Bracelets

A year ago, I was going through some pretty rough emotional trials.

Someone dear to me wanted me to have something physical I could touch when I needed strength, and needed to remember I wasn’t alone.

What he came up with was a bead. A single, special bead, and he had a matching one. These beads were small, unassuming glass beads, but contained soil from the place where we first started really getting to know each other.

A bead is easy to lose, but a bracelet is less so.

So, I made two bracelets. They didn’t match at all, other than the fact that in the middle of each was a small, unassuming glass bead, which didn’t quite match anything else on the bracelet.

I’ve worn that bracelet most of the time for the last year. If I wasn’t wearing it, it was generally in my pocket. (A commercial kitchen is no place for wrist jewelry.)

These bracelets sometimes seemed psychic. Some days, they’d jump off our wrists at random times in random places, but always turned back up. Other days, no matter what happened, they held tight. I had created them with multiple strings/knots/points of failure...and there were times, particularly when one of us was particularly upset with the other, that one or both of us would realize that the strings on the bracelet were broken. Maybe just one string...maybe just one was left.

The relationship with this other person was ended about a week and a half ago.

The other day, I realized that the strings on my bracelet were still holding strong. This gave me hope...but I think, perhaps, it shouldn’t have.  I continued wearing it.

Yesterday, partway through the day, I took my bracelet off.

Today, I put it in a bag of salt, put the bag in a box, and closed it away for a while. If the connection needs to be severed, it needs to be severed. Acceptance is slow...but it’s coming.

What if...

What if your waitress was wearing a pentacle instead of a cross?

What if you knew the person you were interviewing for a new job or for a promotion was in a consensually non-manogamous relationship?

What if you found out your child's friend's parents were involved in a BdSm lifestyle?

Would it make a difference?

Would you tip the same?

Would you hire/ promote him/her?

Would you still let your child play at the friend's house?


What if you found out one of your friends was a "furry"?

What if you found out that "Mark and Pam", the married couple that always seems to be at your brother's house is actually involved in a swinging relationship with your brother and his wife?

What if you found out that your sister enjoyed being tied up?

Would it change how you felt?

Would you suddenly think your friend was weird?

Would you condemn your brother's lifestyle?

Would you feel awkward around your sister?


What if people weren't really as conservative and clean-cut as you thought?

Would it matter?

Would you rather know, or not?

fear

When I started this blog a few years ago, one of the first things I wrote was about the fact that there would be "no more hiding; no more masks".

What happened?

Over the last year (or just over a year), I've been closing off more and more and sharing less and less of what's going on in my life. That's not just on this blog, but it's in person, too.

Why?

I've been afraid.

I've been afraid of what would happen if people knew who I really was or what was going on in my life. I was afraid of the repercussions for other people.

I was afraid that some of my less conventional beliefs or choices would be bad for my husband's career, or mine. I was afraid that my girls' friends' parents would decide that they didn't want their children being friends with mine.

I didn't want who I am to reflect badly on my family.

Irrational fears? Maybe. Probably. But still very real, and very paralyzing.

It means that I haven't been able to open up to people. It means that I haven't been able to feel like I had any close friends that I could really trust.

When things were going well, I couldn't share it. When things were going badly, I couldn't ask for help. There wasn't anyone who could understand, because no one got all the pieces of the puzzle.

It's lonely.

Incredibly lonely.

I'm afraid of disapproval from people I care about and respect. I'm afraid that who I am will either get me rejected, or will hurt people I love.

I'm afraid to be vulnerable.

I'm afraid to be alone.

That fear led to choices which led to loss.

Fear and depression are great friends. They're two sneaky dark voices in the back of my head. Neither one leads to good places...but they are both very hard to ignore.