Emma Jane posted a great entry earlier this month at ‘A Painful Awakening’. In it, she took inspiration from a book of letters that well-known folks have written to their 16 year old selves. Her version was so good that the book’s editor re-published it on his vanilla website; others also took inspiration from the post, with Kaelah (for example) writing her own moving thoughts at the Rohrstock Palast.
Much as I found Emma Jane’s post so incredibly touching and wonderful, the whole concept’s left me deeply unsettled over the past few weeks. Whenever I’ve found myself on my own – already unduly tired and stressed as it is – I’ve not been able to put it out of my mind for long. For it’s rather dragged me back to a time when I was deeply miserable, a time I’ve fought pretty hard to forget.
I had much for which to be thankful at 16 – a good school, kind and loving parents. I was a successful student – high grades, top of the class, never in trouble. But that was only half of the story.
Never unduly popular – the son of teachers at the school, academic not sporty by nature – 16 was probably my lowest point. The bullying, for which I’d long been easy prey (and which still to this day occasions the odd nightmare)? Yep, that was at its worst. Standing up that summer to be counted, objecting to the continuing torments: that didn’t endear me to the bullies or their ever-so-many friends.
Feeling desperately awkward and immature – a late developer physically, with classmates who were in any case a year older than me. Easily embarrassed, feeling foolish around the oh-so-grown-up girls who’d just joined the sixth form at my otherwise all-boys’ school. Overlooked (surprisingly to most people, but in retrospect doubtless entirely reasonably) by the powers-that-be when the initial batch of school prefects from my year were appointed. Not being part of the in-crowd, of any crowd; the least likely to be invited to the parties that were happening all around. Yours truly.
Yep, being re-introduced to my sixteen year old self – and recalling things that I’ve never, ever discussed since leaving school – has been rather depressing. Even though, of course, if I were writing a letter, I’d be pointing out that life would work out much better than I could have imagined then: I’m so, so lucky to have loving relationships with three such amazing partners; to know so many wonderful people through the scene; to be successful in my working life.
But that continuing terror of being lonely, alone? Of being the one left on the sidelines whilst others have fun, the kid on the edge of the playground with no-one to play with? Why I’m sometimes so disconsolately (and unfairly, unreasonably, needily) upset and sad when my loved ones attend scene events that I can’t (often for very sound reasons) attend myself?
The overwhelming need for recognition and praise from my peers, my perhaps overly-competitive nature – continually needing to prove myself to myself and to others? The (irrational) worry and rising panic if I don’t hear from those closest to me for an unexpectedly long time: have they stopped loving me? I’m not looking for excuses for some of the less attractive facets of my character, but the experiences of 1984 – my year of being 16, give or take a few days either end – doubtless contribute a lot.
As for kink? In many ways, I guess, it may actually have been for the best that I didn’t realise that my fascination with spanking wasn’t – as I feared at the time – something unique to me, shameful, perverse. I’d have been far too immature to know what to do about it, and I was far better equipped to prosper in the scene when I did discover over a decade later.
Anyway, enough of all of this introspection. “Just ignore the bad memories and focus on today, on all the positives,” you’d doubtless correctly advise. But it’s not as easy as that, when you’ve been drawn back by your demons – albeit writing about them’s a pretty good way to help to banish them again. Even if the elements of 16 year old me still inside worry, before pressing the ‘publish’ button, that anyone coming across the post will think worse of me as a result of what they’ve just read.
Why would anyone think the worst of you when learning something new? Your friends (of which you have many) like you for you, they like the Abel that they know now, whom they play with, spend time with and in many cases, love. So rest assured there – learning something sad, something that causes you pain to recall it will not change the way people feel.
I have often noticed that the people that I know who are the strongest and most sucessful suffered great adversity as children, which has shaped them to be the people that they are – and only when you know them well do you get a peek past the strong person that they are to the scared boy or girl that lurks inside. That never goes away. But you can revel in the knowledge that what has passed shaped you and then you can stop regretting what has passed and embrace it. If you have a tiger inside, don’t let it ride you, *you* can ride the tiger. And in the times when the tiger is strongest, you have the knowledge that you have many people (including me) who like and love who Abel is. *why* that is doesn’t matter. We like you. How you got there is just the detail.
Brave post. Xx
Thank you so much for that lovely and much-needed support xx
This resonates a lot and I just want to give you the biggest hug. An awful lot of people think you’re awesome and nothing will change that. You are a lovely, giving, supportive person and deserve all the love and friendship that you have in your life. If you looked at where the bullies of your youth are now bet for what it’s worth you’re also doing about a thousand times better – not many people can claim to have as many people that love them as you do nor such a successful career. Not to mention the impact this blog has on supporting people coming into the spanking world. Basically you’re a bit of a legend!
I understand the lonely/missing out thing – it’s really hard being away and feeling left out. I reckon Reverend Jenkins (and your many other personas) are always there in spirit though – and it’s always lovely to see you when you have been away.
Mostly just big hugs though – writing about this stuff isn’t easy and I agree with Jess that this was a really brave post.
@Rebecca – thanks. I was so cautious about writing this, and nervous of the reaction, and what you and Jessica have both said makes me think I made the right decision to post. Thank you for your lovely, kind words xx
Interestingly, the word appearing commonly here and in the supportive emails / Twitter DMs that friends have been kind enough to send is ‘brave’. I really didn’t feel very brave writing it – quite the opposite. But I’m glad it if came out that way!
This is beautifully written Abel – and it is always brave to push the publish button when revealing past hurts or private little nooks in your soul. At least I think so. And you never know when your words may help touch another, guide them, give them hope. Hugs to you.
I think very few people were who they wanted to be at sixteen. That’s the nature of the beast. Letting everyone see that isn’t any easier now than it was then, but is perhaps exactly what we need to do to see our fears were unfounded.
We aren’t ever brave it strong because we have no fears or have struggled through no adversity. We become those things when we manage in spite of our demons and troubles. Excellent post.
I think this is my favorite post I’ve read from you. The truth blows through it in gusts of bracing, life-giving air. I always find the messy, irrational, weak truth much more appealing than well-managed exteriors. Not in myself, obv 😉 but when others reveal it, it elicits from me a kind of love, affection, and deep interest. I think you understand the evocative nature of vulnerability from a top’s perspective. Thanks for letting us in to this very satisfying room of yours.
It is always brave to share one’s vulnerabilities. More so in a public forum, and even more yet given the fact that you’re a man. You’re all supposed to be Gary Cooper – strong and silent or some such nonsense. I’m glad you shared this very personal reflection.
For me it takes courage but an even greater inner strength to feel the fear but do it. I loved this post for its vulnerability, its honesty, and its connection with your sensitivity and empathy as a writer. It is why people trust you.
You are very much loved, and always missed when you are not there.
I too reasonate with feeling left out. But there comes a time for everyone to miss out on something, such is life. Just always remember that you’re not being purposely excluded, and your presence always adds.
And you know how much fun I had at the weekend a Caoilfhionn. But she doesn’t have a boyfriend and once the roleplay was over Emma Jane resurfaced she missed her boy and wanted hugs and to tell him everything that had gone on.
It is brave to post this, t ishows vulnerability to the wider world so well done. Not that your vulnerability is new to those who know you best, we see it and we do care.
Love and hugs xxx
Thanks for all of the lovely replies on this – here, and by email and DM. Much appreciated. And I’m glad it’s resonated with some folks who’ve been able to relate to it, from their messages. I was writing for me, but it’s lovely if others have found it helpful.
(The comments about being ‘left out’ were more general than about this past weekend, BTW, for anyone who was wondering – it was a more general feeling, although missing my girls whilst they were at Finishing School didn’t help. I *was* specifically invited to be one of the FS gentlemen, just couldn’t do the agreed dates for family reasons. Not sure that made it much easier, mind!).
PS @EJ: “once… Emma Jane resurfaced she missed her boy”: that so touched me, and I so love being your boy xx
Abel
*hugs* How many times have I met you?? I think I can count the number on one hand (or even on finger :D). And yet, you occupy a very meaningful place in my thoughts and feelings every day — as does Haron. : )
Your friends have recognized your bravery because you are strong enough to allow yourself to be vulnerable. I think this is the greatest form of courage. It takes an incredible amount of personal integrity to recognize such fear, and yet to experience it full on — to realize that one’s true strength lies not in avoiding such fears, past or present or future, but in actively engaging with them. The fact that you have done so here makes you that much bigger, Abel. Make no mistake, you are loved and kept by many
Thank you for your post — refreshingly honest and personally meaningful, for many of us : )
It feels like I’m already a bit late, but I wanted to write a comment nonetheless. Abel, this is a beautiful, brave and very touching post! And like many of the previous commenters I can also relate to your experiences. While I wasn’t really bullied at school, I was always the boring, uncool eager beaver. And that experience was one of the pieces that shaped the person I am today. That’s why I only disagree with you about one single point: I wouldn’t tell you to ignore the bad memories. To my mind, analysing them and learning how they influence your character traits, fears and strengths today, just like you did, isn’t only much braver but also much healthier. In my opinion it allows you to treat yourself better and to tell your partners and friends about your fears and needs. And it helps you and them to better understand your reactions.
For example, some of the experiences I made have led to a fear of being “screwed” by people I trust. Which means that I’m afraid of them making fun of me in front of others and following the ideas of the majority of a group instead of supporting me, in order to be accepted by that group and to be cool. That’s why many kinky play scenarios between Ludwig and me wouldn’t work for me in front of other people. Like for example me being the naughty schoolgirl and Ludwig teaching me a lesson. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy that scene. Instead it would bring back feelings of betrayal.
Ludwig knows the stories behind those fears and is very careful in group situations because of this knowledge. And that makes me feel much safer and helps us to avoid situations where kinky play leads to bad feelings. I’ve got a post about that topic in the pipeline. Thanks for reminding me to write it!
I think everyone has made the one or other experience which leads to certain insecurities and fears. Being able to talk about them and to understand the connection between those experiences and who we are today to my mind isn’t a sign of weakness but of strength and insight! So, thank you very much for sharing your story – I’m sure no one is going to think any less of you, to my mind right the contrary is going to happen!
Oh, and I hope you’ll be able to spend more time with your partners again, soon!
Abel, it is an honor to all of us that you entrusted such memories to us. It was definitely brave of you and no one should think less of you. In fact, it should be just the opposite, they should think more of you to know that you have overcome adversity and come out on top.
A little late to the comment party, I’m afraid, but nevertheless I will still add my thoughts. A lot of us were not particularly happy growing up, and not just for kink reasons. Being a teenager is often a horrible time, and the need to fit in and be accepted often leads many kids to be very close minded towards anyone else who is even in the slightest bit different. Herd mentality at its strongest.
The experiences we have at that age, however much we might not want them to, invariably inform our characters and reactions to situations. It can be very hard to go back and examine that painful past, but it can also serve a purpose in helping us understand what pushes our buttons (in a bad or good way!) in the present day.
A brave post, and I hope you got some element of catharsis from writing it. Hugs. xx.
I’m late to comment too, because I’ve only just been pointed to this post by a mutual friend from the even-more-frozen North.
I relate to so much here. The feelings of isolation, of being the weird one, of not knowing how to make friends. Wondering about those strange creatures, the girls, but knowing that they’d see through me in an instant if I dared to make an approach. All made worse by seeing so many people around me, apparently my contemporaries, who seemed to know exactly how to make the most of it all.
I hardly ever think about it nowadays. A psychologist might call it repression. But memories fade with disuse, and my memories of the time before I went to University are seriously disused. It takes a conscious effort to call them up, to reconstruct how things were.
And you’re a braver man than me to bare it.
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Like others, I saw this late, and I don’t have anything to say that others haven’t already said.
My heart goes out to that 16-y-o boy. The mother in me wants to hug you to my heart and protect you.
And just so there is no doubt whatsoever about it, you are very much loved. You are a true gentleman and even though I haven’t been able to see you or Haron in far, far too long, you will *always* occupy a corner of my heart.
You helped me get through a very difficult time in my life, you are kind and intelligent and interesting and fun to be with.
Not to mention very sexy and a mean wielder of a variety of toys as well
love
domino
I am so moved by the lovely comments on this post – which have made me feel very loved. Thank you for everyone for sharing your own thoughts and experiences, and for offering such generous support and kind words. I felt very fragile writing and posting this – doing so, and your incredible responses, have given me very great strength.