When I think about being a submissive, I can’t ignore all the hardships it took for me to feel comfortable submitting in the first place. For the longest time I was alone, fighting for my survival and acceptance with no one else to lean on. It was a hard life being so independent from such a young age. To have to grow up so fast while all your friends are still enjoying their youth. To remain silent while I internally raged at the unfairness of it all. I learned from a very young age to depend on myself for almost all things. And for a time the thought of being taken cared of by someone else was revolting. I didn’t trust nor want anyone to take care of me. I was strong enough to do it myself damn it, I would continue to be. There was a particular swagger that came from being so powerful at such a young age. So powerful that I ruled over hundreds, so powerful a single glare would have the object of my ire in my hands only seconds later. I was a queen, how dare anyone think they could dominate me. But little did I know that the submission to a proper dominant would set me free in ways I could never imagine.
Mystic River 