For most of my life, I equated control with survival. Letting go? That was dangerous. Surrender? That wasn’t even an option.

 

Hypervigilance shaped everything—the way I moved, the way I spoke, the way I existed in the world. Even in sex, I was always one step ahead, anticipating what was expected of me, performing rather than experiencing.

And as a sex worker, that performance didn’t stop.

Even now, I have no choice but to perform. I give what’s expected, deliver what’s desired, play the role that’s needed. It’s part of the job. It’s part of survival.

But in kink, I found something different.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t watching myself from the outside—I was inside my body, feeling everything.

And that’s when I realized something: Kink isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience. What was healing for me might be triggering for someone else. What brought me back into my body might cause someone else to retreat from theirs. You have to find your own way into it.

I Was Never in Control—Just Surviving

People talk about control like it’s a choice, like it’s something you can have or lose.

But looking back, I don’t think I’ve ever really felt in control.

I was just surviving.

The world didn’t feel safe.

Because it wasn’t safe.

I couldn’t afford to surrender because I didn’t know how.

My body was not my own.

My choices were not my own.

Surrendering wasn’t just scary—it was impossible. Because in my world, surrender meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant pain.

So I did what I had always done:

I adapted. I endured. I performed.

Control, Problem-Solving, and the Unexpected First Time I Came

Before I get into my first penetrative orgasm, let me tell you about the actual first time I ever had an orgasm.

It wasn’t during sex.

It wasn’t even something I recognized as an orgasm at the time. I was only about 13 and knew absolutely nothing about sex or anything related to it. I didn’t even masturbate out of fear of no longer being a virgin. 

It happened when I solved a math problem.

I was sitting at the kitchen table working through a complex problem, and the moment I figured it out—something snapped inside me. A rush of warmth, a full-body release, an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction. I remember my whole body tensing up, my fingers practically throwing gang signs… I just sat there with my eyes wide, completely confused by what just happened.

I didn’t know what it was at the time, but looking back, I know that was an orgasm.

To this day, I still get arroused when I solve something, create something, or overcome an obstacle. There’s something intoxicating about figuring things out, about breaking through a challenge, about making sense of the chaos.

Maybe that’s why control always felt safer than surrender.

How Kink Forced Me to Stop Performing and Start Feeling

For years, sex was something that happened to me. I wasn’t truly an active participant. 

I didn’t think I was worthy of pleasure.

I didn’t think people even cared about my pleasure.

And in most of my experiences, I was right—they didn’t.

No one ever asked me what I liked.

No one ever took the time to explore my body like it mattered.

I was consumed, not cherished.

Desired, but never considered.

So I performed.

Not just in sex work, but in all of my sexual encounters. It was automatic. A script I had memorized, a role I could play without thinking.

Until I met my first Dom.

He was different.

He wasn’t just taking—he was offering.

He wasn’t just consuming me—he was worshipping me.

And for the first time, I stopped thinking during sex.

For the first time, I let go.

For the first time, I surrendered.

For the first time, I actually felt.

And that’s when it happened.

My first penetrative orgasm.

Facing an Old Trauma: The First Time I Let Myself Be Spanked Again

One of the hardest things about healing is not knowing how something will affect you until it happens.

My stepfather used to beat me mercilessly with a belt, switch- whatever he could find to carry out my punishment.  The last beating I received was when I was 18, just a few days before getting kicked out. I was beaten to the point of wetting myself. This was a common occurrence but this time it was even more traumatic because I was an adult being beaten for wanting to date a white guy, whom I later ended up being engaged to.

 This trauma sat with me for years. Not because of the pain, but because of the power dynamic, the fear, the fact that I was a legal adult and still being punished like a child.

 

So when I thought about impact play as an adult—spanking, flogging, any kind of physical discipline—I avoided it. I wasn’t sure if it would trigger me. I was afraid that it would take me back there.

But one day, I asked my Dom to spank me.

I braced myself for the panic. For the dissociation. For the flood of memories I didn’t want.

But to my surprise? Nothing happened.

No freakout. No flashbacks. No trauma response.

I felt fine.

Actually, I felt better than fine—I felt in control.

Because I finally conquered my trauma. 

And that changed everything.

From Dissociation to Deep Presence: Why Kink Was My Key to Healing

I had spent years floating above my own body, detaching from myself as a survival mechanism.

But in kink, I couldn’t dissociate.

I was forced to be present—to feel every touch, every sensation, every emotion.

One of the biggest things that helped me reconnect to my body was Shibari.

The sensation of the rope pressing into my skin, the slow, intentional movements, the weight of the knots holding me in place—it was the most relaxed I had ever felt.

For the first time, my body wasn’t a dangerous place to be.

It was safe.

It was warm.

It was mine.

That was life-changing.

But not everyone is going to experience kink the way I do. And that’s important to acknowledge.

Final Thoughts: Kink Is a Journey, Not a Destination

I used to think healing meant escaping my past. But now, I realize it means reclaiming it.

Even now, as a sex worker, I still have to perform. I don’t always get the luxury of sex that’s just for me. But what kink gave me is the knowledge that my pleasure matters. That I can have spaces where I don’t have to act, don’t have to anticipate, don’t have to give—only receive.

And maybe, for the first time, I do have control.

Not the kind that comes from survival.

The kind that comes from choice.

Submission isn’t about weakness.

Control isn’t about dominance.

Kink isn’t about trauma.

It’s about choice.

And for the first time in my life, I get to choose.

What about you? Have you ever explored power dynamics in a way that felt healing?