No-Contact Punishments

I've been reading on FetLife about no-contact punishments.

I'm not sure I agree with that idea, and I'll tell you why.

A no-contact punishment is when a Dom decides that, for whatever reason, he (or she) will basically disappear from the sub's life as a consequence for bad behavior. For a set amount of days, there is no seeing each other, no phone calls, no emails, no texts, and no online chatting.

I'm sure it's an effective punishment. I can't really imagine anything worse than being completely ignored by the person you most love and trust in the world.

But I'm not sure it's healthy or productive.

To me, no-contact punishments smack of abusive behaviors, a type of silent treatment. The silent treatment, according to Dove Christian Counseling and Abuse 101, is still emotional abuse. Abuse 101 says:

The silent treatment...is the worst form of emotional abuse. It is a punishment
used by abusers to make you feel unimportant, not valued, not cared about and
completely absent from the abuser's thoughts. It is used as a form of
non-physical punishment and control because the abuser mistakenly thinks that if
they don't physically harm you then they are not abusers.

My Dom has never used this with me, and he really couldn't because we live together. No-contact punishments wouldn't really work for married couples because we're forced to see each other and at least be in the same house. Still, I know married couples who use the silent treatment (I used to and am still sometimes guilty of it) and it is abusive. Ignoring someone is the opposite of trying to live in peace and find reconciliation.

No-contact punishments, to me, are unhealthy ways to deal with a problem. Sure, it punishes the sub, but it also makes her feel ignored, unimportant, and makes her wallow in guilt. That can't be healthy for her psyche or the relationship.

No funishment for me

I like the term "funishment."

This is a deragotory term some Doms and Masters in the blogging community use to refer to punishment that the sub actually finds sexy, fun, or pleasurable in some way.

Well, what can I say? Funishment is fun! I'd much rather have a sexy, erotic spanking than a not-sexy, not-erotic spanking. I don't like the spanking or the pain associated with spanking, but at least if I get something emotionally fulfilling (like subspace) or physically fulfilling (like sexual tension) out of the deal, I feel happier about the experience as a whole.

So several weeks ago I did something bad. I honestly can't even remember what it was--- I normally have a really good memory, so blame my pregnant brain. I think it was something to do with church; I remembered the head covering but didn't say anything or go get it to prove that he had, indeed, forgotten again, or something like that. We've been going around and around about that headcovering thing lately, actually. Once or twice I remembered and told him; he then claimed he would have remembered (HA!) and I sulked the rest of church... a few times I remembered and purposefuly did not mention it to prove that he would not remember it without being reminded (he didn't), once he had to threaten to make a big scene in church before I would put it on, and once we had a fight before church and I refused to speak or participate or sing for the first half hour of the service (mature, I know). So it was probably one of those times.

I don't even know why I make such a big deal about the headcovering thing. It doesn't even bother me, and I want to be more biblical in my life. I think it's more because this is an area I test him in, because I think he will forget and/or not enforce it if I don't take the lead on it, and I hate taking the lead on things.

But I digress.

Part of me (okay, most of me) was hoping he would do something sexy for my punishment, which he had done a lot of in the last few months. Not only does that make me feel actually more remorseful (it's easier to feel sad for hurting someone when you're feeling attracted to them and not spitting mad at them!) but it makes me feel more submissive and that lasts for several hours or days afterward. It's a really nice feeling.

And he came up with the most boring, un-sexy punishment EVER!!! I was horrified.

One, I have to wear the headcovering with my mother at church.

I was HORRIFIED. I am terrified my mother will find out about our male-led relationship and judge me for it. I've written before about how my mother the uber-feminist haunts my dreams as I question who I am in this submissive lifestyle. Although my mom lives in the same town as we do, we often go to church at different times, and in the past he had graciously allowed me to not wear the headcovering when she was with us because he knew it made me feel anxious and I worried nonstop about what she would think and what I would say if she asked why I was doing it. But now he wanted me to wear it once with her there, just to teach me a lesson!

Two, I have to volunteer to sing at church.

Ugh. I sing at church, and I'm a good singer, but I do not like to get up there in front of all those people and sing. I prefer to sit quietly with my family in the pews. I generally only consent to sing when one of the normal cantors is sick or gone and they ask me to as a favor. So he thought it would be good for me to volunteer my talents as a lesson.

Ugh, ugh, double ugh! Two things I hate: wearing that conspicuous headcovering in front of my mother, and singing in public!!!!! I whined a lot. Why couldn't he just torture my nipples or something sexy????

Nope, he said. He wasn't going to do some fun punishment for me to get off on the idea of it. This was real.

I sulked for a couple of weeks. He totally forgot about the punishment. (ha!)

I mentioned it once to see if I still had to. Yes, he said.

I was quiet as a mouse on the subject for a few more weeks.

Last Sunday, as we headed to church, I got a text from my mom. "R u coming?"

"I guess she's there today," I said. I texted her back and said we were on our way. My Dom said quietly, "I guess this is a good time to wear that headcovering then."

I looked at him in horror, and I asked several times if he would please let me off the hook since it was so long ago and neither of us remember exactly what I did, but he said no and I didn't really push it. I wore the scarf. My mother had to have noticed, but she did not mention it or ask me about it. She acted like she didn't see it. Maybe she chalks it up to us being "crazy conservatives" or something like that, who knows?

I'm still balking on volunteering to sing. But I know he's probably going to make me do it soon. Because he mentioned it again this week.

Sigh.

"Funishment" was so much more fun.

The Good that Came from my D/s

At first, my Dom and I were doing D/s because we liked it.

Mostly, because I liked the sound of the lifestyle and wanted something similar to what I read about. I was afraid of it and drawn to it at the same time. But in the end, we did it "just because." Because we wanted to. Because we liked it. Because it was one way we could fulfill Ephesians 5. Because he wanted a male-led relationship and I wanted to be conquered.

But this month, it has been proved to me that maybe we needed D/s. When a crisis happened, we already had the framework in place for him to lead me and for me to follow.

What crisis?

I've mentioned before that I've struggled with anxiety and depression in my past. Generally, these days it's managable and I know the symptoms and coping mechanisms. I also know where to go for help and what medications work for me and the many, many medications I've tried that do not work for me.

But earlier this month, I had a really bad time. My anxiety disorder reared its head without warning and made my life--and our lives--miserable.

I started having debilitating panic attacks. When I slept, it was filled with nightmares so terrible I'd wake up shivering and shaking for the next 2 hours. The nightmares got so horrible that I started being afraid to fall asleep. I started keeping myself awake. I got sleep deprived. This made me more emotional and less able to be rational about the anxiety I was having. I stopped eating. Food tasted like sawdust. I forced myself to eat, bite by painful bite, because I needed the nutrition for the baby, but I could barely make myself eat a few bites. I got so afraid of the panic attacks and nightmares I was having at night, that simply seeing the daylight turn to afternoon and then dusk made me start having panic attacks. At night, I stayed awake with the lights on and tv blaring to try to trick my brain into thinking "it's not night" and to get an hour of sleep. Still, I was only getting 1-2 hours a night. I got so sleep deprived that I got incoherent. I couldn't remember which medications I'd taken. I couldn't remember which name of a medication meant what. I can remember staring at a handful of 8 pills, not sure which ones were which, not sure if I'd taken any yet or if these were even the right ones, and asking my mother, "Are these the right pills?!!?" For a few days, I took pills only when given to me by someone else to make sure I wasn't accidentally overdosing myself. My parents, who are divorced and don't particularly like each other, both stayed over at our house for 2-3 nights. They sat in bed with me and my husband, all three of them watching helplessly and trying to console me, as I shook uncontrollably and rambled on about all the terrible things that I was terrified would happen. I had a feeling of dread racing through my body so badly that my feet cramped up and I felt sick to my stomach. My parents and husband took 3-hour shifts all night to stay up with me and hold my hand while I shook in terror or tried to sleep only to fight it off again. My husband forced me to take an Ambien and held me down in the bed while I tried to get up in my terror, until finally the drug took effect and I fell into a medication-induced sleep. My terror and panic would go away for a few hours during the afternoon, only to come back at night so badly that all I could do was pray aloud in snatches.

In other words, it was very, very bad.

When I was unable to function for a few days, D/s was not kinky or sexy or fun. It was simply the way things were. My Dom made decisions for me because I could not make them for myself. I was too scared to make decisions. I leaned on him to make every decision for me and for us, big or small. What did I want to eat? I didn't know. I didn't want anything. I would look to my Dom and he would tell the person what to bring me to eat. Should I take a pill and get some sleep? Every bone in my body screamed "No!", but it was my Dom who fed it to me anyway, me crying and begging him not to, and then pushed me down onto the bed until I finally, finally fell asleep. Are you guys staying for dinner? I felt guilty and like I should, but I didn't want to. It was my Dom who said No, I am taking her home and she's going to rest. It offended some family members who were visiting, but he did it anyway.

Should I make an appointment with a counselor? Was the baby going to die in her sleep? Am I going crazy? What should I wear? Big and small, he answered these questions for me when I was simply too stressed and exhausted to answer them myself. I didn't have the energy to deal with making decisions.

If we hadn't worked hard at implementing D/s for years before this, I couldn't have trusted him to make those decisions for me. It would have made a terrible week that much more terrible. But I've had practice giving in to him and leaning on him. I was able to let him make decisions for us in that time. I honestly believe it is (one reason at least) why God led us to D/s in the first place.

Finally, with prayer and time, I managed to get some sleep. Panic subsided into mere anxiety. I'm still anxious. I'm talking to my doctor about it, and planning to start counseling, to help me deal with it productively. Most days I feel fine. When I do feel anxious, I can handle it now. I'm going to be okay.

But I'm thankful we had D/s. So that when something bad happened, the framework was already in place for him to step up and lead our family.

How Does He Decide?!

How on earth does this man decide what he wants to be dominant about?!

I am just flabbergasted.

His ways are not my ways, and his thoughts not my thoughts, that's for sure! Sometimes it makes me laugh. Sometimes it just makes me furrow my brow.

Things that I would place in prime importance for our lives if I were the Dom, for instance, don't even make his radar. Things like keeping the house clean. Things like paying better attention in church or doing my daily Bible study. You know, umimportant things like the salvation of my eternal soul.

He doesn't really make rules about those. He does, however, make rules about my makeup.

That's right. My makeup.

Apparently he noticed in the shower that I had "goop" in my eyes from not washing my face after I'd worn mascara. He was both entranced and disgusted. Then he made a new rule.

Wash your face every day before bed.

I mean, really?!

I have good hygiene. I take showers and my face gets washed during them. In the mornings.

Now apparently that is not enough. It makes me laugh. Unless I'm tired and cranky and ready to fall into bed and he tries to make me crawl back out to get all wet and uncomfortable and rub my skin raw.

Eternal salvation? Not so much.

Goop in eyes?

Unacceptable!!

Carry Your Cross

"Take up your cross and follow me," said Jesus (Luke 9:23).

We all have different crosses to bear. Sickness, heartache, money woes, family troubles, divorce, abuse, the list goes on. We all have them.

Sometimes I feel guilty when my cross is different than someone else's. I read online about people struggling with their own crosses. These are people I don't know, but often people I still care about. I read about their lives and stories, often stories more intimate than I would even hear about my closest friends, online and I keep up with them. I chat with my Dom about them. I am interested to hear the next installment.

It makes me feel strangely guilty when my cross seems to be what someone else is longing for.

I long for my husband to be more dominating, but another woman struggles to submit to her husband's demands. I read about people whose Doms or Masters have asked for polygamy and the subs are left heartbroken and sad, while I have a Dom who is completely against any kind of emotional or physical boundary crossing of any kind. I whine and whine about how miserable I am to be pregnant, huge, aching, not sleeping, and dreading labor, while other women write posts on BabyCenter about how they long for pregnancy and struggle with infertility. I lay about the house like a beached whale, crying about how my back hurts and I'm afraid to go into labor and how miserable and sick I am. And then I feel guilty because these women would give anything to be in my shoes. I worry and worry about money but I read about those who have far less. I complain about my job but hear about those who'd trade anything for a chance to work in these hard economic times.

I've finally decided I can't feel guilty. (I still do, a little). My crosses to bear are my own. I feel bad for their crosses, and wish them well. I want these other people to be happy and their problems to be solved. I wish I could give the infertile woman her pregnancy, or the lonely woman her perfect Master, or the struggling woman a nice fat check.

We all have crosses to bear. Perhaps it helps to know that the grass is not, after all, always greener on the other side.

We'd all love to switch crosses. But luckily there is One who has already borne them all and can help us on our way. That's why I love the song Cry Out to Jesus, the part about "He'll meet you wherever you are." It's so true. I can't switch burdens with these other people, or get out from under my own, but it helps to know others are struggling, too, and we are all in this together. Even if our crosses are not exactly the same.