Tell the truth Recently, I had a conversation with a family member—someone I love, but who has this looping tale they tell, over and over again: _“People never respect me. No one honors my boundaries. I’m always being taken advantage of.”_
And of course, I listened. I nodded. I offered empathy. But eventually, I thought of Existential Kink By Carolyn Elliot , I couldn’t resist slipping into my kink and I gently asked:
“What if part of you actually _likes_ it?”
Their face changed, Their whole body stiffened, eyes flashing.
And then came the chant,
“I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I _hate_ it.”
They went into a kind of trance like egoic possession.
And there it was: _evidence._
Because the idea that we could _secretly enjoy_ our suffering is so taboo, so offensive, so _kinky_, that most people’s egos can’t handle it. We’ve been so programmed to believe we’re only allowed to desire good things—light, love, abundance, healing—that we’ve cut ourselves off from the darker, equally potent eroticism of failure, frustration, humiliation, rejection.
But BAAAABBBBYYYYY, let’s be real:
That red-hot flush of shame you feel when you’re rejected?
That stuck, paralyzed feeling when you can’t create or move or rise?
That humiliating little drama you keep reliving in love or money or body?
That’s not _just_ pain. That’s arousal.
That’s your psychic masochist doing her damn job.
“Fear is excitement without the breath,” Fritz Perls said.
and pain is _pleasure without approval_?
I felt it with my family member. Their loop—the one they claimed to hate—was _lit up_ with psychic charge. The pain was electric. Addictive. And they weren’t ready to feel the truth beneath it:
“I actually love this freaky shit, unconsciously of course.
I get off on being disrespected.
I love standing in this pile of shit because my pile of shit._
And I’ve unconsciously do this again and again.”
That admission? That’s the key part.
When we consciously embrace our unconscious kink, the pattern loses its compulsion. The taboo loses some luster. The shame becomes a choice. And we regain out power.
This is about looking deep enough into your own psyche to _own_ the pleasure that’s been running the show behind the scenes.
Because as long as you insist you hate it—without ever allowing for the erotic charge of it—you’ll stay stuck with it.
But once you say:
_“Okay, fine. I do enjoy being stuck.
I do enjoy being broke.
I do enjoy feeling unseen.
I do enjoy the cycle of almost getting there, but not quite.”_
Then you can ask:
“What part of me wants this? And what does it _need_ to feel satisfied?”
that’s where the magic happens.
Because the game here isn’t to _abolish_ the kink.
It’s to make the kink conscious.
Let’s be clear: _none of us invented this shit alone._
They belong to the collective shadow. To our lineages. To the traumas of civilization. To the twisted divine that clearly gets off on the entire opera of human pain.
We’re not separate from that. We _are_ that. your kinky little Godself, playing out a drama so dense its got your l thighs clench and your loving it.
Your stagnation, your heartbreak, your sabotage?
It’s not random. It’s not a punishment. you are fucking jacking off
And once you let yourself _feel_ the secret pleasure in that, really _receive_ it—without shame, without guilt. you can get better toy baby we got you
Having is evidence of wanting. I’m not blaming
But in a deeply magical, wildly empowering, power-bottom-of-the-soul kind of way.
We don’t get what we consciously want.
We get what we unconscious craves.
So stop denying your desire for drama.
Get _off_ on it.
And then—once you’ve truly savored it. Find something new
Because that’s how the real magic happens, slut.
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