On Being Enough

It’s hard to know that I am not enough.  It’s a difficult concept to grasp.



I don’t understand why I can’t seem to catch a break.  I don’t understand why there is not a single person that understands or cares that the things they do and the actions they take hurt me more than anyone can imagine.

I’m torn.  And I’m broken.  I’m frustrated.  And I’m sad.

There’s a lot going on right now, mostly in my head.  I’m still having troubles trying to conceive, and it breaks my heart every time I see a negative result on a test.  My husband is insisting that I’m taking too long trying to get together with the girl and has sought to push things on his own, which is inevitably in the wrong direction.

I had one request out of all of this.  Just one.  Out of all of the things in the whole world I could have said or done in regards to this situation, I just had one request.  I could have said no.  I could have left.  But I asked one thing.  I asked that there be no communication until the girl and I have met. 

What I want to know is if it’s okay to tell your wife over and over again that she’s not enough and you’d much rather be with anyone but her.  Is it okay to treat her like your first wife just because she made a request?

I’m not the one withholding sex.  I’m not the one backing down and taking your children away.  I’m not the one who tried castrating you and continues to do so to this day.

I’m the one who’s there for you now.  I’m the one that’s ready to get my naughty on all. the. time.  And I’m the one that’s willing to do the weird things sometimes that no one else will.  And I’m the one that’s willing to inconvenience myself from time to time just to make you happy.  I’m the one that is so interested in making you happy that I’m willing to add the girl to our little thing and see what happens.

I’m really close to just saying fuck everything, I’m done.  The pain hurts so much.  The fact that he’s willing to go to great lengths and not care about how it affects me hurts me more than he’ll ever know.

I’m a strong person.  I’ve had a lot in life to deal with.  I’ve been through tough times and not so tough times.  But I wonder if I’m finally at my breaking point.  I wonder if I can deal with it any longer.  I wonder just exactly how strong I am.

And I hope to figure it out.  Soon.

Typical Monday in My Office

It’s almost noon, and I’m bored.  It’s not that I don’t have a mountain of work to do.. I do, and I plan on getting to it.

Monday’s are a funny animal.  They happen at least once a week.  Sometimes twice, if you’re lucky… or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.  And Monday’s are typically days in which things become utterly annoying.

I’ve been here for over an hour, and I’ve already had to restart my computer three times.  This is normal for a Monday.  Any other day, everything fuctions the way it’s supposed to, but not on Mondays.

So, for me, today is just another Monday.

Also, the A/C in this office area makes it sound like it’s raining outside.  And I don’t have a window in my office.  I suppose frequent walks today will do some good.

…Don’t Make this Girl Responsible for Her Own Orgasm

The Big Bang Theory

Image via Wikipedia

…don’t make this girl responsible for her own orgasms as well…

That is such a great line from one of my favorite shows on tv right now.  It appeared in the most recent season of Big Bang Theory wherein Leonard’s mom comes for a visit, ends up getting drunk with Penny and confessing her lack of sexlife.  Drunk words are sober thoughts when she tells Leonard to treat Penny right, and not make her be responsible for her own orgasms. 

Drunk words are sober truths.  At least in this case.

And it makes me sad to think that there are so many women out there who are responsible for their own orgasms, whether it be due to a selfish lover, lack of foreplay or the inability to orgasm with a partner at all.

I know from personal experience that it can be frustrating.  Although, and I hate to brag when I say this but, at this point in my life, I find that I am quite satifisied, and even though I can’t orgasm on command, my numbers are certainly up.  But it was not without it’s hard times.

I spent a lot of time not knowing what I wanted.  For awhile, I was there just for his pleasure.  And that was fine then.  I was young, I didn’t know any better, and I didn’t know what I was doing.  Then one day, I was with someone who had all the time in the world to let me relax, feel and experience, and DAMN!  I’m not kidding when I say it totally changed my view of sex.

The bad part to that was following that I was with an ex for 6 years, and he did not have the patience to push me along that sexual journey.  I found myself on my own, and thus was responsible for my own orgasms.

That is, until Mister and I reconnected.  And ever since then, it has just been and amazing ride.  Right now, I don’t have any desire to orgasm all. the. time.  I don’t need to.  I can appreciate sex as just sex as well as sex as a means of primal release.  And I’m fine with it both ways.  I have been told on a few different occasions that that fact that I orgasm so much is not too common

What I can offer from my own experience is a little advice to those women who have difficulties

First, just relax.  You will get there when you get there.  Sometimes the more you try to rush and force it, the less likely it is to happen.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted just a quickie, but my body doesn’t always respond to the get ‘er done attitude.  Which brings me to the second thing: listen to what your body wants.  Not everyone responds to the same things in the same way.  You will know what works and what doesn’t just by listening to what your body is telling you.  Third, it’s okay to be a little selfish when it comes to getting yourself off.  Especially when you’re with a guy, get on top, take control and see what happens.  Some guys actually like the idea of women taking the lead sometimes.

I can’t stress enough the fact that everyone is different and different things work for different people.  You just have to try, try again and see what works for you.

If I Knew Then What I Know Now…

… I would tell myself to run far, far away.  Or not.

As of late, I have been thinking a lot about my younger self and the days of yore, wondering what I would have done differently if I’d had the chance.  I wouldn’t say that I have regrets, because I don’t.  And I am very vocal about the fact that every action and every decision I’ve made, good or bad, have contributed to the person I have become.  And that is extremely important to me.  I can’t regret who I am, anymore than I can deny it.

I’m sure there are other people in the world who would look at my situation and roll their eyes, or give dirty looks because they don’t understand or don’t approve. 

I used to care.  I really did.  It used to matter what others thought of me, to the point where I would hide little things about myself or my personality just to be accepted.  I changed my look and wardrobe.  I changed my attitude and the music I listened to.  I even tried changing my laugh.  I don’t regret having done those things because they helped me discover new things about myself and found new understanding and acceptance in just being me.

If I were going to tell Past-Sophie anything or give her any advice, I would simply tell her not to change who she was.  I wish she would have discovered who she was without having to change.  I would tell her to be confident and smart and unquestioning of her own beliefs.  I would tell her to love deeply and fully and to be loyal to those she loved and cared for.  I would tell her not to hold a grudge and to let go of feelings that would hurt her.  I would tell her to be strong while maintaining her vulnerability. 

I would tell her to smile.

It’s not that I wasn’t that way.  But I was young and naive.

And I guess that’s the purpose of statements like if I knew then what I know now…

It Bothers Me When People Don’t Know Me

A photo of a cup of coffee.

Image via Wikipedia

Sometimes it bothers me when people I love and care about don’t remember little things about me.  It’s not significant.  It’s a minor thing.

There are a few things in this world – mostly food – that I simply do not care for, and I have gone above and beyond to make known all the little things I do not like.  I know what you’re thinking.  Suck it up, and remove the offensive things from your line of sight, don’t eat them and move on.  And I agree wholeheartedly with you.  Really, I do.  And I absolutely CAN remove said offensive things, no problem.

But sometimes… it just bothers me.

Whenever I visit my parents, they are constantly asking several times if I would like coffee.  I don’t drink coffee.  I never have and probably never will.  Who’s to say what will happen ten years down the road when I am a coffee junkie looking for my next fix so badly that I steal an IV to pump it through my veins.  But right now, I don’t like coffee.  My parents know that.  They have always known that.  And yet, they still continue to ask.  I wonder if it’s just a means to being polite, or if they just can’t remember that even though I live below the Mason Dixon I still don’t drink coffee.

Mister sometimes forgets little things about me, too.  And that’s normally fine.  I can make a joke by introducing myself to him as if we’ve never met and move on.  But there are times when it’s just too much to let go.  And it’s this tiny, little, insignificant thing.  And yet it still bothers me. 

I don’t blame Mister for not remembering.  We’ve only been married for 6 months, together again for good for 20 months, and he’s is just now, over the past year, learning about all of my little quirks.  For my  parents?  There is no excuse.  They have known me for all of my 28 years and so far nothing has changed.

Often, it feels like people don’t want to take the time to remember all the little things.  But then again, there are A LOT of little things.  I mean, a CRAP-TON of little things.  It hurts my feelings sometimes when people forget. 

But it’s not important.  I can suck it up and move passed it.  But sometimes… it just bothers me.

Thoughts of the Contemplative Variety

I’ve been in a funny mood lately.  I’ve been doing a lot of rearranging of furniture.  TG calls it nesting.  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s nesting.  But I’m suddenly very bothered by it.

Typically, I rearrange furniture when I’m cleaning.  This happens for two reasons: first because I know everything under everything is getting cleaned 100% for sure, and second because things look nice and different when you rearrange stuff.  This is not the part I’m bothered by.

I feel like I’m living like a college student with my Target furniture and constant clutter.  And I’m working on both of those things.  I visit other people’s homes and watch in awe as they live their very adult, grown up lives, and I wonder what I’m doing with my own.  And at this very moment, all that starts at home.

Maybe cleaning the house will clear my head.

Mister and I have been idly trying for over a year to conceive.  It’s been a fun but difficult process.  I have a few health hurdles to overcome, and I can only hope that I am well on my way to getting to where I need to be.  But Mister and I have started talking about it again, but this time in a very serious way.  As in, I’m getting my health insurance card and calling a doctor to see what else we need to be doing in order to move this process along.  I want to have a child more than anything.  But I feel that can’t happen, or we can’t exist if our home is not clean, and we are not adults.  Fully matured, grown up adults.

And that?  That right there?  That begins at home.

So while Mister is working, I shall be cleaning, and making a dent in our home in hopes that it will sufficiently satisfy my current need for a life with far less clutter.