Disabilities & Submission, Part 1: Fixing

I’m no one special, and I don’t have this fantastic life where my Mistress & I share in an almost otherworldly exchange of power. I’m just some guy who blogs badly and writes worse, trying to give you some insight in a relationship that is, a lot of the time, rocky, scary, depressing, and sad.

Throughout all of this, my dearest hope is that most of all that you who come to read this that may be in a similar situation understand that this isn’t an end all, be all guide to submitting under these circumstances, it is simply my experience. I’m not a doctor, I’m not educated, I’m just Eiren’s and to speak on behalf of our relationship is the only qualification I possess.

This is part one of a series of, well, I don’t really know. They’ll be erratic, and confusing, long, and probably won’t have a conclusion.


I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life, because I’m not the person that I really want to be, but I’m with the person I was meant to be with. I’m with someone who, like me, is confused about what she wants to do with the rest of her life.

Unlike me, however, she started off never having a chance.

I was born into money and, through my own choices, am in debt that I’ll have to work myself out of. I am healthy, and strong, and although I don’t know where I’m going, I’ve always known that I have the ability to make something for or of myself.

She was born into poverty and through the choices of those people around her who should have provided her with a future and security of health, they pushed and dragged her down a hole of ineptitude, bigotry, and suffering.

The hurt and hell that she had to go through to get here was awful, and it’s painful to think about, but looking at her frustrated because she doesn’t know what she’s going to do, just like me, makes me so happy… your life wasn’t lost, and everything that has happened in your past doesn’t have to determine your future.

Shit’s hard, yo.

You know, I feel like I’m always complaining… and it’s one of the things I hate about myself. Why can’t I write about happy things? Why is it that I am always having problems, or something is always going wrong.

The truth is, I really don’t know. I don’t know why I’m not more upbeat and with it, and I wish I was. I wish I could tell you how happy life is, and how easy life is being for me. How the good things that happen to me come easily and without unintended problems of their own, and how the bad things go quickly and don’t have a lasting impact.

Unfortunately, that’s just not the card I was dealt.

I support someone who’s body & mind are, for all intents and purposes, broken.

I support someone who isn’t capable of holding down a job largely due to her anxiety and agoraphobia, and isn’t capable of receiving benefits from the government due to having never worked and thus not being eligible for public assistance.

I support someone who has special diet restrictions that are largely expensive on top of the debt that we’ve both accumulated for being immature and irresponsible.

I support someone who, on nearly a daily basis, thinks about suicide and how much easier it would be for me if she just killed herself.

Someone who, before she met me, was just waiting around to die.

Having to be a fixer when you don’t want to be.

If I were to tell you that her life was a mess before I actually moved in with her, I’d be grossly understating the situation.

At the same time, though, if I were to tell you that she was completely willing to change her life around when I started trying to make changes, I’d be a fucking liar.

For example, Eiren didn’t want to hear me tell her that she had to quit smoking. It was obvious to me that she had breathing problems and heart issues without ever needing to see the doctor, but to her… who the FUCK was I to tell her to quit smoking?

Why is this child telling me to quit smoking? I was smoking before he was even born. How dare he come into my home and tell me that I need to quit. I’m PERFECTLY FUCKING HEALTHY.

Eiren’s inner monologue, most likely.

The problems I could see and the problems she could see weren’t always exactly the same, if you catch my drift. Smoking needed to go. It wasn’t that I disliked it, which I do, but she couldn’t breathe during the day when she wasn’t doing anything difficult at all… and when she slept? She’d snore so loud that she’d wake me, and herself up, multiple times a night. I could tell she had the beginning stages of emphysema if she didn’t already have it.

So, I went about fixing it… and that wasn’t fun, or honest, or loving.

We’d argue about her buying cigarettes, we’d argue about her smoking cigarettes. She’d promise & swear to quit after this last pack, but before the pack was done, she’d make an excuse to go to the supermarket…

…and accidentally buy another pack…

…and accidentally smoke another cigarette from that pack…

And this accomplished two things for her:

  1. It allowed her to not be anxious about losing smoking from her life, and
  2. It allowed her to not have to return the pack since she had already opened it.

After all, to her, she didn’t have a problem, I did. I was being selfish because I wasn’t a smoker and I wanted her to get rid of it because I didn’t like the smell or the taste or the smoke.

And this caused conflict. A lot of it. She’d lie to me about quitting, so I wouldn’t trust her. She’d be hurt that I didn’t trust her and go smoke, and the cycle would continue.

This was just the first example of a few that affected our relationship and lives when we got together, and it wasn’t the most significant… just the most relatable.

Quitting was a lot more anticlimactic than most other stories like this, because as our relationship developed trust was building elsewhere. I didn’t become consumed in a quest in making her quit, because for me… it really was just more water under the bridge.

I mean to say that it was great when she did quit, but compared to other events in our history it doesn’t hold it’s own weight.

Around a month before our marriage, we finally compromised on a solution to quit her addiction to tobacco… I’d buy her an E-Cigarette, and she would stop smoking a pack a day.

And that’s really how it happened. We didn’t have a moment together, we didn’t find peace, it just settled and died on it’s own. After the e-cigarette, she stopped buying packs completely and bought juices instead… which she liked, for a little while.

And then she’d smoke it much less, because she didn’t really enjoy it anymore…

And then she’d stop buying juice with nicotine in it…

And, like that, after around six months… she was done smoking completely.

And, like I said, it was great… but I never stopped being concerned about everything else that was happening, and even after our marriage changing things was difficult.

I didn’t think that I’d come into a relationship with someone that I loved as much as I love Eiren and be faced with so much difficulty and I never thought that I’d have to ask her to change anything.

Honestly, I was very naive in believing she was more perfect than she was… and that sounds awful, but it’s important, too.

She would be dead if I hadn’t made changes in her life and been there to nag her and bother her and prod her.

She would be gone if our relationship hadn’t had been so rocky at the beginning of it, if I had been complacent with who she was and how she was living her life.

And I would be lost without her.

I never wanted to be a fixer, but for us… it’s what we needed.

Posted by Evelyn

Submissive woman in my mid-20s. Writer, engineer, explorer. Transgender (she/her). Happily owned and married to my Mistress Eiren.

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