A Reconstructed Heart

 How do you rebuild a heart in which several dwell? 

If you’ve ever renovated a house, while trying to keep the family home intact, you know how difficult it can be. 

When a monogamous relationship ends, one can lick their wounds and rebuild in the way that suits them and them alone.  As a polyamorous woman, I cannot do that.  I’ve discovered it’s a focused process of maintaining my own emotional health while still being emotionally available and loving to others. 

If you are monogamous, and if those above phrases made your head explode, you might want to stop reading.

My last formalized D/s relationship ended abruptly in July 2011. I have not spoken of it openly before now.  It was the last thing I had expected in a relationship that had been highly negotiated, with a submissive who worked diligently to be collared.  After nearly a year of 5 hour commutes, meeting in the middle at leather events in Columbus, endless hours spent on the telephone, working out queer sexuality, and with an earned collar, he moved to Ohio and in with Michael and I.   Most of the time life was good.  Sure, there were some bumps, and life wasn’t entirely smooth, but he was family. And, I don’t kick family to the curb when times get rough. 

After a job loss and a festive Pride weekend, we returned home.  Several days passed when a dear friend called me to ask if my submissive had spoken to me yet about how he was talking about moving back to Indiana to reclaim his old job.  At the time, he had not, and I was hurt by the fact he would not think to share with his dominant, friend, and lover.  But, to be fair, I waited a few days to give him time to process, then approached him about it.  He was disappointed that my friend shared this information with me, and couldn’t comprehend why I was hurt that he hadn’t felt that he could be direct with me.  We took a break in conversation.  When we resumed, he had removed his locked collar.  And just like that, our D/relationship was over.

I’ll let you in on a secret.  Dominants can hurt too.  We cry.  We bleed, and we even yearn. It might not be macho, but it’s true.

My heart isn’t a revolving door, neither is my bed, therefore I have always been very selective about who I hold close.

Michael and I were heartbroken to think of him leaving, as he had decided on his own he was doing so.  Between Michael and myself, many tears were shed, but he seemed incapable of understanding our sadness.  We helped him with some aspects of moving.  He left, resumed his old life, and in short time turned his back on my birth family, my entire leather family and us.  I found myself in a place of mourning not only the loss of a relationship, but also a loss of family.

I was processing this loss as a dominant as well: being stoic while out, but kicking myself for not seeing it coming, and wondering if I could have done something differently.   For a long time I shouldered responsibility. At times, I distrusted my own judgment.

I was also dealing with feelings of shame.  I was ashamed that my submissive would come to think so little of a collar that it was removed with less thought than a used condom. 

I know how tight knit our community is, so I only spoke to two close friends about the loss; I didn’t want people to judge him too harshly, or shun him, so he could still have a place in the community if he wanted one.  

For better or worse, for many reasons I was dealing with my emotions mostly on my own.  I knew Michael was mulling his own feelings and it was important to me for him to experience his own without feeling as if he had to care for me.  I was also dealing with guilt of my failed relationship bringing strife and pain into Michael’s life.

One day, I realized I was only looking back at the relationship and all that transpired; therefore was blind to the future. I’ve never lived my life in that manner and I wasn’t going to begin to do so at thirty-eight.  I did fully open up to Michael in time, unedited.  He listened without judgment. Speaking of Michael, what a rock.  I am beyond fortunate to have such a present, loving partner.

I never had trust issues in regard to relationships, but I did now.  At times, I am fearful of being hurt so deeply again.  I recognize my feelings, but also know I won’t let this experience rule them. 

I was a year taking time to heal and the two of us; well, refiguring life with just the two of us.  If you’re wired like we are, there are so many aspects of life that are missed when you shift back to two.  When well meaning monogamous people would offer condolences, they’d say, “Well, you still have Michael.”  When I would respond, “Thank you.  But, you can’t substitute one loved one for another.”  They didn’t understand.

I have profiles on a few kink networking sites, and receive much daily e-mail from people seeking to connect.  A few are articulate and caring, most only talk to me like a fetish object created to please them.

In the spring of 2012, I sent a casual message to a man who had the most precious photo of himself in a dog cage on his profile. It inspired me to connect, if only to compliment.

He is a little more than a decade younger than me.   A musician and writer, and as I came to learn, mature, open, intelligent, multi-faceted, and creative with a sharp wit. 

We began small talking about area events, music, writing; it was always a pleasure to receive his messages.   He always wrote to me like I was a human, not a fetish object.  We casually texted, then spoke once on the phone, and then texted some more.

It was the July 3^rd, we had been invited to a pool party for the Fourth of July and out-of-the-blue I got the strong, quick notion to invite him.   After some dialog, he accepted and the plan was to have him come to the house to meet then ride to the party together. 

In the past, I had fairly regimented process in which I met with people from the Internet; sharing e-mail, then moving to at least a month of chat via yahoo, to the phone, then a drink or coffee.  What I had decided felt right, and I rationalized if highly negotiated relationships like my past D/s one could fail, that anything was possible.  I decided to abandon my notions in regard to protocol of “what works”.  And, I began to trust in my instincts again. 

I recognize now how brave this was for both of us and I am thankful we took a chance. 

Sometimes, I become fearful of the dreaded heartache.  But, I choose to never live in fear.  I know we all have histories, fears, dreams, and hopes that bring us to this place in time.  I have reclaimed my own heart, made it stronger, and it’s able to hold more love than before.  

Looking back, we’ve spent most weekends together since July and at this point; I am fully open to him, without regrets.  He has found a place in this resilient heart of mine.  I’ve come to cherish the time-shared and find myself looking forward to next time.  I miss his company and countenance when he’s not around.  Last weekend with him, flew by so quickly. Holding each other close in bed, Sunday morning seemed to manifest like a mutual surprise. You know time spent is sweet, when it dissolves as quickly as a sugar cube in Absinthe. 

I don’t know what the future brings, but there is one thing I know. 

What good is a rebuilt heart that is kept vacant out of fear?