An expedition into my life as an ABDL
Welcome back! This is the final post in a five part series about my life as an ABDL. This series was inspired by some journal posts a good friend of mine shared with me. After reading them, I decided I should document my own personal journey as a lifelong ABDL.
If you haven’t already, you might want to head over to read my other posts in this series:
- My Personal ABDL Journey: Part 1 – In the beginning
- My Personal ABDL Journey: Part 2 – The middle years
- My Personal ABDL Journey: Part 3 – College life
- My Personal ABDL Journey: Part 4 – Bedwetting Returns
Authors Note: Several people have told me that this is one of the most anticipated parts of this series. I have had countless people ask me about how I told my wife so I know there are many people out there that are struggling with this.
I want to say up front that everyone’s situation is unique. There is no step-by-step guide (trust me, I looked) to telling an vanilla partner, spouse, best friend, etc.
This is my story, but your story will be different. If you are struggling with this, my one bit of advice is to just be…you. Genuine, authentic, and honest you.
Adult life – Act two: “Setec Astronomy”
Um, Rex, what the heck is “Setec Astronomy”? No this isn’t a bad autocorrect. It is an anagram of “too many secrets” from one of my all-time favorite movies, Sneakers. See how it might fit now? 🙂
At this point in my life (I was in my early thirties), I had managed to hide my ABDL side from everyone (even myself, at times). My wife and I had been married ten years and had two young kids.
The weight of this secret had slowly built, over the past year or so, to almost completely overcome me. Day and night I thought about it.
Maybe it was the diapers being reintroduced. Though I was initially wearing for a medical reason it had the unexpected result of me finally starting to accept the fact that I enjoyed wearing diapers. I felt safe in them. I felt happy in them. I felt like…me. Truly and authentically me.
I hadn’t told another person before, but I was to a point where I had to tell my best friend first, my wife.
I didn’t plan out the exact moment that I would tell her, but after having deciding to eventually do so, I had to also consider all the possible outcomes. This included the worse case scenario — us going separate ways. I really hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but I didn’t honestly know for sure. I did know that I would be devastated if it came to that, however…
…the guilt of not telling her about this part of me had finally overcome my concern for the worse case scenario.
Did I want to go our separate ways, no way! She is my best friend. I was just tired of this being a secret. Aren’t best friends suppose to know your secrets and still love you anyway? Could I honestly claim her as a best friend if she didn’t know all my secrets?
I can’t claim I thought through, from my wife’s perspective, all the emotional impacts this might have on her.
I do know that I thought of the perspective of her learning and feeling that I had pulled a “bait and switch” in our marriage.
I do know that I considered the negative consequences to our life, specifically the impact on our kids. I weighed those thoughts and still…
I was tired of secretly listening to episodes of The Big Little Podcast while on my morning runs and deleting them before I returned. I was tired of not being able to talk to anyone about any of this. I was tired of the guilt. I was tired of the shame. I was tired of the binge and purge. I was just…tired. And tired is no way to live your life.
What was the alternative? If I didn’t tell her I likely would have suppressed it again like I had done so many times before. Had I done that one more time, I think I would have been more likely to lash out in anger. Perhaps at work, perhaps at my kids, or perhaps at her. It likely would have been anger or a deep depression. I had to tell someone. I needed to tell her.
I didn’t specifically plan to tell her the night that I did, it just kind of happened.
One cold winter night, I finally told her. We were in our living room having a drink and watching something on television. The show was over and for some reason, instead of heading to bed as normal, we started talking and the opportunity to say something came up.
I saw the opportunity. I knew now was the time. I took a deep breath and told her I had something I needed to share with her. My heart was a jackhammer inside my chest.
I explained how no one else knew what I was about to tell her. I said that I wanted the first person to be her. She looked a little concerned and a little worried.
I proceeded to tell her about…me. All of me. I was so nervous. I am sure I sounded like a bumbling moron. Nothing came out how I had rehearsed a thousand times in my mind, but I just went with it.
I explained how I had been like this my whole life.
I told her about the diapers.
I explained how they make me happy and that were a comfort to me. I told her I like who I am when I am wearing them. I explained, at a high level, ABDL, and the spectrum.
She just sat there quietly as I rambled on…
I told her I didn’t know what was next, but that I just couldn’t keep it from her any longer.
I tried very hard not to bombard or “frenzy” her with too many details. I’m not sure I succeeded.
I closed by telling her that I knew this was a lot to process. I told her that if she had any questions, she could always ask. I promised her I would answer truthfully, no matter how embarrassing or uncomfortable it made me.
She had a few initial questions.
She asked if the bedwetting thing had played into this. I explained how that event did certainly reintroduce the diaper component, but this had started long before that (back to age 3 or 4). I also told her that not having bladder control wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
I went on to explain that when the bedwetting got to the point that it started to negatively impact my sleep and mood, that it wasn’t pleasurable at all.
After we talked, it wasn’t like I started wearing a diaper that instant. Even now, a few years later, we are still taking it slow and learning how this part of my personality fits in our marriage and our family life.
The difference now is that we are doing so together.
She has been more loving and accepting about all of this than I could have ever imagined!
She has asked me on several occasions how she can help support me and just having her ask that question means a lot to me.
I recently asked her about what she recalls from that night that I told her, she said she remembers initially thinking, “You’re into…what?”
I know it doesn’t always go well for everyone that comes out to their partner, so I’m thankful for her love and support.
Just knowing she loves and supports me is all the affirmation I need from her at this point in my life. Everything else is just gravy.
To this day, I am upset I didn’t tell her before we got engaged and married. I feel I lied by omission about who I was. But then again, I had been lying to myself for a long time too. I lied to myself by thinking it would just eventually “go away”. Now I realize that by lying and being unable to accept myself, the real victims (should the worst scenario have occurred) would have been my children.
If I had it to do all over again, I would have told her from the start.
I have told her this and she has reassured me on several occasions that it worked out better this way, at least for us. She has told me that she wasn’t sure that she would have had the maturity to handle it back when we were in our early twenties. This might not be the case for everyone.
Over the past few years she occasionally asks me questions and, like I originally promised her, I always answer truthfully.
One night I do recall her asking me randomly if I had ever “messed” in a diaper. The question caught me off guard and I was a little uncomfortable and embarrassed (I’m sure I was beet red), but as promised, I answered truthfully…
The answer was yes, I had. I went on to explain that I don’t particularly enjoy it. It bothers me to see a dish sit next to the sink and a dirty diaper is a mess on a much bigger level. I explained that the clean-up part for me is a pain that it breaks me out of headspace really fast. At this point, messing is a soft limit for me, but that’s a whole topic unto itself. I will save that for another day.
For now, I’m grateful for no longer having “Setec Astronomy”.
So there you have it. How I came out to my best friend – my wife. It wasn’t glamorous or sexy. It happened nothing like how I had rehearsed it a thousand times before in my head.
My wife has read this post several times and asked if she could type up her own post about all of this. I told her absolutely! So look for that post coming sometime down the road.
So what is your “coming out” story? How did you tell that first vanilla person in your life? I’d love to hear your stories and experience. Leave a comment below or share your story with me privately via the, Contact Rex, page.
Hugs & crinkles,
Rex (BelovedRex)
