spirituality

[CW for SA.]

This week on the death doula course I’m doing we were asked to “Bring an item that represents spirituality to you”. I hadn’t got a clue what that would be. As I’ve said previously, I’m not religious apart from generationally embedded Irish Catholic stuff that is more cultural than religious and I wouldn’t say that I feel spiritual, either. There was a period when I found solace in going to church as a way to cope with trauma and to ask someone – I don’t know who – “these fuckers will get their comeuppance one day, won’t they?” and smelling church incense does something weird to me and I do feel something when I look at a gory Jesus but that’s about it. Earlier in the course I had to think about the spiritual elements of my self-care. Nothing came to me apart from a sense of wanting to feel connected to something and being able to have a space to clear my head fully and without judgement. Earlier this week I had to consider what spiritual elements I would want around me when I was dying. I realised that I would want people around me who understand and value the things that are deep inside of me, people that hold the same belief that certain acts and ways of being can be transcendent, people that know I’m a dirty pervert.

I realised that my idea of spirituality is being into BDSM. If we think about the general view of what spirituality means – ideas around the sacred, transcendence, positivity, connectedness, ritual, a search for meaning, a way to live your life, a feeling of belonging – it can all be applied to BDSM and its wider communities. BDSM isn’t just about sex, it’s about connecting with yourself and others, searching within yourself, reflection, learning and experiencing altered ways of being that without it, you wouldn’t experience.

Many aspects of what I enjoy about BDSM are completely asexual. Going back to self-care, practising sensory deprivation is my alternative to mindfulness. I hate square breathing and meditation – they always feel like they’re going to induce a panic attack rather than stave one off. With sensory deprivation, I can shut my brain off completely and just be. When things feel too much, I put my thick canvas hood on and lie on my bed. Darkness in my view, nothing in my head, just floating. When I practice sensory deprivation as a sub, I experience a similar sort of relaxation but with the added extras of knowing that I don’t have to make any decisions for myself for a while and that I’ve been reduced to a shape in a space. I’m just there, no need for thoughts, no expectations, nothing being asked of me, just there like a slab of meat. In this headspace, I can even drift in and out of sleep when I’m being flogged, with the flogging providing the only sensory stimulus I need (although catching the smell of the Dom is nice too sometimes). I’m not scared of anything, my body isn’t in pain anymore, I’m no longer on earth, I have departed. Coming back to the real world is horrible. I wonder if people who go to church and experience out-of-body connections with God get a drop too?

As I’ve mentioned before, I knew I was a bit weird from a young age although I didn’t know what kink or BDSM was until I was 13 or 14. My “awakening” journey from the ages of 3 to 15 is vaguely: PVC in music videos → women being cruel in music videos → being a body in hospital that had things done to it → being rewarded for being a brave boy → beating the shit out of my ragdoll who I then had to sew back together → developing an obsession with boys piss → enjoying chewing the inside of my mouth to shreds and then eating Discos → being a little twat at school → hitting my cousins with my Pinky Punky → getting the shit kicked out of me by the boys I was a little twat to at school → wanking after cutting my thighs and tasting the blood → reading Richey Edwards talk about “sadomasochistic imagery, bleeding…” being “attractive” and “sexual” and wanting to know what that meant → Brett Anderson brandishing his microphone cable like whip → using the computers in Central Library to ask Jeeves what “sadomasochist” was but being blocked from doing so → finally getting a computer of my own so I could ask Jeeves AGAIN what “sadomasochist” was and finally getting an answer and oh. oh. oh. → dodgy websites → Trent Reznor → experimentation → assuming I was submissive → very bad men.

Being into BDSM hasn’t always been easy or comfortable. It's led me into some very fucked up and life-threatening places. As with any other religious or spiritual community, there will always be other people within it that have their own interpretation of the scripture or guidance and their own ways of conducting themselves according to that interpretation. Those who take the position of the Dom(me) to mean some kind of God, someone who apparently knows all, someone who you must obey no matter what, someone who assures you that yes, this is normal and yes, you should let them do it. Just like a priest who uses their position to abuse, the same happens when a “Dom(me)” or “Top” uses their position to assault and rape and pass it off as an expected part of the lifestyle. Usually preying on the vulnerable, easily convinced or new to the scene, they will get into your head and attempt to ruin your connection to BDSM, making you second-guess if this was really for you in the first place. This is why community is so important.

My abuser framed what he and his friends were doing to me as BDSM. I didn’t have any reference points to refer to and realise this was wrong so I believed him. This went on for 4 years and I have PTSD because of it. I only got out of the situation when I met someone on a dating website who was also into kink – we were sharing our interests and I told them about what I’d been getting up to with this guy and his friends. I very distinctly remember saying “I don’t enjoy any of it but then I am a submissive”. They were horrified. They took me under their wing and I found the courage to never see him again. With the help of this person and others in the queer BDSM scene that they introduced me to, I was able to see what good practise was, explore my kinks safely, attend events and use it as a time for healing. Being able to talk freely about abuse within a BDSM context at a community level is also important because many psychiatrists, psychologists and even therapists still look down on those who participate in it; it’s a paraphilia, after all, and something to be viewed as wrong. Even within this healing time, I struggled with believing what I was drawn to was okay: it was a crisis of faith.

What happened to me made me re-think my place as a sub. I started switching with people I met at events and began to learn what it was like to be on the other side by watching, listening and doing; I wanted to become the Dom I should’ve had. I discovered a love for sadism; a love for breaking skin, for taking people to a higher state, for seeing subs and masochists surprised and proud at what they can take, for tending to wounds, for bringing people back to earth, for embracing. However, the learning I did whilst shadowing a Domme was equally as valuable as the learning I did when I subbed. For the first time in my life I was able to have conversations with people about what I really wanted, knowing that the Dom(me) would honour that. Yes, it was traumatic at times but it felt controlled. There was a mutual trust and respect. I experienced intense, other-worldly highs from both the emotionality and the endorphins from the pain. I would often break down and cry hysterically after scenes or sessions, not because I had reached my limit (well, maybe this) or because I was scared but because I was doing something I wanted, I felt safe, I knew I had the power to make it stop and my brain was absolutely buzzing. I felt joyous. I sometimes still cry hysterically as a sub.

When I had to do survival sex work, BDSM was once again there for me. As a sexually traumatised person, I realised that fucking was just not going to happen. So I started Pro Domming even though I was absolutely not a Pro Dom. I barely had any kit, didn’t have any fetishwear and didn’t even know how to hire a dungeon. However, I did have a very good (and fucked up) imagination which was perfect for online sessions and guys who wanted short stories written for them (this became one of my main services). With the money made from online sessions I could buy more kit and clothes that matched the persona I wanted to project and once again I found help from my community when it came to hiring dungeons and understanding the do’s and don’ts of sessioning in a hotel. Whilst there were more blips along the way – navigating more abusive men, briefly becoming a Bataille obsessed edgelord, mixing my cocaine addiction with heavy BDSM sessions – I loved my job, continued to learn and reflect and grew to feel ever more comfortable with my position as a Dom. BDSM became my whole life, it became my art and it saved me from homelessness.

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been able to sit down and take some time to think about just how important BDSM is to me – something I’d never really done before. It was always just something that was there in the background, giving me serotonin and pain relief when I need it, healing me without me even realising. It’s an intimacy that goes beyond sex, a deep understanding of the self, a truly visceral experience. I am so grateful for the community I met when I was 20 for holding and nurturing me at that time. I don’t know where I would be without it.

Oh and what object did I share with my course mates? A leather pride flag pin badge. I thought that would be the safest option.