When the HoH is Wrong-Part I

Being human, means  sooner or later, even an HoH is wrong.

What happens then? my friend  (who has told her husband he may only kiss her ass, not spank it) asks.

In my twenties, or even thirties, my answer would be different than today.

Truthfully? Maybe even early forties.

Growing up in my family, the thing was to always be right. Argue the other person right into the ground. Use any means necessary.

  Quite early on, I rejected that behavior. It wasn’t for me. That didn’t mean I was a doormat, or even known as a peacemaker.  I was always willing to say That  Of Which Others Will Not Speak.  I didn’t insist you acknowledge my rightness–just listen.

Once in this long term relationship, I realized hanging on to rightness led to bad things. Tension. Distance. Anxious children.

        Nervous animals.

No sex.

  And you know, that’s dangerous.

Use it or Loose it, right?

Ignore needs long enough and something funny happens.  They stop being needs.

HE would never say he was wrong. HE might offer me a cup of coffee.  HE’d tell me -while I was dressed in sweats, had hair standing straight up from my head and my nose red from crying-that  I looked really pretty.

He would not say: “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

I wanted those words. Without them, it wasn’t enough.

I would have my say (You’re an asshole.) and move on, furious, that once again, for the sake of peace, I would be the mature one, letting it go. Halos fluttered around my head.

And at least I did possess the grace to be grateful for the wisdom to shut up.  While I did feel like a saint, I  didn’t act  like a martyr (very often) and for the most part, there was laughter and peace, support and love, acceptance- in our home.

You learn a lot here in Blogland.

In submission, weird things happen.

I am a strong independent woman. HE values that. Once, in a blinding snow storm, his back was utterly and completely out. He was on the floor, and not moving, even with powerful drugs coursing through his system.  One of our customers-an elderly frail man was also out of commission and needed firewood brought in.  Seven months pregnant, I climbed into HIS plow truck, read the manual, slipped it into 4 wheel drive (this was the old days folks-when it meant climbing outside and doing things to your wheels) and drove off down the mountain.  I’ve also plowed for the first time–ever—solo-at nice months pregnant.  HE has always sung my praises publicly, treated me with respect, and thanked me.

He did not open doors for me anymore.

Trying on submission, I find it awkward and ill fitting.

I try to remember to ask. I clamp my mouth shut and follow his ideas.  I ask for help. I tell him I’m upset instead of acting like Iron Woman.

He opens doors now. Coats are held out for me. He treats me like I am a piece of china-not like I’m helpless.  Not like I’m incapable. Like I’m treasured.

He has said, publicly, in front of the children: I’m so sorry. I was wrong.

I am well taken care of –that way -regularly, frequently, and always first.

So:  He can be wrong.

I sure don’t say: asshole.

Most of the time I don’t even think it.

17 thoughts on “When the HoH is Wrong-Part I

  1. Saoirse, Events never cease to amaze me. This morning I was angry with life, with the hand we have currently been dealt., with the world itself! Speaking to two of my blogland friends I said that I didn’t know whether I had the stamina to stay with TTWD or opt out completely.

    Now you write this. The world is still turning and it is taking my perspective with it, stretching it out like so much dough on a marble work surface. Pulling and tugging. If the dough wants to shrink back, the world says no, and grabs it so it becomes long, fully stretched like a piece of elastic. And guess what? It starts to go back, but this time not so far. It remains stretched. It looks around, assesses its new situation and relaxes into its new shape.

    I was strong, independent, a force to be reckoned with. I forced myself into submission. I forced myself to accept this new role, this curbing of my feistier self. For a while it has been okay; the stretching and accepting. But it has been artificial. I am fighting against the ropes. I cannot and will not back down. I will re-grow my claws and strike out in self preservation. I want to scream my defiance.

    Then out for lunch with his family, just a small gesture. A tiny thing. Microscopic in the grand scheme of things. As we went into the restaurant, he put his hand on the small of my back, his fingers spread. The warmth transferred through me like the blood through my veins. Like relighting a candle that had temporarily blown out in the wind. And then we sat and he chose my meal for me, thus taking away my struggle with indecision. He put his hand over mine as we waited to be served. I can’t remember when he has ever done this before in my life.

    We drive home in silence. But not the uncomfortable kind. Although he doesn’t open car doors for me he opens every other kind. And always has. It’s just that I never noticed before. We enter the kitchen, and then I’m pressed with my back up against the kitchen island. And he plants one warm, lingering kiss on my mouth.

    “I’m sorry Ami I can’t do all this like you want it to be. I’m sorry if I would rather make love to you than chastise you.

    I feel as if my life is on hold at the moment. I feel as if I have fallen off the track and can’t find the will or the way to continue. But I want you to know this. I would rather have you than any woman in the world at my side at the present time.”

    So Saoirse. Yes I do think a man should be able to admit when he’s wrong, I really do. To admit you are wrong about something, openly, is one of the hardest things you can ever do. It’s just that in this instance, I am hi-jacking your blog to say that I am sorry for being so angry with the world. With him for being sick. For the unfairness of it all, when I thought we were beginning to move forwards at long last with a bit of confidence. And if the results on Thursday aren’t good, I hope I’ll have the strength to support him in the way that he always supports me. And that I will be able to continue to admit that even if he is wrong sometimes, I can still go with that. That I can learn a quiet submission. One without all the fireworks. One of two-way love and understanding, and commitment to each other’s needs. That we are so treasured that we can fall gracefully into each other’s arms.

    Hugs, Ami

    • You’ve said a lot, Ami, and given me much to think about. For now, though-the hand open at the small of my back does it for me, too. I’m pleased to walk next to you. Submission is accepting/bowing to, his will. If you didn’t fight it would never be real. And in the end, submitting means it will be his way.

  2. Saoirse,
    Oh my gosh, this post is so incredible. This is exactly what is happening with us, to both of us. It’s amazing, isn’t it? So happy for you.

    PS Found you via Roz!

  3. I hadn’t thought about this too much Saoirse but you are so right about their ability to be wrong. I don’t feel one ounce weaker now that we are functioning with different roles and expectations of each other.

    Hope it isn’t too long till part 2. 🙂

  4. Love this post, Saoirse! And I LOVE the image I have in my mind of you and your baby bump scaling the snowy mountain side in his plow that you just learned how to operate. You rock!

    • Thanks, Tess! I have to confess–my favorite part was that I looked it up in the manual…..Do I still rock if I confess I cried while I drove? I did feel very proud of myself when I was done!

  5. I think when we adopt a submissive mind-set, we give up the “attack mode” that might kick in if they *did* say they were sorry. What H and I like to call the “I told you so” attitude. When we are submissive, we don’t do that, and they come to learn it, know it and trust it. They trust us- that we don’t say “I told you so” any more. We don’t doubt their intentions.
    But, I have a feeling that this post is a set up of sorts. Wondering about the rest. hmmm. 🙂

    • You make a good point. I have to say for myself though, I was me never a big I Told You! Woman. No set up! Promise! A friend got me thinking. Sooner or later-thinking gets me writing! Thanks for adding to the conversation.

  6. Very nice Saorise! I have found my guy was/is not great at being wrong, but truthfully, as we grew and matured, as he felt more secure in his role as HOH, and in my respect for him in particular, he has been more able and willing to say when he’s wrong, to risk being wrong, maybe bc he knows I am still his, right or wrong? And I have become less driven to prove he is wrong, and less in need of him admitting it. If I know it, and deep down I know he knows it, many times it’s enough. It’s not me against him anymore, and it’s not him against me anymore, and we both know that now.

    So, where’s part 2? 🙂


    • Thanks, Sara- I have tremendous respect for your process and results-while I’m still ok with you being human!– so I’m terribly pleased to have you visit and comment. Give me another hour and Pt II should be up!

  7. Pingback: Spanking # Two | Finding Sara

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