I ACTUALLY thought it was going to work:
No more diary posts.
No more writing about writing.
No more yoga bizz struggles.
And definitely no more erotica.
Well, technically that one was fake. I haven’t written erotica since 2016 to begin with.
But from now on forward I was going to BE the professional AUTHOR SPEAKER EXPERT! on the field of being a mistress.
I was going to share THAT message, and ONLY that message with the world.
And I m pretty sure there was something in that final mission statement that concerned having to stop typing in capitals.
Or at least there should have been.
And what a great idea to move everything that was not a hundred percent relevant to The Message of The Mistress, back into hiding.
This blog would get one, clean, professional, bite sized message every day:
It’s okay to be a mistress, or to have a mistress.
And even if you’re betrayed by your husband having one:
No reason for drama.
We can all get better from this. Here, let me explain….
My Mistress Message would be the ONLY thing I would be known for.
So that I could disconnect the rest of my life from the public eye. Where it had been since 2010 when I had started publishing on my LS Harteveld website.
It would help me to feel safer and less anxious, if I created more privacy and stopped sharing daily shenanigans.
That was Sunday.
And guess what?
I didn’t write since Sunday.
It’s Wednesday night now, and between Sunday morning and Wednesday night not writing? That’s forever, in my writer book. That’s SOMEONE IS SERIOUSLY LOSING HER SHIT -long.
Not in the way I was losing my shit last week!
There were no heart attacks and sleepless nights this time. And this morning, when someone started tweeting about astrology and all the Scorpios answered with their deepest most powerful, sexual stuff and I joyfully remembered it was now my job to join the conversation as an expert?
Just for a moment, I thought I could pull it off.
I would write my first clean 500 words professional message, with maybe a cute or inspiring example (nothing triggering!) of why Scorpio women, whether by sun sign or ascendant, make the best mistresses.
It would be the first of many of such little, harmless posts, which aside from its difficult topic of mistresshood, would not be different from any mainstream column about sex or relationships.
Oh what a wonderful, pink, fluffy cotton candy dream it is!
The days I wrote stuff that gave me heart attacks, and felt exposed because next to my difficult message I shared every-fucking-thing else;
They would be over.
These posts would not disrupt the hard-fought mental and financial equilibrium of my life. No one would get hurt over these…
But then the day happened.
Today, Wednesday, the fourth day of relative peace and calm. And I realized after a series of events, that there was no “safe”. There was no way I could share my message in a way that would ensure money would be earned, messages would be heard, and risks would be worth taking.
And that in fact, trying to play it safe may very well turn out to be the riskiest thing I could possibly choose.
First of all: the fact that I didn’t write for three mornings in a row?
How could I miss that?
After over a month of daily blogging, then missing a day because of anxiety, then drawing a conclusion, being happy, peaceful, STOPPING WRITING.
It’s daunting how easy it was.
How the promise I no longer had to share ALL the things, completely cured me from my urge to write.
Apparently there was no motivation, let alone a pressing urge, left to write a daily blogpost, once the battle field had been cleared from phobias and anxiety. I didn’t want to disturb the peace. And especially not by writing a piece that would have the raw emotional impact of a baby crocodile. Which could still, technically, bite someone’s finger off.
The civilized messaging, writing, that I intended to base an entire career on, would have been soulless and obsolete. And that’s assuming I could have actually started it.
Things got bad. Talk of a “real” job. Stop hoping I ll ever make my business work. And I could see myself being ignored and gossiped about, by female coworkers who would find out who I (also) was. See myself being made fun of by men who would brag to each other if I walked by.
I saw myself rather wanting to die.
I didn’t see anything suicidal, but I definitely saw a wish to stop making an effort to live physically. And a willingness to just hand in all the fun, ambition, my hobby of writing, or even teaching yoga, and just do something that pays and doesn’t upset anyone.
And to make things at work as normal as possible I would first remove all my LS Harteveld work; the website, purge Google. And if someone would still find out, I would say:
“That was me in the past. I am no longer that person.”
And bow my head in shame.
I would be spiritually dead.
And I was surprised by how tempting that was. To give it all up.
I failed. I wasn’t making any money from it and I was too afraid writing about being a mistress would get me murdered. Or that my family would start being ashamed of me.
Or for something, anything, happening to them, by people who were angry with me.
It wasn’t worth it.
I’m a mistress, I m a bad person, but I m not going to make it worse.
And I said it was tempting, but that should be present tense.
It still is tempting.
I wanna quit so badly.
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living
update January 2021:
I want to assure you becoming proper never happened, and I am still writing!
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It is a diary of my life but translated to 25 years ago.
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