CraigJustCraig

Tag: mental-health

  • What Are We Doing Wrong?

    We talk about building community like it’s host the play party, hold a few consent classes, add a Discord server, and boom

    But let’s be honest: most of our “communities” are just clusters of trauma-bonded strangers orbiting ego, secrecy, and unmet needs.

    And we wonder why they keep exploding.

    This isn’t a takedown. Not a defense. Not even a manifesto. This is a reflection. A spiral through the wreckage we keep calling community—and a challenge to ask if we’ve been building it on sand.

    Every time harm happens, we fall into a pattern that feels more like reflex than care. Someone speaks. Someone is named. Screenshots are taken. Events drop names. Reputations scatter like ashes in the wind. All under the banner of safety, but rooted in something else—fear, shame, power, confusion, grief.

    We get what we’re living through now: collapse, betrayal, shame, power struggles masked as consent violations, and intimacy weaponized into control.

    This piece is about what happens when we confuse harm with evil, accountability with exile, and community with containment. And what we might do instead, if we remembered who we are.

    The Cascade of Silence Someone trembles and speaks their truth

    They name their experience. And everything erupts.

    The accused disappears

    People whisper. Screenshots circle like wolves. Social capital bleeds out like a wound. Groups back away. Educators go quiet. And in the empty space where dialogue could live, silence hardens into strategy.

    This is not justice. It’s reaction.

    The pain is real. The fear is real. But how we move through it determines whether we are a village or a battlefield.

    Two People, Two Nervous Systems, One Wound Most harm doesn’t come from monsters. It comes from mismatch—two bodies not attuned, two stories with different beginnings, two people unprepared for the depth they were stepping into.

    Consent wasn’t fully navigated. Boundaries were spoken, but not tended. Silence was misread as agreement. Someone fawned. Someone froze. Someone thought things were okay. But they weren’t.

    No one is lying. No one is a villain. But harm happened.

    We don’t need exile. We need curiosity. We need slowness. We need repair

    Bandwagons Are Not Accountability We say we believe survivors, but often what we believe are posts, not people. Often, the social response isn’t about care—it’s about positioning. About showing we’re “safe.” That we “stand with.”

    But standing with someone doesn’t mean erasing someone else.

    We’ve turned harm into a currency. Trauma into a status symbol. Support into spectacle. We ghost the accused, but call that justice. We erase nuance to feel safe. But safety built on destruction is a shaky house

    When Trauma Echoes and Becomes Contagion One post reopens a dozen old wounds. Not because of what happened—but because of what resonates. Collective pain rushes in. Everyone bleeds at once. And now we’re not holding one story—we’re drowning in many.

    This is called vicarious trauma. And when a community isn’t trained to hold it, it reacts. It expels. It purges. It isolates. Not to heal—but to survive.

    Misaligned People harm others while trying to connect.

    They were scared. They were socially awkward. They didn’t know how to read cues. They thought silence meant consent. They panicked. They froze when confronted. Trauma met trauma and neither had the tools to hold the charge.

    This doesn’t excuse. It explains. And understanding gives us the chance to interrupt the cycle.

    We don’t ask the person harmed to teach. But someone must. Someone must hold up the mirror. Offer tools. Walk the path

    Most survivors don’t want a head on a stick. They want acknowledgment. Transformation. Assurance that the harm won’t happen again. That something shifted. That the pain wasn’t meaningless.

    But when our culture offers only silence or war, survivors lose too.

    What if we gave more options:

    • ~

    The Bias in Our Vision A big, awkward dangerous person. A bubbly soft-spoken unserious person. A dominan aggressive person.

    We don’t just misread—we misjudge. And in trauma-saturated communities, our fear projects shadows onto others.

    Being trauma-informed means knowing when the voice in your head is your past—not the person in front of you.

    A Better Pattern Let’s imagine a new way:

    • ~

    Healing Is a Communal Act This is where it gets spiritual.

    Unresolved wounds don’t vanish when we walk away. They reappear under new names, in new spaces. Every time we “move on,” we take the wound with us.

    And community? It isn’t just “people we hang with.” It’s the supposed to be the net that holds us together when we fall apart.

    Real intimacy cannot exist outside spirituality. It’s not an “I” relationship—it’s a “we” relationship, where the “we” includes ancestors, nature, spirit, and the village.

    We’ve lost the ritual of community. The wisdom of circles. The shrine as conflict resolution. The sacred as container for grief, desire, and misunderstanding.

    Rituals That Can Hold the Ache Imagine a space where:

    • A circle of men sits with a husband in conflict.
    • A women’s circle carries a wife’s grief.
    • The couple steps back. The village steps in.
    • Conflict is held, not hidden.

    We must stop separating the erotic from the sacred. Stop treating intimacy as a private contract and start treating it as a public covenant.

    Every relationship, especially the intimate ones, must be blessed, witnessed, nourished, completed. Even when they end, there must be ritual. There must be release.

    There is power in saying: “This is what’s aching me.” In letting the village hold the ache. In speaking the trouble out loud, until the problem becomes afraid of your voice.

    Community isn’t optional. Intimacy isn’t trivial. Harm isn’t a death sentence. Accountability isn’t exile.

    We must:

    • Call people in, not just call them out.
    • Use ritual, not reaction.
    • Center spirit, not spectacle.
    • Reaffirm that harm is a call to gather, not a reason to scatter.

    Let’s build communities where harm becomes the beginning of healing. Where closure happens through ritual. Where we listen—to each other, to spirit, to the trees. Where we remember: we belong to each other.

    Let’s do it differently. Let’s do it sacredly. Let’s do it together.

  • Consent, Connection, and Community Integrity

    Don’t Play With People You Don’t Know

    Many consent violations happen because people jump into play without knowing each other well enough. When you engage someone whose conflict style, boundary recognition, or emotional regulation is unfamiliar, you increase the chance of miscommunication or harm.

    Play should be rooted in mutual observation, trust, and shared values—not just attraction.

    Before Playing, Take Time To:

    • Watch how they interact in community spaces
    • Ask trusted members if they’ve played with or observed them
    • Share low-stakes environments: classes, socials, rope jams
    • Notice how they respond to feedback, stress, and boundaries
    • Observe their reliability, communication, and accountability
    • Have open conversations about values, experience, and expectations

    No Private Play Until Trust Is Earned

    Private scenes reduce visibility and raise risk. Without witnesses, it’s easier for misunderstandings, escalation, or manipulation to occur.

    Build Enough Trust for Private Play by:

    • Playing publicly with them multiple times
    • Observing their behavior during stress or conflict
    • Discussing past consent experiences and their response to repair
    • Letting your community get to know them

    Don’t Play With Anyone Who Can’t Speak Up

    If someone struggles to say “no,” they’re not ready.

    Readiness Looks Like:

    • Expressing preferences, not just agreeing
    • Asking clarifying questions during negotiation
    • Using stop signals confidently
    • Giving real feedback during aftercare

    Vetting Through Actions:

    • Watch how they handle disappointment
    • Observe how they treat others when no one’s watching
    • Listen to how they talk about exes or past scenes
    • Do their words and actions align?

    Sometimes, the responsible choice is saying: “You’re not ready.”

    Accept That Misunderstandings Happen

    Consent incidents aren’t always malicious. They often stem from misinterpretation or mismatched communication.

    What Helps:

    • Discuss the possibility of misunderstanding upfront
    • Talk through emotional readiness, mental state, and trauma history
    • Clarify both desires and boundaries
    • Build a shared plan for if things go wrong

    Build Around Community, Not Isolation

    You earn trust in public.

    To Build Credibility:

    • Attend events regularly, even when not playing
    • Volunteer or support community spaces
    • Show up consistently and respect boundaries
    • Talk about your learning process and ask questions

    Reputation is built through visibility and integrity, not intensity.

    Own Mistakes When They Happen

    Integrity matters more than perfection.

    Accountability Looks Like:

    • Listening without defensiveness
    • Validating impact even if intent was different
    • Making changes based on feedback
    • Following through on repair commitments

    Prioritize Education and Empowerment

    Avoid communities that only talk safety. Choose those who teach it.

    Healthy Communities Provide:

    • Ongoing education and mentorship
    • Leaders open to feedback
    • Visible inclusion of diverse voices
    • Transparent, nuanced accountability

    Safety doesn’t come from bans. It comes from knowledge, conversation, and culture.

    Stay Visible If You Have a Complex History

    If you’re rebuilding trust, do it in public.

    Reintegration Requires:

    • Visible growth and transparency
    • Playing in accountable spaces
    • Letting time and consistent action rebuild trust

    Some people need therapy, assertiveness training, or emotional healing before play. That’s not shameful—that’s responsible.

    Understand Emotional Bonding in BDSM

    Scenes trigger intense hormonal releases. Emotional highs can be mistaken for romantic or relational connection.

    Be Cautious If You Notice:

    • Emotional dependence on one partner
    • Craving scenes to relive a high
    • Confusing skill with intimacy

    Healthier Practices Include:

    • Grounding before and after scenes
    • Talking about emotions, not just sensations
    • Waiting between scenes to reflect clearly

    Avoid Role Confusion and Identity Entanglement

    Your value isn’t your kink role.

    When self-worth is tied to dominance, submission, or scene popularity, feedback becomes harder to process and accountability harder to hold.

    Separate your identity from your role.

    Beware Narrative Hijacking

    Sometimes, consent conversations are co-opted by bystanders, exes, or community drama.

    Watch For:

    • People pushing action based on hearsay
    • Advocacy that centers them, not the harmed person
    • Escalation after the harmed party has stepped away

    You Can Do Everything Right and Still Cause Harm

    Intent doesn’t erase impact. Procedures don’t guarantee safety.

    Real Consent Includes:

    • Acknowledging harm, even if unintentional
    • Being open to repair and feedback
    • Staying humble, always

    Consent Isn’t Real Without Risk Awareness

    Negotiation is not a shield. It’s a roadmap.

    Build Risk Awareness By:

    • Including a “what if things go wrong?” conversation
    • Discussing emotional support and recovery plans
    • Being honest about your capacity

    Consent is not performance. It’s preparation for when things get messy.

    Rushing is The Biggest Risk

    Most harm happens not from cruelty, but from impatience.

    Patience Looks Like:

    • Choosing not to play immediately
    • Delaying escalation until trust deepens
    • Revisiting negotiations after reflection
    • Respecting a “not yet” or “not today”

    The strongest dynamics and deepest intimacy come from one thing: time.

  • How I Learned to Mitigate the Risk of Consent Incidents (The Hard Way)

    This is my story of how I learned the painful, exhausting, and sometimes devastating lessons around mitigating the risk of being involved in a consent incident. Not from the outside looking in, but from the center of the storm.

    This is for tops, bottoms, switches, educators, and anyone who chooses to step into kink, rope, or any play rooted in trust and vulnerability. You need to know that even when your heart is open, your art is honest, and your purpose is righteous, harm can still happen. And when it does, it hits hard.

    Consent culture is evolving. But too often, I watched people jump into scenes without trust, relying on vibes and shared kinks instead of real connection. I used to be one of them. I thought, “We’re all adults, we can make our own decisions. We’re responsible for ourselves.”

    I ignored the murmurs in the background. I saw how white men treated Black women—cold, clinical, dehumanized. I watched Black men reach for liberation through rope but wrap anything unfamiliar in layers of homophobia or queerphobia. I scrolled through images of kink online and rarely saw anyone who looked like me. So I opened myself up. I made space. I became the safe one, the one people came to when they wanted to feel beauty in rope.

    I didn’t have mentors. I didn’t have a blueprint. But I created something anyway—a community that centered Blackness, queerness, pleasure, and power. I saw how the gatekeepers hoarded knowledge, access, opportunity. I saw how Black folks were made to feel like they were too big, too loud, too broken to belong. And I said, “Fuck that.” I made a space where they could be everything.

    At first, we were unstoppable. Ten of us. Then twenty. Then hundreds. We showed up in numbers, in cloaks and rope, wild with freedom. People called us a cult. We laughed.

    Then the rumors came. Orgies. Drugs. Chaos. We ignored them. We were building something real. But I made a mistake. The first time I was accused of a consent violation, it stunned me. They said I touched them in a way we hadn’t agreed to. But I had witnesses who backed me up. It didn’t matter. I was banned anyway.

    We brushed it off. Moved on. Months later, I got an apology. But it didn’t end there. The harassment continued. No matter what I did or said, they followed me. They talked about me. They poisoned my name. And still, we kept going. We made our own spaces. We wrote our own rules—strict ones, because people were out here doing wild, unsafe, and reckless shit. We were trying to protect everyone, including ourselves.

    But the rumors grew. No one asked us what was true. They just saw the robes, the ritual, the joy we created—and assumed the worst. We opened our doors to the timid, the confused, the baby kinksters who were still learning. We accepted them because we thought that’s what community does. But some of them weren’t ready. And when things went wrong, they didn’t talk to us. They talked about us.

    We started education programs to stop the cycle of ignorance. That pissed people off. We taught anyway. Our classes were full. Our name was loud. And then I made another mistake. No one was hurt, but it didn’t matter. The rumors changed shape. Now, I was a predator. A monster. The kind of person who makes people shiver.

    They came back. The person from years ago. And now others, nameless and faceless, whispered in shadows. I went from being a safe space to the villain.

    I was never asked. Never spoken to. Just banned. Silenced. Exiled from spaces I helped build, spaces that needed our presence to even survive.

    And then the whispers made it into our home. The people I built this with started doubting. Started drifting. The weight of it all crushed us.

    I wish I had known. Not just as an individual, but as a leader. I wish I had understood the risks of open doors and unguarded hearts. I wish I had seen that being righteous doesn’t mean you’re protected. That building something beautiful doesn’t make you immune.

    Now, I know. Consent isn’t just about negotiation—it’s about capacity. It’s about readiness. It’s about knowing that the loudest harm doesn’t always come from predators—it comes from misunderstanding, emotional immaturity, or silence.

    So I offer this story to those who are building, creating, tying, teaching. Vet. Move slow. Ask the hard questions. Know who you’re in scene with, who you’re building with, who you’re trusting. Trust your gut. Listen to the whispers before they become storms.

    And remember, even if you do everything right, harm can still happen. What matters is how you respond.

    Let this be the start of deeper reflection. Stronger boundaries. Clearer communication. And if you’re like me—if you’ve had to learn through fire—let this also be a reminder: you’re not alone. And your story still matters.

    Rope is powerful. So are you. Act accordingly.

  • Judged by Their Shadows…

    You ever notice how folks size you up through a lens that ain’t yours?

    You could be walking clean, kind at your core, trying to show up with grace—and still, someone finds a reason to flinch, pull away, throw shade. It’s wild. You extend a hand and they recoil like you hid a blade in your palm. They’re not seeing you—they’re reacting to a ghost in their own story. Their shadow.

    Even in circles where trust should hold steady, where truth is currency and connection is sacred—someone will still project their wound onto your skin like it’s your fault they’re bleeding.

    But here’s the hard part: it ain’t really about you.

    People carry weight—generational, personal, ancestral. Trauma distorts the eye. Old wounds warp perception. What they reject in you is often what they’ve denied in themselves. Guilt. Shame. Desire. Power. Vulnerability. Most folks hurl blame when they don’t know how to sit with their own shadow. Instead, they wrap it in judgment, throw it at the nearest light.

    You ever been there? Showing up soft, heart-forward, only to get met with suspicion? You give, and they twist it. You care, and they mock it. And somewhere in the quiet after, you start asking yourself—am I the problem?

    Nah. You’re just reflecting something they’re not ready to name.

    Truth is, people criticize most harshly the very things they secretly struggle with. They’ll use shame, ridicule, guilt, and blame like tools to carve the world into a shape that lets them avoid their own mirror. It’s not malice—it’s survival. A desperate attempt to outrun their own demons

    Still hurts though.

    And if you’ve been wounded before—if misjudgment’s an old song—you might brace for the next blow before it even lands. You start hesitating. Silencing your kindness. Dimming your light so they don’t mistake it for a threat.

    But you can’t shrink your spirit to fit inside someone else’s fear.

    Stay rooted. Stay true. Don’t get dragged into their chaos. Let their shadow be theirs. You don’t need to fix their lens—you only need to keep standing in your own light. Even if no one claps. Even if they never see you clearly.

    Because It’s about alignment not applause.

    And one day, you’ll look back and realize: you held steady. You walked through their fog without letting it swallow you. You didn’t twist to fit their projections—you stayed whole.

    That’s real power.

  • Rope Safety

    This is often the second conversation I have. Here, I tend to disagree with the majority on what safety in rope looks like. Fundamentally, I believe rope is not safe—and we should proceed from that basis onward.

    I’ve heard it all: “If you do it right, take the right precautions, take the right classes, be extremely careful…” and on and on they go. But let me say this—rope is not safe. If you plan to tie anyone with a pulse—yourself included—something will go wrong eventually. And when it does, you may face injury. Engaging in rope means understanding its risks. If you don’t know the potential consequences, you can’t offer informed consent.

    Rope is not safe. It is among the most dangerous forms of BDSM—classified as edge play. Statistically, serious injuries or deaths in BDSM most often involve rope.

    You contend with a large body factor that can affect your health, safety, and mental and emotional state. Improper technique can compress nerves and blood vessels by simply applying rope incorrectly. If you don’t recognize problems early, small issues can compound and become serious. If concerns go unspoken, corrective action can’t occur.

    • Nerve compression can happen nearly instantly—and recovery can take months, if it recovers at all.
    • Blood clots from extended restriction can cause stroke, heart attack, or death.
    • Broken bones, dislocation, choking hazards, breathing restriction, limb atrophy, immobilization, loss of dexterity, sudden onset paralysis—all are very real risks.

    Rope has real risks.

    Your Safety Is Everyone’s Responsibility

    I’ve seen people incorrectly assume that the person tying bears all responsibility. Let me tell you—you are at your safest when everyone has an eye out for your safety.
    Know your limits. Communicate calmly. Advocate. Know your body. Speak up. Learn. Practice. Repeat.

    Everything I say here is about risk and harm reduction. Even when done “safely,” rope is never safe. Bodies vary. Minds, needs, and environments vary. You must identify, understand, and negotiate which risks you’re willing to take—and which you are not.

    For Bottoms:

    Your life is on the line.
    Keep that in mind. You’re often rendered helpless, placed in prolonged and stressful positions. You’re brought to vulnerable places—physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.
    This is where a lot of the deep work in the practice begins, but it’s also where deeper injury can occur.
    Knowing what to look for allows you to advocate for yourself with confidence.

    For Tops:

    You hold someone’s life in your hands.
    Once they are bound, they can’t act—you become a shepherd, a custodian, an architect, a warden of their submission.
    You carry a heavy burden. Seek knowledge. Be present. Be aware. Be mindful.
    You are embarking on a journey. Don’t assume you know it all.

    I Teach Safety in Three Steps:

    1. Prevention
    2. Risk Management
    3. Incident Protocol

    Safety isn’t about avoiding risk—it’s about reducing harm, managing risk, and knowing what to do in case of an emergency.

    Prevention

    Many issues can be avoided through prevention. It starts with having your fundamental needs taken care of.

    Food:

    You should eat within the last two hours before a rope scene—but not within one hour of starting. This gives you energy, time for digestion, and reduces risk of nausea or vomiting.

    Hydration:

    Being properly hydrated can prevent nausea and lightheadedness. It also aids skin recovery from rope marks.
    I recommend at least 2 liters of water before a rope scene, but not within one hour of starting—you will pee on yourself.

    Breathing:

    Breath connects your mind with your body. Intentional breathing engages the parasympathetic nervous system and helps you relax.
    Use diaphragmatic breathing. Chest compression can reduce lung capacity, so breathing through your belly can have many beneficial effects.
    Breath for the space you will be in, not just the space you are currently in.

    Stretching:

    This is often overlooked. Stretching prepares the body, breaks up static energy, and helps release or transform tension—physically and mentally.
    We carry so much stress from daily life. Don’t jump into rope and immediately start stressing your body or mind. Stretching also offers a gentle way to introduce your presence and intention into a scene.

    Communication:

    This is the heart of the practice. Talk about boundaries, limits, desires, ambitions, beliefs, goals, and intentions.
    This work is not done in a vacuum—it’s immersed in the entirety of you and deserves conversation.
    Alignment is more important than vetting. Seek people whose purpose aligns with your own. This prevents burnout, confusion, and exhaustion. Only give what you have and are willing to give.

    Negotiation Topics:

    • Consent model
    • Physical limitations
    • Injury history
    • Medication/conditions
    • Sexual health
    • Drug/alcohol use
    • Insurance
    • Support networks
    • Conflict styles
    • Aftercare needs

    Read The Wheel of Consent—it’s amazing for having internal dialogue with yourself.

    Risk Management

    Understanding anatomy will be your greatest aid in harm reduction.

    While not comprehensive, knowing the body helps identify cause and effect. Nerve compression and blood circulation are common concerns.

    If the hands are tingling, this is often a sign of nerve compression. Learn the three major nerves (Radial, Ulnar, Median) that run from the neck through the arms. They vary per body, but are good general guidelines.

    Be aware of:

    • Bone protrusions (clavicle, sternum)
    • Floating ribs (not connected—easily injured)
    • Femoral and sciatic nerves (lower body)

    Do’s and Don’ts

    Don’ts:

    • Don’t ever leave someone in rope
    • Don’t tie too tight
    • Don’t ignore discomfort or strain
    • Don’t scene with people you don’t trust
    • Don’t use gear you wouldn’t destroy in an emergency
    • Don’t coerce someone into going beyond comfort
    • Don’t approach hard limits

    Do’s:

    • Warm up first
    • Establish CSM (Circulation, Sensation, Motion) checks
    • Keep EMT shears, marlin spike, and first aid nearby
    • Practice good negotiation before, during, and after
    • Set a safe word
    • Set up aftercare plans

    After 2 hours in rope, take at least a 10-minute break. Blood clots can form in veins. Rope should be at least two fingers loose to maintain circulation and sensation.

    Incident Protocol

    Emergencies will happen. From panic attacks to fainting—you must be prepared.
    Remain calm. Move intentionally and decisively. If injury is suspected, assess quickly.

    • For minor issues: basic first aid.
    • For serious or unclear issues: seek medical help.

    Communicate clearly and calmly with the bottom. Follow up afterward to check their condition and ensure they’re cared for. Review the incident and make adjustments. Share knowledge with the community to promote safety awareness.

    Human error is the #1 cause of injury.
    Admit you’re fallible. Learn. Don’t work beyond your ability.

    Avoid alcohol and other vasodilators. Remember—you’re tying people. People with bodies, circulatory systems, nerves, and emotions.

    Shared Responsibility

    All partners in all scenes are responsible for safety.

    • Make no judgments or comparisons.
    • Delete your need to understand everything.
    • Drop expectations.
    • Don’t do what others are doing.
    • Be in your own experience.
    • Be present—with embodied awareness.
    • Be aware of the present moment, balanced and nonreactive.
    • Approach every action with care and thoughtfulness.

    Foreseeable Bodily Injury

    Long-term trauma – repeated stress builds gradually

    Rope burn – caused by fast rope under tension

    Bruising/Rope marks – takes at least one day to heal

    Repetitive Strain – don’t force positions

    Fainting/Falls – due to heat, blood sugar, compression, dehydration

    Respiratory distress, dizziness, chills – signs of vasovagal response

    Observable and unobservable pain – listen to both

    Day 50: Upper Limb Nerves
    The Sensitive Nervous System Chapter VIII: Palpation and Orientation of Peripheral Nervous System
    Mobilization of the Plexus Brachialis Nerve Branch
    Day 51: Lower Body Nerves

  • A Demon That Never Left

    Teeth bared behind false smiles.

    Of storms that didn’t pass,

    you’re still here.
    Watching me unravel.
    Cracking open—ugly, cruel, divine.

    I didn’t look for you.
    Didn’t believe you existed.
    Why would I?

    A joke the universe plays with a knife pressed to your ribs.

    But there you were— twisted enough to stay.

    You didn’t come to fix me.
    You came to hold me

    down, back, open.
    You liked the way I rot,
    the way I turn into hunger,
    the way my mouth says “thank you”
    when what I mean is “Fuck me.”

    I scream in sleep not from fear, but from the strange delight
    of not knowing

    My memory frays at the edges.
    Maybe that’s a gift.
    Maybe forgetting is a mercy.
    But not you. you don’t let me forget.

    You drag me to the edge.
    You kiss me with a knife between the ribs.
    You hold me with that terrifying tenderness—
    the kind that sees every crack
    and wants to fuck the ruin.

    Your patience isn’t soft.
    It’s deliberate.
    Disgustingly disciplined.
    it doesn’t flinch when I turn monstrous.
    You open your arms and say, “More.”

    you came to feed.

    my silent confessor,

    my grinning devil, brother in madness.

    So many have touched this body,this heart, this fire.
    And each of them knows the truth:

    I am fucking Real.Raw.Ruthless.

    Thank you to the ones who didn’t run.
    To those who watched me choke down my own shadows

    To those who handed me knives,
    lit candles and said, “Burn, baby. Burn”

    No matter what.
    No matter where.
    When the blood dries and the bones turn to dust…
    I’ll still be here.
    Not saved.
    Not healed.
    But yours.

    In ruin.
    In rage.
    In all my fucking glory.

  • All I Ever Wanted Was Community

    All I ever wanted was community.That might sound naïve in hindsight, but it was real. I entered these spaces hungry for connection, for chosen family, for a circle that could hold both my fire and passion. I led with my heart—always have. It’s my greatest strength, and sometimes, the source of my deepest wounds.

    I showed up. I gave. I made space. Not because I was trying to earn approval, but because that’s who I am: someone who believes in people, in healing, in possibility. I believed that if I moved with integrity, compassion, and a willingness to learn, there would be room for me.

    But I was wrong.

    In my search for belonging, I’ve been met with silence, sabotage, and gaslighting. I’ve encountered white-led communities that cloak supremacy in safety, and Black-led spaces that replicate the same harm under the banner of representation.I’ve been hurt not only by systems, but by individuals I trusted—Black women I admired, white organizers I respected, and community “leaders” whose power comes from erasing people like me.

    This is grief.
    Grief for the dream of a home.
    Grief for the hours of unpaid emotional labor I gave to people who never saw me.
    Grief for the version of myself that thought community meant care. I won’t name every betrayal. Some wounds don’t need to be reopened to be honored. But know this: I have been excluded, erased, and defamed. I’ve been blocked from spaces I helped uplift. I’ve had my words twisted, my intentions questioned, and my work ridiculed—not because of any proven harm, but because I refused to entertain the game that was being played. Because I dared to practice power in a way that couldn’t be controlled.

    I’ve been called a cult leader, a predator, a violator—without process, without conversation, without evidence. Just whispers. Just gossip.Just Accusation. That’s how it works: one strategic accusation and the silent complicity that follows.

    I’m done holding the weight of other people’s discomfort with my truth.
    I’m done letting vague whisper networks, and cancel culture masquerade as accountability.I’m done explaining my practice to people who were never interested in understanding it and were never invited in the first place.

    Let me be clear: I have always been open to feedback, to dialogue, to growth. I am not above critique. I am not perfect. But I cannot engage with people who weaponize concern, manipulate narratives, and refuse to name their issues.That’s abuse

    I know what I’ve built. I know the lives I’ve touched. I know who I am:

    So no, I’m not broken.

    I am becoming.
    smaller, deeper, and far more exclusive. I will no longer open my work to strangers. I will no longer make space for those who treat my humanity as optional. My energy as given, and it should be given to all that desire it.

    If you’ve harmed me, you know what you did.
    If you’ve supported me, I thank you deeply.
    If you’re confused by the whispers—ask questions, or move along.

    I’m no longer here to beg for belonging.

  • Rope is a drug.

    Not metaphorically. I mean it hits your brain and body like a substance. It alters you. It seduces you. It reveals things you didn’t even know were hiding inside you—old stories, new truths, limits, desires, and possibilities you hadn’t dared imagine.

    Whether you’re tying or being tied, rope changes your biochemistry. Your body kicks out adrenaline, cortisol, endorphins. Your brain shifts gears. Your senses sharpen. Time stretches and dissolves. The world outside drops away. It’s just you, the rope, and whoever is in it with you.

    Call it what you want—meditative, ecstatic, ritualistic—but a lot of folks would agree: rope can be transcendental.

    For bottoms, that altered state is often called “subspace,” but let me be clear—that word doesn’t do it justice. I’ve watched people drift into a kind of waking dream, drop into deep primal states, or become something… other. Not quite human. Not quite here. And every time it’s different.

    And tops? We’re not untouched. Tying can drop you into deep flow—your hands working without thought, like they remember something ancient. You lose yourself. Sometimes you find a part of yourself you weren’t ready to meet. That’s no small thing. It can be beautiful, or intense. Sometimes both.

    But let’s not sugarcoat it:
    Rope hurts.

    And I don’t just mean the physical marks it might leave—though yeah, you should talk about that up front. Rope can push you into places you didn’t think you could go. Sometimes you want that. Sometimes it’s just about the shape, the stillness, the beauty. But if you’re chasing the edge, don’t forget that edge cuts both ways.

    The deeper you go, the more care it demands. Because rope isn’t just a high. It comes with a crash.

    We call it “rope drop.” After the scene, your body crashes out of that chemical cocktail and resets. You might feel raw, emotional, disconnected. That’s normal. But you’ve got to be ready for it—with water, food, blankets, hugs, silence, space, whatever it is you need.

    And here’s the hard truth most folks won’t tell you:
    Rope can become a craving.

    You can start chasing the next scene like an addict chases a fix—pushing past your limits, tying with people you don’t know, agreeing to things your gut says no to, all because you need it. And when you’re rope drunk, you might not even know you’ve gone too far until it’s too late.

    So here’s my advice:
    Especially if you’re new—go slow.
    Let yourself feel the highs and the drops. Learn how your body and mind respond. Learn how to take care of yourself after. Learn how to ask for what you need and to hear what others need from you. Build trust. Earn it. Don’t demand it.

    Rope is powerful. Sacred, even. But like any sacred thing, it comes with responsibility.

    So yeah—have fun.
    But stay grounded. Stay smart.
    And remember: this shit is real.

  • Bondage as Strength

    You already know this isn’t about beauty anymore.

    it’s not about seduction. or sex. It’s not even about rope.
    This is about something old dying so something honest can be born.
    The ordeal. The test.
    The threshold that burns people clean.

    This is the part where pain stops being a threat, and starts becoming a teacher.
    Where the rope becomes a mirror.
    Where the body becomes a question only the spirit can answer.

    You’ve seen it happen.
    The shaking. The trance. The surrender. The screaming that turns into silence.
    You’ve seen people come undone and somehow walk away more whole .

    And you’ve felt it —how the rope holds up a mirror to your limits, your own wounds, your own shadow.

    You know this path well.
    This is Ordeal. And you’re here to guide others into it and be guided in return deliberately.
    Every culture has known it. Initiation, Scarification, pilgrimage, sweat lodges, crucifixion rites, isolation rituals, vision quests, self-flagellation.
    Pain was never the goal—it was the doorway. It was the language of the divine

    Pain is not the problem.
    Pain is information. Pain is presence. Pain is the moment the soul stops lying to itself.
    Modern medicine has numbs us to it. now pain only requires anesthesia and theroy. But Pain is the alchemy that renovates soul—transmuting indifference when pain intervenes

    Don’t confuse ordeal work with edge play. Or Therapy
    Edge play flirts with limits. While Ordeal work _steps past them_
    We are not leading people to their edge—you’re taking them over it, and bringing them back changed

    Everyone has parts of themselves they’ve disowned, shamed, denied.
    Rope makes it impossible to hide from that. When you bind the body, you unbind the truth.
    When people start shaking or sobbing mid-scene—it’s not always about the rope.

    Sometimes its a opened memory. Sometimes its fear. Sometimes its rage. Sometimes its desire so deep you finally notice you standing there all along.
    All of that is valid. All of that belongs.
    That’s Radical Acceptance, the goal isn’t to avoid anything but to walk into it with your eyes wide open. sit beside the demon and ask what it needs. and listen. what you exile is not gone whether you welcome it or not

    You are a anchor it making space for the silence, making room for the unseen, Because it’s never been about the rope and what it is doing. but what the rope is waking up

  • Bondage as Divination

    the act of being bound, can become so deeply intoxicating—especially when it quite literally removes the body from the earth. In these moments, the participant are no longer tethered to the ordinary gravity of life. They are thrust into a liminal space—an unknown, weightless realm where sensation, breath, and stillness blend. The rhythmic pull and tension of rope becomes a metronome for the nervous system, guiding the mind away from conscious thought and into something slower, deeper. With each inhale and exhale, the body softens and the mind yields, slipping into a trance.

    When held intentionally —this creates an altered state thats fertile, ready to recieve seed, ready to recieve nourishment, ready to bear fruit .

    1. The Neurochemical Dance of Pain and Pleasure

    Pain and pleasure are seen as polarities, but they share a common neurological foundation. Both activate overlapping pathways in the brain—particularly those linked to the release of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin. In rope, this interplay is especially potent. The physical discomfort, restriction, stretch, or suspension becomes balanced with safety, trust, and intimacy, creating a complex cocktail of sensations that can feel euphoric, even ecstasy.

    In this altered state, the body becomes open. The activation of the nervous system —whether pleasurable, painful, or both—stimulates deep somatic release. This allows access to emotions or memories that are otherwise guarded by the mind. Rope is a key, unlocking stored experiences within the fascia, muscles, and breath. Crying, laughter, trembling, or stillness may arise as authentic responses from a body finally feeling safe enough to surrender. With guidance and clear intention, these trance states become more than release—they become Spoken affirmations, breathwork, and gentle ritual gestures that can deepen the experience, helping the participant anchor new emotional patterns or beliefs instead of old ones. A session might conclude not only with a sense of peace or catharsis, but with a renewed connection to self—feeling more grounded, empowered, or free.