Ena interviews her friends
Ropes, Powerplay & Sadomasochism — Explaining My Kinks to My Mother
Excepts from this summer’s conversations with my mom; an interview of sorts
How does one go about explaining one's deviances to non-kinky friends and family members? How can we communicate about them compassionately and in ways that build understanding and brings us closer, as opposed to the opposite? While most of us may choose to keep our proclivities to ourselves, there are circumstances in which we need to come out, at least to some extent; perhaps we’re outed, or maybe we’re public about that part of our lives and there’s no way of keeping it from them?
The latter is true for me. Since I started practicing (and teaching, and performing) Shibari last year, I’ve been open about it in my writing and on social media, where my mother follows me. Although sparingly, I’ve shared aspects about my dabblings in the BDSM scene with her for a while. And since she’s always been open-minded about it, I’ve kept her in the loop.
Occasionally she likes and comments on my Instagram pictures, other times I give her little tidbits of information over the phone. While I’m so grateful for her acceptance—and aware that it’s beyond what the majority can expect from a parent on such a matter—I had many questions for her, as I assumed she had for me as well. I wondered what she really thought about all of this, and how the pictures made her feel.
This summer I finally got to visit my family, for the first time in a year due to the pandemic and I spent a good week with my mom. The two of us circled back to the topics of ropes, kink, and BDSM several times, and, on our last evening I even ended up tying her up on the sofa, in front of her partner. We shared many of what I can only call profound moments of mutual understanding and honesty; our conversations have provided me with plenty of food for thought.
The story below is a recount of our exchanges. Not only do I find what unfolded quite moving, but I believe it can shed some light on questions people might have about these topics in general—and/or even help others open up to their close ones about their kinks or other offbeat lifestyle choices. Therefore, this is not your regular Ena interviews her friends–feature, but rather Ena and her mom interview each other.
It’s morning at the family cabin and my mother and I are together in the bathroom. Fresh out of the shower, I’m patting myself dry with a towel; she’s brushing her hair. As I reach for the coconut oil and start rubbing some on my legs, I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror. She looks back at me and I watch her gaze travel down my body, stopping at my thighs.
I knew this moment would come and had been bracing myself for it.
My thighs are covered in darkened lines; marks from the jute ropes that have been tugging on my skin while holding my whole body weight from single-point suspensions. Some lines are barely there while others are prominent. A few are remnants from months ago and some are fresh from the past weeks. My lower back has stripes too from waist-rope suspensions, and my upper back, chest, and arms are scattered with small scratches.
—Oh my, what are those? Mom looks up at me.
—Oh, these? That’s rope marks, I respond nonchalantly. She’s seen the pictures, but, as I assumed, she didn’t know it left marks.
—Like stretch marks? Are they permanent?
I tell her that they’re like bruises, but that they’ll heal.
—Hmmm…
She comes closer to investigate, running her fingers along the lines, also discovering the ones on my back.
As a parent myself, I empathize with what it must be like in her position; to see her daughter covered in marks and bruises. I imagine the conflict between her motherly programming, of wanting to keep her offspring safe at all cost, up against her rational mind; her respect and trust that, as an adult, I know how to look out for myself.
I try to ease her worries:
—Don’t be concerned. We've been tying almost every day lately, so it’s a lot. Now I have some time to recover and they’ll fade quickly!
She smiles, seeming somewhat reassured. I hug her.
We’re setting the table for breakfast, casually chatting while shuffling around in the kitchen.
—So, tell me more about your tying partner. What’s his deal?
—Well, he’s a really great guy! We have amazing chemistry in ropes and he cares about me and my safety and well-being.
—Even when he leaves you full of marks and scratches? There’s irony in my mom’s voice and she looks at me, defyingly, with a hint of skepticism.
—Yes, even then. The marks are inevitable when you do challenging suspensions, it would happen with anyone. And, I know this might sound bizarre, but I kinda like them. They’re like rope kisses; fading memories of intense shared moments.
She goes quiet and continues to scurry around, the way she usually does when she needs a moment to take in information and isn’t sure how to respond yet.
In the car, on the way home from the cabin, mom’s giving me the regular extended family update, about a cousin’s new baby, another cousin’s new job, her sister’s retirement…
—What do you tell them about me and what I do?
I think about this sometimes, and it often makes me feel a tinge of guilt. Her friend’s kids are exceeding in sports, having more babies, and getting promoted. I get tied up and write about sex…
—I do tell them about your rope business; that you give workshops focused on building trust and intimacy between partners, and that it’s a way for people to communicate nonverbally and be present in their bodies.
I’m almost surprised at how well she has understood it, and the eloquence with which she describes what I do back to me.
—When I show them, and they see the ropes, they usually ask if it’s about sex. I tell them it’s an erotic art form, which is pretty obvious from the look of it, but that it’s much more than that.
—Exactly, you got it! But how do you feel about it?
—I think you are strong and brave—and beautiful! But, of course, it’s also intense for me to look at sometimes; you surrendering like that.
—I get that. But, the whole point is that I surrender at my own will. There’s a sense of freedom in that because the one I’m really surrendering to is myself. It’s an exercise in trust; I’m only able to submit because I trust, both myself and my rigger completely. I’m aware of the paradox, but giving up control and letting myself be ‘weak’ actually makes me feel both free and powerful.
—So, nothing ever happens to you that you’re not fine with?
—Of course not! That would be abuse. Consent is what separates BDSM from abuse and violence. I hope you can believe me when I say that I never do anything I don’t want to do. On the contrary, I do it because it makes me feel good. We use safe words and if something doesn’t feel right, I tell them, and they stop—always.
—So, in a way, you’re the one in charge?
—That’s the whole point, yes. This is how it is, or at least should be, in any power dynamic. The dominant or top might appear to be in charge because they’re generally more active, but the submissive holds the real power. This is the fine line we thread and also what makes it so thrilling. Trusting takes courage and earning and maintaining that trust is an immense responsibility.
It’s after dinner on our last evening together. I bring my bag of ropes upstairs and drop them on the floor.
—So, I brought eighty meters of rope with me and haven’t used them once. I think we have to do something about that.
My mom hesitates.
—Right now?
—If not now, then when? I tease. Maybe I can start by showing you some of the things I do in my healing sessions? May I?
She agrees, so I grab and squeeze her upper arms, pulling her shoulders back. My mother has always had problems with pain and tension in her upper back and shoulders, so I know where her spots are and how to activate them.
—Ooooh! She squeals under my touch and looks at me with a surprised smile. Wow, your hands are so strong!
—Too much? She shakes her head and tells me to keep going.
With a firm hand on the back of her neck, I gently guide her to the rug on the floor and place us both on our knees. There, I lay one hand on her solar plexus chakra and another on her third eye. She breaths heavy and leans in, until her head rests on my chest, sighing.
Closing her eyes, she submits to my guidance, yet, occasionally I catch her glimpsing her eyelids, fighting to remain composed and in control. I recognize this gesture far too well in myself and it makes me smile. Then, with a swift maneuver, I scoop her whole body up to hold my mother in my arms, almost like a child. She looks at me, a bit startled as if surprised by my strength.
—Relax and let go, I tell her, I’ve got you!
She listens and lets me rock her back and forth. For a few moments, she’s able to melt completely and I cradle her. I listen to her breath getting slower and deeper. Then, suddenly, as if she just became hyper-aware of herself, she jolts out of the trance and pulls herself up.
— Wow, I do get what you mean about letting go and giving up control. I feel what you’re doing and I see why people crave this.
I thank her as we get up and move to the couch. Her partner joins us and pours everyone a glass of wine. I ask if he’ll let me tie him, knowing he’ll likely decline. I’m right, and my mother volunteers instead.
While chatting, I demonstrate the basic single-column tie and a few cuffs before wrapping my mom in ropes with her hands folded next to her face. I hold her and rock her in my arms again.
Her partner, a highly perceptive type and a seasoned hobby sailor observes carefully while making awkward jokes about the scenario. I don’t mind and will be the first to admit; this ain’t your average family dinner setting. I can tell he’s fascinated and eager to learn and understand.
—Doesn’t it hurt when you’re hanging from them? he asks, looking over at the ropes.
—Yes, sometimes. But it’s not a bad kind of pain, and if it ever gets that way, we change it.
The partner is a sporty guy, so I try to relate the conversation to things he’s familiar with. We talk about runners and the difference between good and bad pain; the kind you get from sore muscles and your body aching as you push yourself, while simultaneously rewarding you with runner’s high when your system floods with a cocktail of feel-good hormones. This type of pain, you know is temporary and won’t harm you—and, it’s completely different from the bad kind of pain you’ll experience from a back injury, or a broken bone for example.
It’s commonly understood that a large part of why the runner is in it, to begin with, is how it makes them feel; the high, the intensity, the feelings of achievement and accomplishment. Still, no one’s going to call a marathon runner a deviant.
—As a society, we’re comfortable both with risk-taking and enduring ‘good pain’ in these and similar settings. We accept pushing through both mental and physical challenges in the name of goal-reaching and self-improvement. With ropes and many other sadomasochistic activities, we’re doing much of the same, but due to the added erotic element, which we tend to equate to sex, it becomes taboo and thus we’re less comfortable with it.
When I engage in ropes and BDSM I’m pushed to challenge myself mentally, physically, and emotionally. As a result, I grow and expand exponentially.
My mom and her partner nod and agree throughout, ask more questions, contribute their thoughts, and seem genuinely curious and open.
—I relate to your draw towards activities that are challenging, my mom chimes in, I’ve also always liked to prove myself, to feel strong, and have my limits tested. I guess we’re very similar there.
—I guess the apple doesn’t fall far…
We chat until it gets late and mom’s partner excuses himself to go do the dishes, leaving the two of us on the couch to wrap up.
—I’m fascinated with the idea of being able to trust and let go the way you do, my mom says with an exhale. I’ve never really been able to do that, in any setting, and especially not with any of the masculine figures in my life; I always feel like I’m the one holding it all together, and if I stop, everything will collapse and fall apart around me.
—We’re alike there too; always needing to be strong and keep it together. I know this explains the tension in your body. I have similar experiences and tendencies; that’s one of the main reasons I do all of this. Learning to trust that I’ll be caught and held if I fall continues to be incredibly healing.
We talk for another while about all of this; about the feminine and the masculine, and also feminism, the patriarchy. We discuss trust, desire, and the urge to feel held. We reflect on the long line of women in our family who’ve been holding it together for generations.
I feel very close to my mother in these moments; when her melancholic longing, which is usually well-disguised behind a strong yet cheerful facade, becomes palpable. I know she understands me because in so many ways we’re exactly the same; we long for the same.
—So, maybe you two sign up for a sensual rope workshop the next time you come visit me? Something tells me you’d both benefit from that.
—Why not? Maybe that’s exactly what we’ll do…
We hug each other goodnight and go to bed.
© Ena Dahl 2021
