#believe ME nobody knows the extents to which I treat myself and I conceal that purposely given how sensitive ppl are about that sort of thi

[kavehater]

“You’re gonna die one day you’re gonna die in that stupid costume !!!” But it’s just me pointing at myself in the mirror with the voices of everyone and myself propelling it all

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash​ @angels-from-california

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Chapter 7: The Girl Who Cried

Sehun POV

Lei had no idea how famous she was just a year after debuting. Somehow, she didn’t seem to feel all of the eyes on her. She danced like nobody was watching. 

I guess I shouldn’t blame her. It wasn’t until everyone performed together at the SM Town concert that I realized that nobody saw her as a nine-year-old gap-toothed kid anymore. She wasn’t that kid anymore. She wasn’t just the little girl who liked me too much anymore. She wasn’t just my friend anymore. 

I feel like an idiot writing these things down because it always should have been obvious that she wasn’t ever just any of those things. She, like everyone, was a complex person. She was always more than my perception of her. I just didn’t realize it before she became an idol, too, and— although this is wrong— I wanted to close my eyes and keep her as the figure in my mind and memories that I was content to never understand. 

Suddenly— overnight, it seemed— this girl who I always thought was special because of our connection was special to everybody. Not just to me. Not just to Super Junior. Not just to the sea of roaring audiences who, at least, would never know her and see her and care for her away from the stage like I did. Other idols were taking an interest in Lei, and they didn’t care to be quiet about their budding admiration. 

Baekhyun was not least among that growing group of admirers. In front of everybody, he knelt before her, and— giggling stupidly at the surprised smile that spread across her face— he kissed her hand and addressed her as “Your majesty,” into his microphone. 

Of course, the audience screamed, and everyone around them cooed because (although Baekhyun looked like a moron) Lei was adorable. For the briefest second, I couldn’t control any muscle in my face, and I could only passively hope that nobody filmed the grimace that preceded my forced smile that didn’t come close to reaching my eyes. 

I would have to talk to Baekhyun later, I decided while walking backstage. Lei was only fifteen, so his behavior was not appropriate. It wasn’t right to kiss her— not even on her hand, not even to amuse fans, not even to make her smile the way she did. 

Everything was changing. Nobody likes change. Even when it’s necessary or the result of growth, change is hard to embrace fully without fear. And I guess if you want to know the truth that I never wanted to admit even in the darkest, quietest recess of my mind, I will admit it now that enough time has passed: I was afraid that Lei was right that day at Puroland. I was afraid that one day— probably soon— she would find herself unable to look at me the way she had every day in the past. 

Don’t ask me why it was so important for her to love me when I didn’t love her back. I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter why. 

Lei didn’t follow far behind me. From where I stood secure in the stage’s wings, I heard Jongin, who rarely complimented people he didn’t know well, cheer, “You have really good stage presence, Lei!” I heard her giggle. 

My shoulders tensed, and although there was no hint that any eyes were on me, I tried to conceal my reaction by crossing my arms over my chest. I should have been happy to witness her receiving the praise she deserved, but I wasn’t. I was uncomfortable. 

Was I worried that she would also look to me to compliment her only to be disappointed when, despite the desire to uplift and encourage her, I could say nothing? Was I worried that as she met more people like Jongin and Baekhyun (who followed Jongin’s compliment by boasting, “You were so cool out there!” and giving her a high five), she would altogether move on from me? 

Yes and yes. 

I know that I’m a hypocrite and an idiot. Every time I’ve held Lei’s attention,  I’ve wished it away. Then, when I think that I’ve finally succeeded in convincing her to look elsewhere, I swear that I would do anything to turn back time. It’s a foolish cycle. Even if I should turn back the clocks, I would never find a time when we appreciated each other in the same way at the same time. 

Our entire relationship— even still— has been one mistake, one misstep after another, and somehow I have always felt that I am the expert on how to treat Lei properly. Stupid. Immature. Clumsy. Hypocrite. 

If ever you’re frustrated with me, just know that I was almost always aware of the fact that I was being stupid. I just didn’t know how to break the cycle. I didn’t know how to break the habit. And as much as I liked Lei— as much as I wanted her to be happy— as much as I wanted to somehow be a part of that happiness— I almost resented her for making me reflect on myself so often. I almost resented her for making me think about feelings, which— I’ve told you before— never mattered much to me. 

That’s not true. People can easily develop the habit of saying, ‘That doesn’t matter,’ when they really mean, ‘I don’t understand. No matter how hard I try, I can’t understand.’ I am somebody who would rather say, ‘That doesn’t matter,’ than admit a shortcoming. I don’t like that about myself, but I don’t know how to change it. 

That’s my problem. It always has been. It was never fair to blame Lei for any of my discomforts, but I often thought that if she wasn’t always trailing so closely behind me, then I wouldn’t always have to monitor the nature and extent of my attachment to her, and then my headache would have gone away. 

Of course, the headache never could have fully subsided when Chanyeol was so determined to speak into my ear. After Lei joked on some variety show that I was her ideal type, Chanyeol developed an annoying habit (which he has not shaken to this day) of calling her my girlfriend. 

Evidently oblivious to my tense mood, Chanyeol laughed while driving his elbow into my ribs. “Here comes your girlfriend!” The veins in my temples throbbed. “She’s really growing up, huh?”

His jokes— especially the ones about Lei— were never funny, so I cut my eyes at him. “No.” I shook my head. “She’s not that grown up. She’s only fifteen.” 

Because I had never before bothered to respond to his jokes, Chanyeol blinked his widened eyes at me. He probably would have told me to lighten up, and — despite feeling all too aware of my overreaction— my scowl would deepen, but neither of us had the opportunity to resolve our conflict. 

Blissfully innocent, Lei approached me with her smile that wasn’t dim even away from the stage lights. She would have looked nothing like the child who was my first friend at S.M. were it not for the dimple that formed in her chin as she rose her hand to wave at me. “Hey, Sehun.”

I wanted to say that she had performed well; that I wished we spoke more often (and less frequently in these dark, stiff, professional settings where I couldn’t quite breathe or feel much like myself); that I was proud of her for becoming a star who demanded everyone’s appreciation; that I was honored to share a stage with her because (aside from being a star) she was my friend; that I, somehow, deeper than words could ever convey, regretted how much had changed— even if change was inevitable, even if change was only temporary, even if these growing pains would someday be forgotten. 

I couldn’t say anything over the lump in my throat except something stupid that I wish I had never said at all. “You can’t keep following me like this, Lei.” My arms were still crossed over my chest. I must have looked like such a jerk. 

Lei’s smile didn’t fade at first. Maybe she was too shocked to understand what I said. Maybe she couldn’t quite hear me over the backstage chatter. Maybe she was too willing to forgive me even when I hadn’t apologized. 

“What?” Her tone was still bright, and I could have pretended that I said any of the many praises I held in that innermost— or was it outermost?— part of my mind. 

I probably justified my cold tone with the thought that I was teaching her an important lesson. “You can’t follow me here. Somebody is always watching.” 

That was true enough. I should have bit my tongue then. Her jaw dropped just slightly, and I could make out the formation of her blush in the dark, but Lei nodded as if she believed me. As if she trusted me. 

Although it wasn’t true, and I had never once felt this way, I tore my eyes from her and said again, “You can’t keep following me. It’s annoying.” 

That’s when she wheezed, and Baekhyun pouted, and Jongin’s brow furrowed, and Chanyeol’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and I dropped my jaw. I couldn’t understand why I said that. I couldn’t understand how my voice could so easily say something that I didn’t mean. 

All I can think is that I was somehow trying to illegitimize Chanyeol’s stupid joke about her being my girlfriend, but that’s stupid. This is one of those cases where ‘why’ really doesn’t matter. No reason would have been good enough to justify the look I put on her face. 

Instantly, I wanted to apologize, but suddenly— too late— I couldn’t speak. My throat was too tight. I couldn’t even look at Lei; with each glance, my heart plunged deeper into my stomach and knocked my breath away. 

Selfishly, I prayed for her to break the silence. Without considering her discomfort, I was content to let her cross most of the distance between us if that meant I didn’t have to hurt myself to learn how to say sorry. 

Seconds that felt like eternities passed. So quietly that I almost thought I was imagining her voice, she said, “Okay, Sehun.” 

I wished she would have argued like she always did because— then— I probably would have crumbled and said anything I thought might set things right. It wasn’t right to expect her to break my pride, but I was disappointed that she only bowed without saying another word.  

It made me sick to realize that Lei bit her tongue (at least in part) because she knew that somebody is always listening. Somebody is always hoping to catch us at our most vulnerable. Her lips trembled, and that dimple in her chin deepened, but she said nothing to convey her wounded emotions, and I— 

I couldn’t tell myself that I taught her something she didn’t already know unless I wanted to start believing lies. 

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Baekhyun steered her away. His voice was softer, kinder than usual as he cheered, “Come on, Lei! I hid some snacks in EXO’s dressing room!”

And she didn’t flinch from his touch, and she didn’t look back at me, and I don’t know why I was dumb enough to expect that she would. 

I tried to release my remorse through a sigh, but no matter how many times I filled and emptied my lungs on the aimless walk through backstage halls, I could not forget the way Lei sounded so— so unlike herself when she, for the first time, accepted my words without argument. Why had she chosen then, of all moments, to be obedient? Why, when she had every right and reason to debate, had she turned her cheek with no fight?

Nothing was her fault, yet I explored every avenue of thought that would deny me accountability until the nagging desire to apologize became an urge, a compulsion, a dire need that sent me running to the dressing room where I wouldn’t find her. I only found Baekhyun sitting at his vanity with earphones plugged into his phone. 

Never before had I succumbed to the boyish instinct to throw things in rage, but I — at the adult age of twenty— yanked a metallic round brush sitting atop the nearest vanity and hurled it at a mirror. Miraculously, the mirror hadn’t shattered, and Baekhyun didn’t look up from his phone or flinch at the crash.

I could have pretended that moment never happened had Chanyeol not burst into the room right then, bulging eyes burning through me as he demanded, “What the hell was that about?”

Whether he was talking about the brush incident or the Lei incident, I had no answer. I didn’t worsen matters by stuttering excuses. I just shrugged. 

“That kid liked you!” Chanyeol said— past tense— as if I hadn’t known. “And I thought you were friends or whatever, so why the hell would you put that look on her face?” Tugging at his hair, he dramatically cried, “God, I’m going to have nightmares about her sad face for weeks!”

“You’re really not the best person to lecture me about how to treat Lei.” I glared at him. “You’ve put that frown on her face more times than I can even count—”

Chanyeol yelled, “That’s not the same thing!” and he was right. “I get it. I’m not nice to that kid. I never have been. Maybe I should be a little nicer.” I nodded my head, and he jabbed an accusatory finger at me. “But I couldn’t turn the light off in her eyes like you just did even if I tried. You know why?” 

Turning away from him, I shook my head because I didn’t want to have this conversation. I knew exactly why I could influence Lei more than Chanyeol ever could. I just didn’t understand it. 

“Because she doesn’t like me! She likes you!” Chanyeol’s voice cracked. “She probably thought— like I did— that you would protect her feelings even though you can’t return them!”

I stared down at my hands pressed flat against the vanity, careful to avoid my reflection. “Why are you so invested in something that isn’t your business?” 

As if he had always been Lei’s protector, Chanyeol roared, “You made it my business when you humiliated her in front of me! It’s not okay, Sehun! Even if you were right about people always watching, what’s wrong with them seeing that you’re kind to a kid who, for whatever reason, thinks the world of you?”

Never in a million years would I have wanted to discuss my feelings— especially the ones about Lei that, for some reason, seemed far too private and deep and tangled— with anyone. I especially wouldn’t have wanted to discuss them with Chanyeol, who didn’t even like her, while he was angry. I would have said or done anything to end the conversation. 

I rounded on him and raised my voice. I hated raising my voice. It was exhausting. “You’re the one who made shit weird and awkward by calling her my girlfriend! I don’t even want to be around her anymore because of the weird shit you say!”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Chanyeol retorted instantly. “If you’re having some kind of issue with your friendship, don’t pin that shit on me!” Then, when I faced him, he softened his voice. “I don’t know why you’re being so weird about a joke—”

“Because it’s not funny!” My face burned as I tried to make him understand, “My feelings for her are nothing like that! Lei is a sweet, innocent kid, and everybody is forgetting that because she’s getting more famous and more beautiful by the day, but I—” I swore— “she will always be that funny, honest, gap-toothed kid to me.” 

Unsure of what to say as my gaze dropped down to my feet, Chanyeol blinked once and then twice. He probably wanted me to explain why it was so important for Lei to remain the child in my memory, but I wouldn’t have told him even if I understood it well enough. 

“If you love her so much,” Chanyeol said, “then why would you ever say anything to hurt her?”

I couldn’t answer. Instead of admitting that I didn’t know— that I was an idiot— that I was sorry— I lashed out at him. “I don’t love her! I just— I care about her a lot.” I sounded like such a moron. 

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed, and I squirmed because I knew that he was seeing me clearly, flaws and all, for the first time. He looked away, picked at a button on his shirt, and probably felt like the wisest guy on the planet as he said, “I’m not sure who told you what love is or how they convinced you that it’s bad or wrong or scary, but they lied.” 

Making my way to the door as my pulse quickened, I lied. “I’m not afraid of love.” 

Maybe I didn’t know it then, but I was afraid of intimacy. I was afraid of needing somebody. I was afraid of wanting somebody. Maybe I didn’t know it then, but the reason why Lei couldn’t grow up was because then— then what would I say when she looked at me and told me that I was handsome? If she grew up, and she still wanted to hold my hand in the dark, I could no longer push her away, saying, ‘You’re too young. It’s inappropriate.’

Lei couldn’t grow up because, once we stood on even footing as adults, I knew that she would realize that I wasn’t special. I had never been special. Once I disappointed her by admitting that even when she was old enough, even if we felt the same thing at the same time, I wasn’t good enough, everything she ever thought of me would be chalked up to some childhood imagination. 

Once or twice or every moment of those days, I almost managed to convince myself that the best choice was to stand some ways away at least until I learned to be okay with the inability to live up to her daydreams. I almost believed that, to preserve the memories that were too precious to tarnish, it would be best to part ways before I could disappoint her. It was too late to enact that plan, though, I realized as I again walked through the halls. 

All my life, I told myself that it didn’t matter what others thought of me, but it always mattered what Lei thought. Even when she was nine and I was fourteen, I didn’t really want her to stop liking me. Did it matter because of who she was? Or was I— like everyone— too afraid to wonder what happens when she, who always admired me, changes her mind? 

Something in my chest deflated when I found her leaning into Max outside of TVXQ’s dressing room, rubbing at her eyes. I understood by then that she knew everybody, so I wasn’t shocked to see her with him. I just couldn’t quite breathe because I had always been the one she ran to. I had always been the one she trusted with her feelings. And being as stupid as I was, I understood then that she would probably never again trust me so fully, so innocently, because a.) she was no longer a child, and b.) I had broken some facet of our bond. 

Nobody wants to believe that they have broken something beyond repair, so I told myself that our friendship was indestructible. I don’t know if I ever believed myself again after that. 

Something like rage coursed through my veins when I heard Max ask, “Now, are you going to tell me what made my little wife cry?” He smiled at her, and she mirrored his expression. 

Rather than embracing my guilt— rather than feeling grateful that somebody kind had been there to lift her spirits when I couldn’t— I decided to glare at Max for calling her his ‘little wife,’ knowing well that it was a harmless nickname and that he had known her longer than I had. 

Still grinning, Lei lifted her head, and— unable to budge from my place around the corner— I braced myself to hear her new opinion of me, but she said nothing. Graciously, she shook her head, and Max didn’t press her for information. 

Even after I had been cruel and careless enough to publicly scold her in front of my group members, Lei wouldn’t privately paint me in an unfavorable light. I think I might have felt better if she had told Max that I was the most insensitive person on the planet even if she didn’t believe it— even if she was just speaking from embarrassed anger. The fact that she stood from his side, bowed, and walked away, forcing a smile even as she passed by me— tears refilling her eyes as I met them— made me feel worse. 

I still can’t understand why I didn’t follow her. I guess I didn’t want to see her cry. I know how selfish that sounds, but you should believe me when I say that I wouldn’t have been able to say anything to dry her tears. If anything, I would have made matters worse. 

While I lacked the courage to follow Lei, I somehow had the nerve to storm up to Max, my senior who I swear I respected. I somehow had the nerve to tell him, “You shouldn’t talk to her like that,” as if he hadn’t tried to clean up my mess. 

Max’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” His head went aslant, and his eyebrows met between his eyes as he noted my short tone. I still think it’s a miracle that he didn’t knock me out the moment I opened my mouth. 

This might sound stupid, but I think I almost wanted Max to beat my ass. It seemed that maybe a few slaps would knock some sense into me or that my guilt might subside if somebody would punish me for being an idiot. 

“You shouldn’t call her your ‘little wife,’” I said, using air-quotes, earning a pointed stare from Max. “She’s very impressionable, and she’ll get the wrong idea from things like that. You have to be careful with young girls’ feelings, especially when they trust you.” My voice made me want to vomit. I was really one to talk. 

After drawing a deep breath and carefully studying me, Max nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said even though I wasn’t right; I was an idiot. “I should be careful about what I say, but sometimes— sometimes you’ll say anything to get someone to stop crying. Sometimes, you’ll say anything to make someone smile.” 

Doubting that I would ever be willing to say anything to make Lei smile, I sank. 

Max flashed his teeth, smiling as he patted my shoulder. “I’m glad Lei has somebody like you looking out for her.”

Somebody like me? What did that mean? 

“She deserves every happiness, you know?”

I nodded because I did know. 

That day planted the seed of a realization that dawned on me slowly over the years and then— suddenly— all at once when I sat alone on a frozen December night: I was the worst person for Lei to entrust her feelings to. 

A selfless person would encourage her to find somebody who could warmly embrace her every joy and pain. Somebody who could easily string together the words she longed to hear. Somebody who would boast to the world that they loved her instead of running and clinging to privacy in the dark. Somebody who wouldn’t be too embarrassed by romantic gestures to give her flowers. Somebody who would watch the moon and stars with her while gently dispelling her every fear. 

I knew well that I would never be anything like that person. Daily, I told myself that it was foolish to be jealous of somebody who didn’t exist, but—

He did exist. The issue was just that, even as years passed while I held my breath, she had not yet met him. The day when she would find everything she wanted in him was the day I dreaded most because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold a candle to him. 

And I— I wasn’t a selfless person. I was selfish enough to pray that day would never come. 

[thefaithletters]

Confronting Our Values: To a Troubled Muslim Community

Dearest whose trust in the Muslim community has been lost after an immensity of love,

On this day, nearly fifteen hundred lunar years ago, our Prophet Muhammed ﷺ was born. His birth changed history. His legacy, and our religion, was built on the foundation of our Prophet's character before he received revelation: honesty and trustworthiness. 

Yet, our ummah is plagued by corruption, deceit, manipulation, and hypocrisy. These qualities are in every human society, to some extent. It's normal that some Muslims will have these qualities (after all, most Muslims don't choose their religion but rather treat it like cultural inheritance). But to find these qualities in the ones who have put themselves in positions of being entrusted to revive the message in the hearts, of people, who are elevated for that role, and who are privy to the spiritual hunger and thirst of vulnerable people --that is among the greatest fitnahs.

I am concerned about how desensitized we are becoming to news of this nature. I notice it in myself, and I see it in friends: a spiritual fatigue that doesn't want to be spoken about. 

And it breaks my heart.

When there's a lack of consistency or agreement between two beliefs (or values) or a belief and behavior, the mind enters a state of cognitive dissonance. This state of unrest feels heavy and unsettling, and people are naturally motivated to alleviate this discomfort by changing their behaviors, adopting a new belief or idea, seeking new information that offers an alternative paradigm, or deciding to reduce the importance of one of the beliefs or values that are in disharmony. This seems like the state of the majority of young American Muslims today. 

The more dangerous trend I see emerging is what I consider spiritual fission. In this state, people can no longer identify or point to the countless directions in which their faith has been shattered. It's a chaotic state, and it's too uncomfortable to confront directly so it naturally leads to numbness and apathy regarding anything religious or an inability to engage with such topics deeply.

Our religious institutions and spiritual leaders are largely responsible for the young generation's disconnection from their mosques and communities (parents play a significant role, too, but that's a topic for another time). It's stories like the ones that came out recently that have caused many people deep despair in spiritual communities. 

We are all flawed people. The issue isn't that a Muslim committed a major sin or was fallible to his desires. The real issue is the lack of truthfulness in how it's handled by many involved. Deceit is what erodes trust, and trust is the foundation of faith and community. When it is revealed to a spiritual leader and the community members who closely work with him in a leadership capacity that he is no longer able to uphold his responsibility, the right thing to do is proactively step down and acknowledge a struggle and need for improvement.

Of course, none of us have heard of this type of honorable handling of such situations happening in our communities (I really hope I'm wrong here). Why? Money and ego. 

Sadly, many of our spiritual leaders are financially reliant upon their image and reputation as people of God among the community. This means that a religious leader who becomes exposed for a betrayal of his position may suddenly lose all his income and face an overwhelming fear of instability and anxiety about the future. So the survival instinct kicks in (especially if family is involved) and the man no longer sees the moral and ethical layers of the situation. 

Money and religion should never mix. Easy to say, complex to implement. I know. Yet, necessary and true, nonetheless. 

Another primary reason so-called spiritual leaders don't step down or come forward truthfully when they've betrayed their positions of trust is probably that they don't want to lose their status in the community. Being a celebrity imam can become so ingrained into someone's identity that it becomes almost like an addiction to attention or power. This is also connected to a larger societal shift in values (studies show an upward trend of youth who say they want to become famous). It's even more connected to the shift in values hierarchy we have as a larger Muslim community. Authenticity, truthfulness, integrity...those are all secondary to knowledgeability, charm, and "success." 

Until we become a people who hold honesty and trustworthiness among our highest values, our leaders will continue to reflect us. 

As we continue to remain obsessed with image and reputation in the community independent of actual virtue or character, we continue to cultivate a culture of hypocrisy and double-lives. People only hide the sins that aren't yet accepted by the community. It's only a matter of time before the scope widens. 

I have nothing juicy to say about the recent news regarding Usama Canon. Like many of you who had only love and admiration for Usama Canon and the community he founded, this week's news have been tough for me. I participated in Ta'leef's Refining the Core program earlier this year and met Usama Canon in 2016 when he came to Maryland to give a talk. He was one of the few people who took the time to answer a question I had with careful consideration and respect. I left that talk feeling a sense of hope. And then when I started learning about Ta'leef and participated in their community, I continued to carry with me the hope for our community to be healthy, respectful of all people, and authentically striving for goodness. For the good that he's done, and if this in fact his way of acknowledging the harm he's made and making amends, I pray for his wellbeing. And if this is Ta'leef's uplifting of accountability and honoring their positions of trust, I pray for their success and healing. 

Like many, I wish I were surprised by this. Sadly, I know this kind of stuff happens. I’ve witnessed misconduct and heard about it from friends. I’ve tried to speak up about the betrayal of authority and unhealthy behaviors, but the disappointing reactions I got were discouraging. I talked to the spiritual leader who I had witnessed inappropriateness from, and his response was gaslighting. It was a complex and spiritually fatiguing experience. In the end, I just removed myself from the community. Though I didn’t experience abuse, my faith was deeply tested and my heart hurt. I almost lost my religion. I was lucky to be able to notice and protect myself from anyone taking advantage of me. I can’t imagine the pain actual victims endure, and it saddens me that the community cares more about the celebrity abusers than the “nobodies” who are abused (often the most vulnerable members of our communities who don’t have powerful families, financial resources, or impressive professional titles).

I've had my faith and hope in this community shattered a few times, and every time God somehow found a way to remind me that there are still beautiful people out there who are true seekers. They aren't the ones with the followers and fans and financial ties to their religion or spirituality. More often than not, the modern-day companions of the Prophet (the ones he referred to as his brothers and sisters he hadn't yet met) are those who keep their good deeds concealed and remain patient in the face of oppression. Their words aren't tweet-worthy and there are no fun perks to being their friends. They treat their family members and parents better than anyone else. They are known for their honesty and trustworthiness. On the day our Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was born, I pray we are all able to take a moment to be truthful with ourselves about the state of our hearts. Where are we not truthful? What steps must we take to embody more honesty and trustworthiness? Where is our faith hurting? How are we in community? What are our own hierarchies of values? How can we be better believers?

Salam.

P.S. I share these thoughts selfishly because they continue to occupy my mind. I release them here so that I no longer carry the burden of their release. I’m not spiritually superior for writing this. Most know my deep struggles with my faith.

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTE: ¥100 is roughly $0.90 US, for Americans who don't want to have to stop reading and google, which I totally understand. Just approximate ¥100 =$1 for somewhat close conversion purposes.

Also, this is where the story really begins to take off. The setup is complete: let the yuri begin!

CHAPTER FOUR

                                                 ~ x The Priestess x ~

Less than two hours later, I was sitting nervously on a bed in Dogenzaka. Love Hotel Hill. The last place I ever expected to find myself.

Just in case you don't know about it - which I doubt, Sis - that's where all young couples go when they need a night to themselves. Or just a few hours. Maybe the problem is a messy apartment, maybe it's parents… maybe it's just very thin walls in their building. Either way, love hotels do a lot of business - and that little corner of Shibuya plays host to the highest concentration of them in Tokyo. Finding one that would rent to me for a couple of hours without me already having the second person in tow was the easy part, and only cost me ¥3000.

Especially easy considering my disguise.

The hardest part was actually making the phone call. It took every ounce of courage I had, especially because I would be disguising my voice - which was something I didn't have a lot of experience doing. The memory of the call was still fresh in my mind…

"Housekeeping Service Victoria! What can we do for you today, sir?"

"Um… can I have… a maid?" Did I mention I was also the most nervous I had ever been in my life?

"Sure," the woman on the other end giggled. "That's what we're here for! Do you have a special request, or would you like me to describe a few of our top-rated maids and what services they can help you with?"

"I want Miss K-" That had been a close one. "W-what I mean is, do you have a maid named Becky?"

"Oh! I can certainly transfer you to Becky and see if she's available! One moment please."

Some pleasant, inoffensive harpsichord music played in the background until the transfer connected. The entire time, I had been sweating bullets, practicing making my voice even deeper.

"Hiiii! You've reached Becky! How may I help you today, meow?"

"Two hours. How much?" The less I said, the better.

"That will be ¥10000! Are you sure you need me for two hours, Master? I might be able to get all my work done in half that time!"

"Yes." Her calling me 'master' was already giving me nausea. But I tried to power through; I had to know what she was doing. After all, sweet Ann had given me half the money to request her, so the least I could do was follow through. "Hotel Juliet. Here is the address…"

And that was that. She didn't even waste a second hesitating when I gave her the address of a love hotel; just took it in stride. Which already seemed to be confirming my worst fears, but I told myself that I wouldn't back down or make any more assumptions; that would be even worse than confirming the truth.

So I made the room the tiniest bit messy while I waited for her. Then I sat on the bed, shaking like a leaf and sweating bullets. Right up until I heard the knock at the door.

"Housekeeping!" she called in a sing-song.

"Come in!" She came in. And already, I really wished she hadn't.

My Japanese language teacher stood before me wearing the same frilly black-and-white French maid outfit. What parallel universe did I step into?! Her hair was up in pigtails that hung down to her shoulders - or rather, it was a wig. No way her natural hair was long enough for that. A layer of foundation helped to conceal the very slight signs of ageing, making her passable for 21 or similar. Not that I knew how old she really was.

"It is nice to meet you, Master," she said with a playful curtsy. Really, I didn't think curtsies could be playful, but she did it.

"Good evening," I attempted in my best impression of a male voice.

"My my myyyeeow, but you're so handsome," she buttered me up with a flutter of her mascaraed eyelashes. "I'm such a lucky girl that you'll let me get covered in dust for you!"

"Th-thank you." Was I really handsome, though? My disguise was pretty believable. Ann helped me a lot with it, especially doing the stage makeup that made me look like I had a five o'clock shadow. But it was the big bushy mustache and having my shoulder-length hair stuffed up into fedora that made me look different enough that my teacher might not notice.

She stepped out of her Mary Janes and paced a little closer away from the door. "So! Let's just take care of that silly fee and we can get started right away! Victoria said you would pay in person?"

"Oh! Right, um…" Quick as I could, I fished out ¥10000 and handed it over. A double-shift for her. She pocketed it immediately, not even batting an eye. How many times had she done this?

"Thanks sooooo much! You're the best, Master! What can Becky do for you today?"

"U-um, well… get started on this mess. Then we can relax." That sounded really cheesy and sleazy, but it was the best I could do.

"Of course," she said with a huge wink as she fished a laminated card out of her apron pocket. "You can check this out while I get started! Should only take me a few minutes!"

I accepted it without really thinking, then watched numbly for a moment as she began to tidy up the pillows and sheets I had strewn around the floor. Humming a little tune as she worked. Finally, I decided the card might actually be important and took a look.

Hello, Master! Thank you for using Victoria Housekeeping Service! My name is BECKY ! I'm happy to do whatever you need!

Standard services include:

-Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, dusting -Making beds/Airing out futons -Laundry -Light cooking -Conversation

Premium services (additional charge):

-Dancing alone ¥500 -Dancing together ¥500 -Lap kitten ¥1000 -Lap pillow ¥1000 -Tucking you in ¥1000 -Stocking removal ¥1000 -Keep stockings ¥5000 -Foot/neck massage ¥1000 -Deep back massage ¥2000 -Health Massage ¥5000 (Note: maid may refuse at any time) -Health Kiss ¥10000 (Note: maid may refuse at any time)

Prohibited requests:

-Pictures -Kissing the maid -Touching the maid without explicit permission, with any part of the client's body or objects under their control

Our maids are very important to Victoria! Please treat me with kindness and care! ❤

That had me reeling. Just that Miss Kawakami had to specify that nobody was allowed to touch her without her permission… this was her life after school was out. Being constantly hit on by men who had her all alone in their houses. She must have spent a lot of time hating herself on the inside. I had to wonder if that contributed to how weary she always looked, beyond simply being tired. But then I saw the fine print at the bottom of the card:

Our employees (maids) are not prostitutes and are not allowed to participate in sexual intercourse with unspecified persons. Violators of this policy will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. All names and locations of clients are noted in our records and employees who do not report in are treated as victims of crime and the clients as the responsible parties until proven otherwise.

Well… at least there was that.

"Soooo," my temporary maid asked as she picked up the condoms I had dumped out of the bedside table drawer - which I now was horrified about since I hadn't even noticed what they were before, "my master seems to have been very messy just for meeee. Was there another reason you called our service?"

The twinkle in her eye when she winked at me said it all: this was a love hotel. Even if I somehow partied so hard in two hours that I trashed the room, no way would I need to call a separate maid when the hotel staff would take care of that.

"L-lonely," I grumbled, trying to seem standoffish.

"Awwww, that's okay. I offer a lot of premium services, but… if you just wanna talk, we can talk. Becky doesn't mind at all." She finished putting them away, then straightened and folded her hands in front of her lap, waiting patiently for my response. Obediently.

"Um…" Glancing back down at the card, I looked up and asked, "K-keep stockings?"

Only when her eyebrows went up did I realise what that meant. But she was already recovering from her brief surprise and saying, "Master, you really want to keep my stockings? I'm so honoured!"

"W-wait, no, I…" Clearing my throat, desperately trying to deepen my voice again, I tried to play it off. "Maybe later. First… what is 'dancing alone'?"

"Ohhh. Oh, I see - you're just trying to decide what you like on the menu. Do you want a little sample?"

At first, I thought she meant a sample of the stockings. Was she going to cut off a piece?! But then she started doing a little sexy dance - nothing extremely lewd, but it definitely made my pulse speed up slightly. Was this really happening? My teacher was dancing for me - like a stripper without the stripping part! But it was over after only about ten seconds, and then she was giggling and covering her mouth.

"Dancing alone… got it. Very nice." As she bowed, an idea suddenly occurred to me. "Tell me about Becky." Maybe if I asked, she would reveal a little bit about herself. Or I would get some made-up story about this character she had invented. Either way, at least she wouldn't be sitting in my lap or any of those things.

"Sure! May I sit here?" When I nodded, she sank down onto the bed next to me, hands folded neatly on her lap. "Do you like Japanese maids, or Western maids?"

"Japanese?"

"Alrighty. So, Becky used to be a little girl whose father liked Western movies. That's how she got such a funny name! And she always dreamed of serving others, making them feel good. She didn't always know how she wanted to do that, but…" She leaned a little closer, and my heart pounded louder in my chest. "Then she one day realised that if she took this job, she would meet Master someday."

"Huh?" Her face was even closer, and my fingers gripped the bedsheet tightly as I fought the instinct to back up. "Me?"

Her nod was completely sure. "My master was going to be the best master. And he would take care of me like I take care of him. That's all Becky ever wanted out of life." Similarly, her smile was warm, and kind. "And I will do whatever I can to make him happy. Okay?"

"Okay. I m-mean… yeah."

"Good!" she sat back with a wider smile, and I let out a sigh of relief. Definitely a made-up story, just to make the client feel gratified in some way. How different listening to that had been from listening to one of her lectures in class; it was like she really was a completely different person.

"Becky," I began as I thought about the list. What was something I could order? I already booked her for two hours, so now I had to find something to do that would fill that time. "What is, um… Health Kiss?"

This shift was obvious, and I could almost reach out and touch the change in atmosphere. Miss Kawakami's eyes dulled for a moment, and she looked through me rather than at me. She took a couple of little breaths. Then a much less genuine smile reappeared on her face - though it might have fooled most of her hornier, less perceptive clientele.

"It's something very special. Becky only gives that to her best Masters, if she can. Sometimes she can't. Is… is that alright with Master?"

"Yes!" I told her right away, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I… it's okay. I just was curious." Definitely something sexual. That was as much as I really needed to find out, but now I felt awful for asking. My teacher was a Delivery Health professional, even if those services were limited to two sexual acts, apparently.

"Of course. Master can ask whatever he wants!" A little of the genuine cheer started to come back, but she was still shaken. "Well, what can we do? I like talking with Master, but it's okay if Master wants something more from Becky. Even just…" She gestured around. "You don't happen to have a broom, do you?"

"No." I thought frantically. Literally everything on the list of special services intimidated me; how was I supposed to let her sit on my lap? Or massage me?! She would feel my curves underneath the random boy clothes! My finger tapped the stockings. "Are you hot in those?"

Kawakami shrugged a tiny bit. "A little, but I want to look nice for Master. Unless… Master wouldn't mind seeing me without them…?"

"Yes. I… wait." I glanced at the card again, then nodded to myself and fished out another bill. There went my allowance… "Here."

She took it and put it with the rest. None of the standard services besides talking were open to me in a random hotel room, and I was running out of things to say. This was the lesser of the evils; taking off her stockings and the sexy dancing were the only premium ones that didn't involve me, so I thought one of those was probably the smartest move. And at least all this would mean was seeing her legs, and I had seen plenty of girl-legs. It wasn't going to matter to me.

How wrong I was.

"Oooh, I really am hot," she giggled as she began running her hands up and down the outsides of her thighs. "Master had me work so hard to clean the room that now… Becky's so warm…" She bit her bottom lip as she slid her hands up her skirt…

This was unbelievable. Both that I was watching Miss Kawakami strip for me, and that it was affecting me. My heart rate was up, my palms tingling, my head buzzing like it was full of bees. She was a woman! She was my teacher! What on earth was wrong with me?!

Barely an inch of skin became visible beneath the hem of the skirt where it rested above her knees when she fixed me with a level stare. "Master…"

"Huh? What?!" Then I cleared my throat, made my voice more 'butch' again. "I mean… is there a problem?"

"You paid to take them off," she breathed throatily, fluttering her lashes again. "Don't you want to?"

Oh no. I thought I was just paying for her not to be wearing tights anymore. Not for the 'pleasure' of taking them off myself.

"It's alright? I mean… I'll be touching you."

"It's what my Master wants, so of course it is. But I trust you not to let those greedy hands go anywhere!" She admonished me with a wagging finger and a big grin, as if we were joking around; we both knew I wasn't going to do any such things. How laughable!

But there was a pinprick of fear in her eye. She was probably always worried she would get a client who didn't understand the way things worked.

"N-no, ma'am," I said automatically. That did get her blinking a few times, but I quickly followed up with, "This is all I want."

And I leaned down and began to push them off. At first, I tried to do it without really touching her, but I looked stupid and she chuckled a little. It was probably 'cute'. So then I pet along her legs a little before trying again, my grip firmer as I began to pull them down.

"Careful!" she warned me. "You'll tear them if you go too fast. Besides… this is all for you. Take your time! I want Master to have as much fun as he wants with my stockings."

Would this nightmare never end?! Not only did I have to do this now that I paid for it, or else she would figure out something was up, but I had to take my time and 'enjoy myself' - even though what I really wanted was to run screaming from Hotel Juliet as fast as my legs could carry me. Trying to take the safe option, I had gone from watching my teacher strip to stripping my teacher in a matter of seconds. Whoops.

Kawakami did have great legs; clean-shaven and smooth, like she spent a lot of time moisturising. It was easier than I expected to whisper, "Very nice."

"Thank you, Master." She scooted back a little further on the bed as I sat back to get the opaque white fabric moving down along her calves. They were heavily-perfumed, probably just for this reason. And the perfume was nice… but I could catch the vaguest hint of something else underneath the floral scent. Probably her natural scent.

Not that I wanted to think about it. Not that I wanted to do this at all.

"Silly Master," she giggled as I teased the fabric back and forth around her ankles, milking the moment. Now it was more because I didn't know what I was going to do once it was over. Rub my face on them? Pet her legs? Just put them on the bed and lock myself in the bathroom? The last one sounded fantastic at this point.

"Am I?"

"Yes." She booped my nose with her big toe and I couldn't help smiling. Why was that so cute? Why was any of this cute?! "Becky's happy you're having fun with her!"

Though I didn't forget to pitch my voice low, I ended up telling her very honestly, "I guess I am. Wow." Then I refocused and slid the stockings the rest of the way off.

"Oh myyyyy. I guess Master has to see Becky's feet now." Somehow, the tone of her voice made it very clear that she was fishing… because she was. Did she think I had a thing? Her little toes began to 'walk' up the front of my button-up and blazer, heading for my neck, but at a snail's pace. I could stop her very easily. She just wanted to find out what I was curious about and if she could cater to those needs in small ways.

"Guess so." I caught them and held on to keep them from moving higher. "I don't mind at all."

Again, she blinked in surprise, her mood shifting. But she seemed a lot more flattered than fearful this time. "You know… if Master decided he wants a Health Massage after all, Becky could use these…" Her toes flexed in my hands. "If you're patient with me. Becky hasn't tried that before."

"I'll keep that in mind," I hedged, trying not to mentally picture whatever that would be. The idea of sitting here, helping my teacher take off her clothes while she called me 'Master' was already enough to short-circuit my brain; I didn't need additional elements.

But then I was distracted for a second. Kawakami was calculating. I knew that look from you, Sis; when you have a case weighing heavy on your mind, it always happens before you either come up with a new angle for a lead, or work through a puzzle that had been giving you a hard time. Then…

Then she knelt down on the floor, suddenly filling my vision. Glancing down, I could see her cleavage — and forced myself to look back into her chocolatey eyes instead.

"M-miss… Becky…"

"Becky will stop if you want," she whispered very quietly. "But if you can pay the fee… Becky thinks she would like to help her master be more healthy. Take care of… whatever he needs." Her hand fell to pet up and down my side…

That was how the game changed. Suddenly it wasn't just about her body being real, and sensual, in a way no one else's had ever been in my eyes - despite my efforts to prevent that. Now she had awakened mine. And even knowing that it was a specific, intentional, targeted attempt to make me give in and pay her that ¥5000… well, I had never been in a position like this before.

"I don't know," I managed to get out, trying to back up but failing to do it well enough - or quickly enough - to convince her. "I might not… be ready."

"I think you're ready," she whispered as her hand slid up the inside of my thigh. "But don't worry. Becky will do whatever it takes to make you… feel…"

Her hand went higher than I expected that soon after she started. And this, more than anything else, sent pure shock into her wide eyes.

"…healthy?"

                                              To Be Continued…

[jasminoire]

(I’m also so sorry to just throw this all on you, you just seem so knowledgeable mashAllah I thought I’d anonymously ask you as I really don’t know who else to go to. I’m so embarrassed I don’t know how I’m going to face my lord on qiyamat. please keep me in your prayers and ask Allah swt to bestow his mercy on me & make me a sincere good human. I apologize again for such a long message, sending you loads of love and blessings ❣️❣️❣️

Alaikum salam. May Allah accept the Duas you mentioned for me in your previous messages. Thank you so much for the kinds words you’ve said about me but astghferullah, sister I'm just a servant 🙏🏼 there is no goodness in me from myself. The good you see in me is Allah swt’s favor on me & Him concealing my defects, all good, knowledge and wisdom is from Allah swt alone and all praise be to Him alone for what He grants to His servants, surely He is the Lord of Generosity. May Allah bless you abundantly and increase you in humility for all the goodness you see in His creations, you’re such a pure soul, and it’s so rare to come across one. 💕

Firstly, I apologize for the late reply. I read ALL the messages you sent me, last night but I thought first I will consult with Allah swt about this since this is HUGE and very sensitive matter, and then reply to you, and I’ve just finished praying and asked Allah for guidance so, may Allah aid me and inspire me to tell you what He wants me to say.

I will not post your messages out of my respect, care and love for you, I will be covering and concealing them just like how Allah swt has concealed them all this time. Moreover, it is said in Ghurar Al Hikam, “Being remorseful for a misdeed causes it to be wiped off.” So, I’m going to believe your remorse has wiped you clean and given your soul a new record book.

In the Name of Allah, the All-beneficent, the All-Merciful.

Allah says in the Holy Quran, Surah An-Nisa, verse 147 - “What would Allah do with your punishment if you are grateful and believe? And Allah is Ever-Responsive to gratitude, All Knowing.”

You think Allah created you to punish you? All Allah needs from you is an excuse to sprinkle His mercy on you. He has forgiven us all so many times and every single person knows their own life, they know what’s in their closet, even after all that they’ve done, Allah still allowed them to have some respect in this world, that is a sign of His forgiveness. Imam Ali (as) says, Allah is kinder to us than we are to our own selves. Don’t ever think any sin you do within the umbrella of Tawhid is bigger than Allah’s mercy. Absolutely not. He has defended you behind your back, when no one else did, He defends you today. That very first discussion, you and I weren’t even there we weren’t even created when He talks about the idea that ‘I want to create this insaan make him my Khalifa on this earth’ who was the first group that had a problem with it? The Angels. They said ’ come on man don’t make this insaan, he’s gonna shed blood, he’s gonna cause corruption, you want someone to do your hamd and your praise, we’ll do it, we’re right here, 24 hours we will do tawaf of your Arsh and say subhan Allah subhan Allah subhan Allah and subhan Allah.“

Meaning what? It means before you and I were even born, the Angels were already talking smack about us. Who was there to defend us? Our Creator, Allah swt. Allah said, “Indeed, I know that (about this insaan) what you don’t know.” (Quran 2:30)

I’m going to share a story of Nabi Musa (as) and the Bani Israil with you. You can read about in Arabic/Farsi in Wasa’il ul-Shia.

Nabi Musa, one of my favorite prophets and Bani Israil, a tribe very close to my heart for personal reasons.

Nabi Musa is leading Bani Israil out from the cottage of Pharaoh, they reach an area of complete desert land. These people are thirsty. They beg to Nabi Musa, “let’s pray for rain, let’s come together as a congregation and pray for rain.” The story narrates every time they begin to pray for rain, the clouds begin to form and they disappear again, this happens several times. And the drought becomes more intense. Now, Nabi Musa says to Allah, “Allah look I’m asking you for rain. These people are dying out of thirst right now.” Wahi comes down, the answer comes to Musa, “Musa inside your group is a man, who, for 40 YEARS, has disrespected My Command and My Kingdom, has sinned against Me for 40 years. Ask him to beg for My forgiveness I’ll grant you rain very simple.”Nabi Musa addresses the entire tribe and says, “there is somebody in this tribe amongst all of you who has committed crime after crime, sin after sin for 40 years. Until you come forward, ask Allah for forgiveness, we will not enjoy the pleasure of that rain.”

Can you imagine how difficult that must be? The man who is responsible for this 40 years begins to talk to Allah inside the heart of his hearts and says to Allah, “Allah look you know it’s me I know it’s me, I have wronged you, I’ve disrespected you, I’ve sinned against you, I know that if I don’t speak up these people won’t be blessed with rain. I beg you for my forgiveness, I ask you inside the heart of my hearts (whispering to Allah) to please erase it. I’m sorry it won’t happen again.”

This man finishes his Dua, the cloud begins to form and rain comes gushing down. Nobody has stepped forward yet. Nabi Musa is very very confused. After the rain happens, he goes to Allah, “Allah nobody came forward what happened?”Allah says to Musa, “Musa, the man whose responsible spoke to me inside of his hearts I forgave him I blessed you with rain. And then Nabi Musa asked Allah a question and then Nabi Musa asked Allah and said what- “Allah can you show me who that person is?” He says, “Musa, for 40 years he was sinning against me I didn’t expose him to you and now that he’s actually come back to me and cleansed his heart you want Me to expose him to you now?” LOOK AT THE EXTENT Allah does to protect our dignity. And we still wanna believe that He’s a horrible boogeyman monster of a God? No. He deserves our worship, in this day and age when everybody wishes for us to be pulled off the path.

Now, what I wanted to surprise you with is, the sin that the man from Bani Israil had committed is the same sin as yours. Don’t lose hope, my sweet sister. miracles dwell in the invisible.

This is one of my favorite excerpts from the dua Jaushan-e-Sagheer, “O my God, this is the situation of a humble servant [of You], who professes Your Oneness, confesses of his failure to carry out his duty towards You, and testifies to Your ample favoring on him, Your excellent habits in treating him, and Your bestowal of graces upon him. So, my God and Master, confer upon me an amount of Your benevolence that I can use as a path taking me to Your mercy, as a ladder by which I ascend to Your satisfaction, and I can be secured from Your wrath in the name of Your might and supremacy.”

I’m going to be very honest with you, I know this might sound a bit embarrassing but wallah when I was praying for you today I ended up crying uncontrollably while making dua for you. And while in my prayers I thought if Allah has put THIS much mercy in my heart that I cannot bear to see His creations in even a little bit of pain then subhan Allah imagine HOW MERCIFUL is our ‘Most Merciful’ God? We cannot imagine that, my sister, the human mind does not have the capacity to comprehend the mercy of the Creator of the Heavens and the Earth. It is He alone who possesses this mercy and has distributed a portion of it among us, and inclined His servants' hearts towards it. And all praise is for Him alone for all the good He creates.

What I suggest, from my own heart, and this is also the dua I will be making for you which is - that you make dua Allah compensates all those people you mentioned, with such a definite compensation in this dunya that they can have no further claim against you in the hereafter. And Allah can surely do you that, Verily He has power over all things. You’re in my prayers. ❤️💕🌹

[ineedrelationshipadvice]

Did he cheat 6 years ago?!

I am with my boyfriend/partner just about 8 and a half years! We love one another very very much and even talk about having kids and plans to build a house together! We couldn't be happier where we are.

However 2 and a half years into our relationship it arose to the surface that he had been very friendly with another girl for about 5 months that I knew nothing about to the extent people were saying he had a second girlfriend. We were both 20 and this "girl" was 16 turning 17. He says he didn't tell me because I wouldn't approve of the friendship which back then I probably wouldn't have. My parents obviously found out because of the state I was in, even they couldn't believe it.... but this day would be proud to call him a son. At this stage I'd like to point out I was never ever unfaithful in my relationship and to this day have never been! But back then I definitely took him for granted. When people started asking me was I not with him anymore and found out he had been lying to me about where he was on the weekends to hang out with friends, because I felt I had to be with him every minute when I wasn't working.

Long story cut short I took his word that nothing had happened and gave him a second chance as such, even though there were signs that did him no favours. I did not want to end our relationship based on what others had said! 

6 years later we are really happy and as funny as it sounds I trust him again (took a long time) and would probably find it hard to find someone who treats me the way he does. My parents love him and love how he is so so good to me! He always has been,bar that one time when it all went to hell, but that's why I found it hard to believe. He is the love of my life and I his. He even talks about the day he gets to call me his wife. He supports me in everything I do, even encourages me and is my rock in general and I definitely don't take him for granted anymore.

However..on occasions I get dragged down and think back to when my heart was broken and wonder to myself what If he didn't tell me the truth back then and this relationship is based on something I believe to be true. Yes sometimes I let my thoughts get the better of me.

If I look at a film where cheating is involved it takes me back, a song about cheating it also takes me back..even though he may not have done anything it's just what I think about.

The hard part is...how heart broken I'd be if he was not in my life at all...but also if he did in fact not tell me the truth about what may have happened all those years ago even though I believed what he said back then! It's the kind of thing I don't want to bring up because 6 years later I should have let go by now and because I don't want to ruin what we have now! Every time I try to forget, something always brings it back to my mind! I want to be with him, but I also want to stop making myself have these thoughts also, because I get super emotional and also upset at the fact I can't seem to let it out of my head.

Unfortunately, in a situation like this, you don’t exactly have a whole lot of agency to make much change. Like you said, all of this happened a very long time ago. There’s nothing wrong with the fact that you still struggle with something like this. Having your trust broken in any way can be extremely destructive to a relationship, and the fact that you made in this far without having other issues arise is both surprising and awesome, and you should be proud of what you’ve constructed here. 

But if you drill down to the core of a relationship, all good relationships are based on a fundamental bedrock of trust. You trust that when your boyfriend promises that he’ll love and cherish you forever, he actually means it. You trust that your boyfriend has the sense and commitment to not cheat on you with ever single person he meets. You trust that he will support you no matter what you go through in life. 

This is why having that trust broken is so critical! You put all that faith in him, and then he rocked the boat. The boat almost capsized, but you both managed to stay afloat without going overboard. That doesn’t change the fact that it almost happened, and you’re going to remember that moment probably for the rest of your life. 

But YOU HAVE TO TRUST. At the end of the day, if you don’t trust him and his words, this relationship is forfeit.

Did he cheat on you back then? Did he potentially do something bad? It’s impossible to say. From the story that you explain, you definitely have noticed all the potential red flags of cheating, and his excuse of “just being friends” doesn’t seem to be a very good excuse at the best of times. There was indeed room to cheat, and if he did, he has concealed it pretty handily all this time. 

Where does that leave you? 

At the end of the day, you have to decide how much this really matters. How important is it that he may or may not have cheated on you in the past if he is currently in the space where everything is working, you’re happy, and the potential of the event reoccurring is almost zero to none? Because that implies you have a very healthy relationship, and it’s something I can only support. You have an INCREDIBLY long term relationship; most people fail LONG before you, and you’re still going strong. If you two are working toward something great together, then I would remiss to simply suggest you break up over something that is largely water under the bridge.

It should also be mentioned that a lot of people say, “Once a cheater, always a cheater.” And while it is true that those who cheat have a high propensity to cheat again, it doesn’t mean that this is true for every individual. Even if your partner DID cheat, it’s possible that he learned his lesson, and completely reformed his behaviour to be more committed. 

Nobody is going to be able to know what happened between him and this person he knew except for him. And anything short of coming up to him now and asking what the heck happened between them back then, there’s no way to know. He’s also not obliged to explain what happened either, and if he continues lying about it - assuming he did do it - then you’ll continue living in ignorance about what may or may not have happened. So even hearing him admit, as truthfully as he can, that he did not cheat may not even resolve the anxiety you feel over the formerly broken trust.

And this entire conversation so far is ASSUMING HE’S A CHEATER. It’s entirely possible that he didn’t cheat at all, that this person was just a friend, and nothing bad came about at all. It could have been a totally platonic friendship, with no foul-play, and he could have been telling the truth ever since the beginning. 

Sometimes you just have to trust. 

___________

Beyond that, I think the best thing you can do moving forward, if you really want some closure, would be to consider therapy. I know therapy is a hassle when you have a busy schedule. But if you have the funds and ability to access a therapist, I can’t recommend it enough. They can help you try to come to terms with this issue of broken trust you feel, and potentially deal with your anxieties over it, giving you healthy methods to handle it. 

Beyond that, I think your best advice here is to let this go. Unless you see new red flags, or suspect him of cheating again, I don’t think this matters anymore. The statute of limitations has passed, and bringing this stuff to light directly with your partner may not only not help at all, but may actually damage your relationship in a new way, making things worse in the near future. I personally don’t think it’s worth it, unless a therapist says otherwise. 

[meditationsinausterity]

Losing Shame and Using Guilt

Anyone who knows me well enough will know i'm fascinated by the specificity of language. I had a lecturer tell me once that the more precisely you can express yourself, the better you'll be understood. Granted, he was talking about getting to grips with Derrida, but the underpinning sentiment of being understood caught at my very core. As a result, I'll often, mid-sentence, correct myself if the word is not exactly what I mean, particularly in terms of expressing emotion. I get frustrated if I can't make the exact clarification I want to express my point, but in the process of correcting myself I usually arrive at the point I'm driving at. I'm sure we all do this to a certain extent, or the qualifier 'Do you know what I mean?' wouldn't be so prevalent in everyday speech.

I do it in my support sessions all the time when I'm asked how I feel - I take the approach that I need to get as much out of these sessions as possible to progress with my week, my general recovery. If I'm not making every effort to understand and be understood, I don't see the point, do you know what I mean? One such time was after a particularly horrific binge, that saw me physically injured and put the nail in the coffin of my short-lived but long-suffering relationship at the time, where I was asked how I was feeling about it. I said: 'Guilty. But I think it's normal to feel guilty. I don't mean the kind of guilt that paralyzes you and stops you doing anything. I mean the kind of guilt that makes you ask the questions, tell the truth to yourself, and try to learn. There should be another word for it.'

I thought about this conversation while I was walking to the job centre this week, anxious as fuck, and trying to talk myself out of feeling guilty. 'There should be another word for it' kept rolling over my brain, and I scrabbled to think of something until I realized I'd been wrong in the session. What I was feeling after that binge, WAS guilt. what I was feeling on the walk to the job centre, the 'I shouldn't be doing this' breathlessness that made me want to just go home to bed, was shame. And the penny started to drop as to why they were different feelings when I examined the two situations.

On the way to the job centre, my feelings of shame weren't directly coming from anything I did, am, or genuinely believe. Shame can only exist in the light of other people. As a society we're pretty good at shame. There's body-shame, slut-shame, poverty-shame, and probably loads more ways other people make people feel like shit. Shame is a tool used to police others according to the norms of, usually a majority. As a society, the fact these terms exist for different ways in which certain majorities enact this policing shows we're slowly growing into that realization. Shame, and its younger, less crippling cousin, embarassment, can't exist, without other people. If you have a shameful secret, it doesn't technically become shameful until you speak it to anybody else. More prosaically, if you fart in a lift alone there's no shame until someone gets in at the next floor.

I felt ashamed of going to apply for jobseeker's allowance because of how it would have looked to someone on the outside: I'm young, able bodied, adept with people, energetic, and have a work ethic; so what fucking right have I got to ask for help when it ought to be easy for me to get a job? I could hear the imaginary 'you should be ashamed of yourself' in my head, stopping my little trainers in their tracks. Because shame creates paralysis. Shame is what's going to stop you doing something you maybe really need to do, or even just want to do.

There's no arguing with shame if you treat it as something that springs directly from the inside of you. I realized the key to stopping shame from stopping me lies directly in that voice, that 'You should be ashamed of yourself'. For a start, I can tell it's not my own convictions at play here, because I don't call myself 'You' - other people do, when they're not mispronouncing my name. So if it's not me, who the fuck is talking? Once you've asked that question you've already created an access to whatever the external narrative is that's influencing the shame. In the case of me and the job centre, we can cite tabloid hysteria, my working class upbringing, and coming from a long line of proud women who struggle to accept help from anybody; a real tasty blend.

The other key disarming tool here is 'should' - the singlemost efficient way to convey obligation that i know. Think about the amount of times you've bailed on something and explained yourself to someone else by saying 'I should go, but...' That 'should' is the point of tension between what people expect of you and your desires and intentions. Asking 'WHY SHOULD I?' a la an angry teenager, as I did on my walk, may be the fastest and most explosive way to deal with external shaming narratives from stopping me in my tracks. The answers to 'why should I?' are never convincing to the person who questions the power of 'should', which is why the last resort is always 'Because I said so', which, let's face it, never convinced anyone ever. Asking 'why should I?' is a fast and powerful way of undermining all the reasons you are being shamed.

So shame, once you unpick what it is, is simple to counteract. Which is good, because it's the thing that stops people doing what they need to in order to get help. Guilt, however, is more complicated. And I'm going to posit a theory, in no doubt a stupidly long-winded way, that guilt is not there to stop you from doing things, but is in fact a motivational emotion.

I was wrong in my session. There was no better word for what I should have been feeling than guilt. Because guilt is directly related to your inner self, to something you did or didn't do, or say. Guilt was absolutely the right word for how I felt after that binge, because I had done things I knew were wrong. And I knew them to be wrong in accordance with what I genuinely and fundamentally believe in myself, for the simple reason that if i didn't believe I shouldn't be resorting to drinking to blot out anxiety and pain, then why was i engaging in therapy to break that pattern? or, put more plainly and simply, despite all my endeavours to do the right thing lately, I had massively fucked it up, by myself, and guilt is the way in which my mind was holding me accountable for what I had done wrong, by holding it at the forefront of my mind and not allowing me to concentrate on anything else.

And, to go back to what I said earlier about shame being an external process that can't exist without other people, you can be perfecty capable of feeling guilty all alone. To go back to my fart in a lift metaphor, If you fart in a lift alone, and then get out, you'll feel guilty about leaving that fart in that space to fester because you know you did it. You feel guilt because you're to blame. Guilt without culpability already has a name: paranoia. To apply this to my situation; even if nobody had known about my binge and it hadn't affected anybody else (which was emphatically not the case), even if I hadn't sat in a room telling somebody else all about it, I would still have felt guilty. Because I would have known I'd done wrong. But it would have been a kind of double guilt; the guilt of my own culpability, underneath the the guilt of not revealing it, which i'm going to rename 'concealment anxiety' for clarity.

I once read somewhere that 'we're only as sick as our secrets', and in terms of this kind of double-layered guilt, I genuinely believe it to be true. When I sat in the office talking about the binge, there was a definite sense of pressure relief, like the first door of an airlock opening. But the removal of the concealment anxiety is only the first door; it doesn't free you, it just lets you breathe and focus. Concealment anxiety is why problem pages everywhere are crowded with letters asking if people should reveal their adultery to their partners - the uncertainty stems from the knowing it would provide that rush of relief vs. the fact it won't remove the guilt that comes from the actual culpability. Telling the truth about what you did can only remove the concealment anxiety, it can't remove the guilt of culpability.

The reason I use the metaphor of breathing space and an airlock is because until you untangle concealment anxiety and guilt, you can spend a long time in that pressure zone, confusing the two. My therapy, this blog, the practices I'm putting into place to reach out to more people and to be honest about everything, they're all ways in which I've realized i was existing in this dead, hidden zone where all the things i was doing to harm myself were hidden. And that environment was slowly making me sicker, and more isolated, and withdrawn. I wasn't admitting to my actions, which meant I was stuck alone in this space, at eye level with my guilt at all times, and unable to address any of it because I couldn't focus.

Breaking that first seal by gritting my teeth hard and admitting to all the things I was guilty of to people (professionals and loved ones alike) provided me the breathing space I needed to look at the real guilt in a more focused way. The guilt that, as I put it, 'makes you ask questions, tell the truth to yourself, and try to learn.' And it was chronic, in this situation. I say chronic because guilt is visceral, it's a physical emotion. You feel sick, your heart pounds, you sweat, and if you're me, your posture goes totally insular and you can't look anyone in the eye (I'm pretty sure this is also what dogs do). Guilt is your mind's equivalent of putting a huge billboard in front of all your other emotions saying 'YOU FUCKED UP. YEAH, YOU. WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?'

And that, I think, is the key function of guilt. On first glance it seems like an unfair emotion - you can't undo what you did wrong, because what's done is done, so the 'what are you gonna do about it?' can seem overwhelming. But guilt's 'what are you gonna do about it?' doesn't have to be interpreted as a threat; it's your mind's way, at least I think, of saying, 'you did something horribly wrong, and now we need to focus on ways to make sure you don't do it again.'

((DISCLAIMER: I'm not, here, disregarding the fact that if you did something to hurt somebody else, you should say sorry, or try to make amends, but I am not dwelling on that, because a sorry can't fix anything, and sometimes the amends aren't possible. That's not to say they're not a necessary part of facing up to what you're guilty of, as I certainly said my sorry to the concerned party, meaning every single word of it (as I'm sure he was fully aware), but knowing in the pit of my stomach that no matter how heartfelt the sorry was, it wouldn't fix the damage I'd done. No matter how fundamentally important it is to say and mean, never has any sorry I've ever said had any more power than words ever have over actions.))

But back to that 'what are you gonna do about it?' - That's what's made me see that guilt can be a motivational emotion. For a start, there's the fact that it's so sick-making and anxiety-inducing that you would, in its throes, probably do whatever it takes never to feel it again. And I think that's no coincidence; warning signs are eye-burningly bright, sirens are ear-splittingly loud, because urgent messages need urgent attention. But the process of guilt, the constant reminders; I am finding, the more I notice and interrogate my thoughts; often take the form of ways in which you could have done things differently. I used to think that this was just my brain compounding things by telling what a fucking idiot I was, but now I'm starting to realize that actually, these alternate-plays are not nasty mind tricks, they're useful tools for me to interrogate, using direct example, why I didn't do things differently. I'm using guilt as a motivational tool, by letting these replays provoke questions, and therefore answers, that inform my future decisions. I'm still working on it, but it's very effective. It is literally the emotional equivalent of 'learn from your mistakes'. Guilt isn't your enemy, guilt is your teacher. It's just that it's the teacher you thought was really savage at school who you only grew to respect when you realized that they got shit done (not unrelated: Hi Mrs. Pearman, hope you're well!)

That was probably more long winded than anyone needed it to be, but we all have these negative emotions, and I'm starting to learn that engaging with them is both practical (because they're not fucking going anywhere unless I get lobotomized), and useful (because they have more to tell me than that I currently don't feel very good). So I'm going to become shameless (or more so, as anyone who has encountered how chill I am with being seen naked will attest), I'm going to be as honest as I can to stop that concealment anxiety airlock from closing me in and stopping me breathing again (a decision I've already committed to), and when I am to blame for something, I am going to let my guilt guide me into examining why the hell I did it in the first place, to stop me doing it again.