I’m an impatient woman, an impatient submissive, and a worrier. Rarely is there such a thing as “enough” for me.
Do we have enough money? Do we have enough food? Am I enough as a mother? Is he enough for me? Am I doing enough?
When I can get my brain to shut the hell up, I can experience “enough.”
Enough is a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day. Enough is when the noise in my head is silent. Enough is contentment, peace, and lack of worry over things of which I have no control. Enough is loving completely and accepting that I am completely loved.
Enough is not a dollar amount. Enough is not a job title. Enough is not a street address. Enough is not material in nature.
Getting to “enough” is both deceptively simple and vastly difficult. Enough, for me, means acceptance – acceptance of what is and what will be. From the outside looking in, we tell each other to just stop wanting this, just stop needing that, just stop worrying, just stop. Always easier said than done.
When Daddy is here with me, I experience “enough.” I want for little more than I already have. I’m content in the moment. When “enough” fills me, I believe I can accomplish any dream I have, that we can do the impossible together. When he leaves, “enough” flies out of my head. Noise invades once more, and I am forced to navigate the maze of my unceasing thoughts and worries.
What is enough? He is enough, and I am enough. Together, we are enough.
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday, where this week’s prompt was, “What does enough mean to you?” I could write thousands of words on this one, but I decided to go with the first thought that popped into my mind.