Salutations busy Traveler, I hope that you are fairing well. I myself are certainly caught up in the season. But not so much that I lack time to think. Of that I can still do plenty; even while working to please the unending masses.
It has always been a point of intrigue for me, the use of Daddy as a name for ones lover. Many years ago I swore to myself that I’d never be caught up in one of those relationships. The line between paternity and partner one too strong for me to see past the language. To be fair, I used to hate being refereed to as ‘baby’ too. It felt like a demeaning term. Oh how I’ve changed since those early days. How different my life would have been had I closed myself off to change.
As one entranced by the mind and all its quirks, I’m quite prone to reading any and all information about mental conditions and oddities that I can. Surprise, surprise it took me little time to become familiar with the concept of Daddy Issues. It was only in the last few years that this information became prevalent to me though;and I began to break down the stigma of it within my own mind.
I fell into bit of a toxic relationship with a boy that would make any sane women shiver at the creepiness that flowed from his pores. But he knew just what to say and as a young women craving attention he had me hooked. This was the first time the concept of calling someone other than your father Daddy arose. He wanted me to call him Daddy.
Thankfully our relationship never progressed passed that of an online one, he was too much of a coward to ever talk to me in person (Even though we occupied the same social circle). At first I was repulsed, citing the good old fashion link to Daddy Issues. Which seemed appropriate in his case since he had many a issues with his own father, let alone his mother.
But then we fell out and my mind kept leading me back to what I would do if someone I was truly invested in wished for me to call them Daddy. Gradually I came to the acceptance that; if it pleased my partner, what was a word to me? I have issues with my father myself, but none that lay unresolved. He didn’t abandon me, or abuse me; he just hurt me with his ignorance. But that’s all been lain to rest, I hold no hurt inside.
Once I started talking to my current Daddy he made me realize that I couldn’t just call him Daddy without meaning it. So I delved deeper into my thoughts. My dabbles in literary theory and the break down of words used in deconstructing lead me to the conclusion that: the word held meaning because it was assigned so, so why not re-assign its meaning? I hadn’t called my own father Daddy since I could toddle, so why let that stop me?
The meanings of words change all the time, so I was hardly grasping at straws; granted this if often a much slower process. Though it was surprisingly simple to implement. It was as if a teacher had gotten married and taken on their partners name. That slow rewriting of ones brain to use their new name. Hiccups occurred yes, but, after a while I hardly had to remind myself, it came as naturally to me as the original meaning had.
So Daddy has come to mean something entirely different to me. It means happiness, protection, growth, and every little thing that my Dominant gives me. He is my Daddy, and I will never again see that as a degrading thing. It’s amazing how much better I feel about myself now that I have shed any guilt I may have burdened myself with from society. Why should their opinions matter to my life anyway?
Baby too has evolved within my mind, opened from a tiny green bud of distaste to a beautiful bloom of life I could hardly live without. Little can brighten my already cheery days as much as a message addressed from my Daddy to his baby girl.
I wish you well,