Aug 252015
 

My husband and I attended a rope intensive.

The lesson to learn that weekend was connecting with your rope bottom. Oh sure, there were ties to learn, but ultimately it was: don’t worry about aesthetics or symmetry as much, make it about the experience with another person, about the rope being an extension of yourself.

Make the model look beautiful, the instructor said. Start with the arms bound together in the front and pose the person as you want them, as you would desire them the most. Create art.

Everyone got immediately to work, their arms were bound together and mine weren’t even close. “Touch one another as you tie,” was instructed, and he threw my legs over his legs, he and I facing each other. He untied the tie he just did, didn’t like the symmetry going down my arms; scooted a bit back, my legs barely on him. Untied and moved a bit further apart, and then again, until there was this wide chasm that we were no longer touching in.

“I just don’t like how the rope looks,” he said in way of apology when glancing around he noticed everyone was done or almost done. Bottoms were posed as their partners felt complimented them, oftentimes with other simplistic ties to hold them in that pose.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I murmured under my breath, choking back tears as I stared stubbornly about the the abundance of floor between us.

“I’ll try again,” he told me, the rope wrapping around but his hands not making contact with my skin. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he untied yet again.

“I don’t want to talk, because then I’ll cry,” I whispered, avoiding eye contact because then I knew that I would break. I wasn’t sure how much clearer I could have made that I didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to cry, especially in a room full of people.

“Please talk to me,” he pleaded, and then persisted. He was going to make me cry after all.

Tears streamed down my face, privately, I hoped, please have let it be privately, “it’s not about the tie, it’s about connection, and about me.”

He held me and promised to try again. I sucked up my emotions, braced myself to not hope…we’ve down this road before, and we separated from the embrace. Another tie, rope crisscrossing down my arms, pretty knots interwoven between them.

Nothing else.

“Isn’t the rope pretty?” he declared, proud of himself, setting himself even further back to admire his handiwork, only looking intently at the rope.

I was so proud of myself – I didn’t cry again.

Aren’t I pretty? Aren’t I here? I thought in my head.

I’m not sure that he learned the lesson, but I hate continuing to learn the painful one.
Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 9:47 am

  16 Responses to “Lesson Learned”

  1. I love the way you are so honest and raw when you write… I’m sure it’s different because of him being your husband, but I sometimes feel the disconnect and it makes things harder. You are such a beautiful person inside and out. Hugs and kisses- c

  2. I hope that you come along and can tell him the feelings going through you. You were on two totally different levels in that moment but I wish you that you can synchronize again!

    • Anything I write, I’ve already told him. I trust that I can tell him anything, and do, whether it’s good or bad.

  3. I felt my heart constricting as I read that. I’ve experienced that same raw feeling before and it’s not fun at all. It’s hard work bridging that chasm sometimes. xx

  4. I found this so hard to read – I was empathising so intensely!

    Yes, rope is pretty. But it’s who you’re with, what you’re creating with it together, that makes is so. I am sorry he wasn’t able to see that. Certainly you deserve that.

    xx Dee

  5. Oh… just… this makes my heart break into a million little pieces. Like Dee, I’m empathizing; being with someone who wants to look at the surface of a problem and put a plaster on it rather than actually work on fixing the underlying problem can be so painful. *hugs*

  6. This touched me deeply… oh sweetie, I wish I could give you a hug now. Yes, the rope is pretty and all tools used are great, but damn, he shouldn’t forget that you are there, that you are the most important of such an evening. Thank you for being so brave to share this.

    Hugs to you!

    Rebel xox

  7. i totally get where you are coming from with this. such a painful, but a brilliant post that i connect with…connection is so important…

  8. Oh. This sounds difficult. Your honesty here is so touching, and yet I wish so much there was a closer connection…You deserve it. XX

  9. This must have been a hard thing to write about, *hugs*
    To not have that connection, when someone can’t or won’t see what the problem is, it hurts.

  10. […] Lesson Learned: I can’t reread this yet, it still hurts, it’s too raw still. Heck, I cried in public and felt that he didn’t acknowledge me when we were using rope for the sole purpose of connection. However, this isn’t a new issue. I’ve some thoughts: […]

  11. This really pulled at my heartstrings. I can understand why it’s so raw still for you.xxx

  12. […] Lesson Learned by Cammies on the floor  This raw post by M of the Cammies touched me deeply. The way she needs to connect and her husband didn’t understand it during their public rope session wanted me to hug her. In a later post M explained that her husband knows about these feelings of her, that they have talked about it and that they are learning and growing. I love when people put posts up of real life and how things can also go wrong or the misunderstandings there can be as these things are what happen in real life. Real life is not perfect. […]

  13. […] my sister, my husband. They may read something about a scene that I have had in their presence. (Lesson Learned would be a prime […]

  14. Oh, I feel the anguish. Why do they not understand what this does to us? I’ve been there, trying not to cry, or hiding my tears behind my hair, so the class won’t notice. But then even HE doesn’t notice. It makes me feel so very small and unimportant. I’m always telling him that he doesn’t truely look at me, doesn’t notice ME.

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