Those were his instructions after I told him I was tired, stressed, and emotional. After confessing I had one of “those days” that brings you too the brink of collapse, and rendered me too paralyzed to cry.

I read it again. “Eat a cookie.”

I wanted to scream at him: “No! I don’t want to eat a fucking cookie.” I was angry at everything: work, life, petty circumstance, the thousand annoyances that piled onto me. All I felt was crippling fear translated into fight and flight, mostly fight. “How is a fucking cookie going to fix that?!”

I knew better than to say those words, and simply reread the instructions one last time.

“Eat a cookie.”

In better moments, I know his motivations. I know he considers me prized, and he takes care of me better than I know how to take care of myself. He knows that during these stressful times I don’t take care of my most basic needs. I stop eating. I stop sleeping. I wear myself out until I collapse. In my better moments I see that he is ordering me to do a small act of self love, an act that I simply forget to do.

Those are my good moments, and this is not one of them. This moment I am railing against everything, especially my dynamic. As much as I want to be the submissive that obeys unwaveringly, today I am not her.

My greatest strength is in my dynamic, in my obedience, in my submission. But strength does not always come easily. Like anything, there are some moments where I genuinely feel I don’t have another one left in me.

I eat a fucking cookie.

I do it because…. Well, I can’t really say. Because this is the life I chose, the relationship I chose, the person I have become. I do it because my obedience is the foundation we built our relationship upon, and disobedience is to set the whole thing on fire. To disobey would be shitting on the trust I worked so hard to earn, the life he built out of it, the surrender I’ve enjoyed, and the dynamic I draw from daily.

I do it because my obedience is the one thing I can control.

I do it because I said I would.

So, I eat the cookie. I eat the whole damn thing, and lick my fingers afterwards. I enjoy every fucking bite. Instantly, I’m in a better mood, perhaps because it was in fact really tasty and satisfying, perhaps because it was the hardest and best thing I’ve done all day.

“That was a really good cookie, Sir”.

“Good girl.”