I spent many years thinking I was obsessed with spanking because I grew up without a father or because I had no discipline in my childhood. My bio-father (never have been able to call him dad or father) bailed before I was born. My mother raised me by herself.
My mother. I’m not sure where to even start. She passed away about 10 years ago, after a short battle with cancer. I’m still dealing with and resolving my feelings about her.
She was a bitter, depressed woman. She was forever seeking approval from others, especially *her* mother, who was even more bitter than she was. My grandmother knew exactly how to manipulate those around her, particularly my mother. I always knew my mother would sell me out or betray me if it got her attention or made her look better to others.
I don’t recall having any true discipline. I do recall many, many yelling, screaming, hitting, throwing rages directed at me. I know that I learned at a young age to turn my back to her, so her hits fell on my back and not on my face or chest. I also learned to dodge whatever was in her reach that went flying through the air. To this day I can’t stand anything around my neck because she used to grab right behind my jaw bone on each side and tilt my chin to make me look at her.
The biggest feeling I recall from my childhood was unsafe. Had I told anyone, they would not have believed me. My mother was the best “faker” out there. The world thought she was a great mother. I heard the phrase “Not only are we mother and daughter but we’re best friends.” so many times, it began to make me gag each time she said it.
When I was about 9 or so, we went on a vacation with a couple of friends of hers. One of the women had a daughter a bit younger than me. Both of the ladies that we were with thought I was an incorrigible child (I was actually a pretty compliant child) and their little girl was a princess. I don’t remember everything that happened, but they both kept urging my mother to discipline me more. I know I was in a swim suit, had just came out of the water, and the screen door was locked. I remember wanting to come in because I was cold. The next thing I know mom was pushing me towards the shower room with a souvenir paddle she had bought somewhere (I am guessing at their urging). She was yelling and screaming and pissed. She gave me ten or so swats over a wet bathing suit. That was the day I began to hate her.
She apologized days later after the vacation. She said they pushed her into it and she was sorry but they just kept nagging her. I’m not sure if that made it better or worse. All I knew was she had sold me out. Again. Until then it had just been talk, but now it was so much more. She denied leaving bruises. I remember she did. The hate deepened.
By the time I was ten, I had no respect left for her.
By the time I was about twelve, I learned that if I just stood there, let her rant, rave, throw, and hit, it infuriated her. I clamped down on every emotion I had, and just stood there. My mom was a big woman (over weight) but not very tall, so by that time I was close to her height. I buried every part of me. She would be there totally out of control, while I stood stoic, watching. It made her seem so…childish? I didn’t give into fear or anger or any emotion. It hurt more physically, but less emotionally.
By the time I was fourteen, I had some rage of my own. I started yelling back, raging back at her.
By the time I was sixteen, I pushed back for the first time. She was coming at me, and I put both hands on her shoulders and shoved. She stumbled back but didn’t fall. It was the single proudest moment of my childhood. I still remember how it felt! I was no longer powerless.
At 19, I was out of the house.
I lived with her and her new husband for a bit after a failed marriage and a new baby. But the relationship was never one of trust or respect. And it wasn’t long till the same old mind games started.
When Captain and I meant, she and her husband both hated it. Even then he made me strong. Strong enough to combat their manipulation and mind games. I moved in with Captain about five months after we met. I was ready to walk away and never look back. I kept the relationship primarily for my daughter who loved her grandparents.
About four years after Captain and I were married, my mother was diagnosed with brain cancer. It was late October. She died in early December. There were mind games and manipulation right to the very end. There were many unresolved emotions for me. The biggest has been the guilt over *not* missing her. I hurt for my daughter who lost her grandmother. But that is all.
So I thought all of this was why I was so obsessed with spanking. My first fantasies were of a “father” who would come and rescue me. He would love me and protect me and love me enough to spank me properly when I deserved it. As I grew older, the fantasies naturally grew into boyfriend/husband who loved me and gave me the discipline I had never had.
I’m not sure where I am going with all of this. Maybe just the closure in writing it is enough. And, no, I do not think all of this is why I want ttwd in my life. I do think it influences some of my reactions to ttwd.
My husband gave me my first ever discipline spanking. It was everything it should have been. The right amount of ‘hurt’ for the misdeed. It was given out of love. It came with a bit of a lecture. Afterward there were hugs and comforting…and, most of all, forgiveness. It was everything I ever dreamed of wanting.