The Kink Scene Made Me Unashamed

Before I met Eric, I hid every nth of my sexuality from everyone, even my partners. I was just that terrified of being seen. Something about Eric was different, though. Something told me he might understand, so I shared a secret. He understood. I gained trust. So began a massive unravelling of my psyche. I showed him everything, even the scary parts. This was my first encounter with the kink scene, and it changed me irrevocably. I’d always been taught that shame dies on exposure, and I exposed all of it. Every cobwebbed, sticky mess.  

And he loved it all, even the sticky parts.

I’m a staunch believer in drugs and therapy. I don’t believe anyone should have to endure depression without support. This disease is potentially fatal, so it requires the best therapies science can buy. Still, lifestyle changes can support a healing process. The kink scene has been one of the most important tools in my recovery.

After Eric, I came to Fetlife. I began sharing my secrets on a massive stage. I remember being to terrified to post a writing I closed my eyes when I clicked the button. Oddly, though, you accepted me just as Eric had, so I’ve been writing about my life for 11 years. D’you know what that made me become? Someone who doesn’t apologise; that’s who.

These days, showing myself to others doesn’t scare me in the least. If they reject me, that means they weren’t for me. If they judge me, well, they have self-selected themselves out of my life, and that’s beneficial to me. Who wants all the wrong people in their lives after all?

This experience hasn’t cured my depression, but it has raised my threshold for relapse. I’m far less likely to become depressed because I am loved. I’m no longer isolated in this world. I had the confidence to go out and build a life that suited me uniquely. That was possible because the kink scene taught me to be unashamed. It’s a kind of narrative therapy. And narrative therapy gives us agency. It lets us rewrite our own scripts. This matters.

Now I’m an old woman who wears purple with a red hat that doesn’t go. I am a Jenny Joseph poem, and I’m weird as hell. I do not apologise for that. Not ever. Not anymore. I have shared the story of my life and found people who share my values.

We’re all here telling the stories of our lives and exorcising our shame in the process. Use it. Don’t use it, but I highly recommend the former.