the afternoon, parking half a mile away and allowing myself to snooze.
It’s part of a cycle, feeding the very feelings of depression, anxiety and self loathing that caused the loss of sleep in the first place.
I hate it. I really do.
My insomnia is stubbornly refusing to respond to the wonderful recent change in my life (I have a new and very lovely friend whose kinks align beautifully with mine and whom I adore).
Disappointingly, it’s been worse lately; I’ve been both struggling to go to sleep AND waking early. I have realised I am on a downwards spiral and, having promised to do so for years, I recently decided to seek help.
But where to go?
Appointments at our local GP are rarer than Unicorns; non-prescription medication doesn’t work for me (I can stay awake through Nytol, Sominex and the others); and the sleep clinic at the hospital seems to be focused on physical problems: sleep apnea and the like.
I’m self aware enough to realise that sleep loss is the symptom rather than the disease here, so I Googled “counselling, stress, sleep” and stuck a virtual pin in a long list of names of local people offering those things. Earlier this week I had a free introductory meeting.
She works from the conservatory of her house in the next village to ours and I liked her immediately.
I told her about my job and the uncertainties of how long I could keep it going; I told her of the worry of starting again at my age.
I told her about my divorce and the total lack of clarity of where I will live and how I will live when we sell the house.
I told her about my son’s depression and the concern over his dropping out of University.
I told her about my mother’s Alzheimer’s, my father’s struggles to care for her, and my 250 mile round trips to cook Sunday lunch for them.
And, as I told her these things, and sensed her sympathetic reactions, I realised possibly for the first time, that I was giving myself permission to be stressed and unhappy. Suddenly it seemed that this might not be weakness, but a natural, logical, excusable reaction to the circumstances in which I find myself. I felt a palpable sense of relief wash over me.
I was 30 minutes into our first session, which wasn’t really meant to be a session, and already I could feel myself moving forwards for the first time in years. I felt it would be wrong to engage her without giving fair warning as to what might be included in our discussions, so I started to tell her about my hidden, kinky life.
My words refused the fence. I circled back, giving them a good look at it, but they refused it again. A third time they just wouldn’t take the fence, jamming into each other on the approach, leaving me staring at her in mute, embarrassed confusion.
In the end I didn’t try to jump it but just crashed through, tears in my eyes:
“I’m a masochist and I see a professional Dominatrix! She ties me up and hurts me.”
The counsellor was lovely; sympathetic and non-judgemental. She assured me that none of what I had told her would impact her willingness to help me.
After our meeting, and having warned her of its content, I sent her a post titled “Honey, I’m seeing a Dominatrix,” thinking that it might help us jump over long and difficult explanations about how I got to where I am today. Her reply sent another surge of relief through me.
Thank you for sharing this with me. You write incredibly well and it was indeed helpful in terms of my understanding your journey so far and your internal world. I appreciate the strength it took and the courage in being so frank with me from the outset. Rest assured I do not judge and accept you just as you are. Our journey together now is to help you achieve a peaceful balance and acceptance in your life going forward. To enable you to rest and sleep easily. You have made the first step on that journey today.
I know there is hard work in this; I have never had any form of counselling before, and the thought of being this open with someone I have just met is scary.
But I do feel very strongly that when I put my pin in a list of local therapists, it landed in exactly the right place.
This is such a good description of the impact that simply having one’s struggles/stressors acknowledged as REAL and our reactions to them regarded as NORMAL and UNDERSTANDABLE by someone who isn’t close to us as a friend or partner. I definitely recognize that feeling of relief from my own experiences in similar circumstances.
“And, as I told her these things, and sensed her sympathetic reactions, I realised possibly for the first time, that I was giving myself permission to be stressed and unhappy. Suddenly it seemed that this might not be weakness, but a natural, logical, excusable reaction to the circumstances in which I find myself. I felt a palpable sense of relief wash over me.”
And well done for getting a therapist on your team! And how amazing that you’ve found a good match at the first try!
So glad you’ve taken this step and found a good fit in the therapist. That makes all the difference. I hope it’s helpful! I’m also an insomniac in need of going back to therapy; this post has motivated me to stop dragging my feet on that, so thank you xx