Decision Making and Internal Enslavement: A Metaphor

We talked about the weight—or the perceived lack thereof—of decision making as a slave the other day. 

Mistress pointed out that for many s-types, outsourcing the decision, so to speak, to their left side of the slash counterpart, relieves decision fatigue, anxiety about the consequences of that choice, and the feeling of responsibility.

But for me, it doesn’t, really. Even if she makes the decision and I have no right to argue—and I don’t—I still feel responsible. I still feel the need to think my way through the decision as if I was going to make it myself—even if it has to be after the fact. I might not come up with anything more than, “Well, Mistress said so,” or trust in her general judgment, but the thought process is still there, seeing if that is the only reason. I still feel responsible for the outcome, even if my only part in it was the decision, a long time ago, to submit. I still feel like—as a service—I should think through it to make sure she’s not missing anything she might want to know. I still have that standing at the crossroads feeling. 

She pointed out that this appeared to contradict my usual perspective on internal enslavement. Usually, I said that, at this point and for a long time now, I could not, psychologically, purposefully choose something that violated her will. But no, this still lined up for me, and I explained it like this: 

So I’m standing at a fork in the road. One clear, sunny path leads to the obedient action. The other path—to disobedience—is shrouded in fog. The clear path is the obvious best choice, the one I normally happily continue down. But, even just mentally pondering the foggy path, it’s like wandering into that thick fog and constantly getting turned around. I always end up back where I started like ultimately bouncing off a force field. If I could see the path clearly, I’d notice that it dead ends in a few feet. But sometimes I don’t see or remember that it’s a dead end. But I start to dissociate, and thoughts swirl in that fog, too much to continue down that path. Because of that guarantee, that the fog is too thick, there isn’t really a path there at all, no matter the apparent intersection. And so I go wander down the clear path again. 

This made sense to her. The decision sometimes seemed like it could be mine, regardless of the truth, if I could just get through that fog. But the fog makes sure there’s nothing for me on the other side of it. And I normally don’t even notice the foggy path as an option; certainly going down it doesn’t frequently occur to me. 

But, the sheer fogginess of that path, the guarantee of a dead end, scares some people as a description. I see why. Free will is something a lot of people hold dear enough to never be willing to give up. I get it. But I don’t feel scared by it much. I hold that will dearly, too, and I didn’t hand it over lightly. But I know whom I gave it to and trust her like I would trust myself.

That’s all I need to know when I’m noticing the fog at the fork in the road. 

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