Good Girl Guilt - Conclusion

South Africa changed irrevocably on 11 February 1990. People restless, waiting for hours, cheers and jubilation when Nelson Mandela, emerged onto the Cape Town City Hall balcony, a free man. As for the Afrikaners, many were in full and open support of the new order, celebrating the death of Apartheid, but for some the end of the world was near. Talks of civil war, and retribution coming, food being stockpiled with amusing rumours going around about the alleged scarcity of baked beans. Always wondered about that one...when they ran out of bullets, were they going to rely on biological warfare?

As for me, the nineties were years barely remembered, as I struggled and battled everyday nearly oblivious to all that was happening around me, the changes in my country noted but adapted to, without question, without opinion, without reaction. Consumed by guilt, avoiding intimate contact of any kind, including friends and family, becoming a near reclusive. I was diagnosed as clinically depressed, but yet, even with the prodding and nudging, My Good Girl guilt and secret, remained mine...and mine alone.

With the arrival of the millennium, and with me in my thirties, the little bit of world I had, came crashing down. I suffered a personal loss so great, so painful, that my soul became frozen, dead, and incapable of feeling anything, even guilt. Waking up in the mornings, feeling the core of ice within, so heavy, so cold, that left me clutching the sheets, a pain so deep; I would curl into myself, barely moving.

But my soul did slowly re-awaken, and as the ice within were slowly melting away, I became more and more aware of changes in me. The years of fear and anger, self resentment, had been replaced by a feeling of freedom. The shame and guilt had been replaced by compassion and excitement. I remember standing in front of my bedroom window, staring at the huge mulberry tree in the backyard, new leaves sprouting as spring had been nudging winter firmly out of the way. It had just rained and little droplets hanging on the edges of the leaves, caught in the rays of the late afternoon sun, sparkled, reflecting the different shades of bright green. I saw new life and hope.

Then I finally realised. Through the deep sorrow, through the pain, my soul had become free. The imposed and accepted Good Girl guilt, destroyer of a soul, had retreated and was cowering in a corner, far and deep away. I became aware of my body, as if coming out of a deep sleep, my muscles relaxed as it no longer was bearing the weight of defence and self protection.  

And I thought about being laid over a table, bent over, my bottom bared, awaiting the stroke of a strap, feeling the burn, the sting, hearing the sound of the strap as it claims my flesh as its own.

I thought about my secret and I smiled.

I imagined gently taking it into my hands, slightly cupping it and whispering to it:

“I am who I am, and you?

You are part of my soul

My soul, submissive in nature, needing to quietly obey

You are part of my desire

My desire to accept the pain and control, without any shame

You are part of Me

Me, with acceptance and joy, my journey complete, because

You are who I AM”