So. I had been presented with two problems which, although intimately linked, I chose to deal with separately. These problems mirror consistent, resonant issues in alternative sexual communities of all kinds.
The first problem: Someone I love thought (thinks?) I’m immoral and sick, based upon what they’ve read and seen here in this blog.
The second problem: There is a possibility that my public words and actions will negatively affect my life, career, or personal safety.
Well, first things first.
I want to talk about why people attack us.
One of the comments on my previous post cited a religious irony. True, religious groups often attack alternative sexualities.
However, in my case this is not relevant. We are not a religious family. Perhaps because of this, perhaps because of other influences, my family member and I actually have similar attitudes on sex. The crux of our issues, it seems, focused specifically around the themes of pain, violence, and consent.
I knew I was not being attacked out of hatred. I knew, intellectually and viscerally, that I was embroiled in a troubled but loving relationship.
With the blog still down, I started pouring over the old entries. What does this look like to my family? I kept thinking. I started identifying problems.
My blog details my experiences with kink, and I’m aware that my experiences with kink are not par of the course for my age group. My blog relates episodes that evidence my preference to play hard and my skill in doing so.
I had a good conversation with Maja while I was going over these ideas. “I mean, yea,” she said, “Your blog’s pretty intense.”
“401 class?” I replied snarkily. “I have a graduate level kink blog?”
She laughed. “Right.”
When presented with the idea of abandoning kink, I said that it would never be an option. Why not? I literally dismissed the idea that I could give up being kinky without a second thought.
Would I have done that when I was just starting out? Where did that security come from?
An easy question. That security comes from six years of BDSM experience.
Six years of experience means that I’m writing from an assured, educated, well-rounded perspective. But it also means that I’m writing contextually from within that experience. This works perfectly if I assume that I have a sympathetic audience; the things I say are based within a common framework that kinky people share.
This means that the words I use have subtext. The events I write about have unseen protections. The ideas I present have history, and complex ramifications that I don’t always address.
As critical as I am of communicating without establishing appropriate subtexts, I have to admit I am a little ashamed of myself.
I know it would make a pretty story for me to come out and say I’ve risen above oppression by rejecting those who falsely accuse me, all in a blaze of righteousness and glory. But you know what? I won’t.
I do not think I was falsely accused. I think that if we’re going to go around assigning blame in this particular situation, some of it belongs to me.
We all use words without establishing their subtext, and it works for us because we’re familiar with the community that gives us cultural context. My blog exists within a vast network of other blogs and sites that speak on similar topics. My personal life plays out around hundreds of other people with similar ideas and interests.
Additionally, we assume that our blogs will be read by a self-selecting audience. Either this audience will have a genuine interest in our topics, or a genuine interest in us. Unfortunately, these two types of audience members don’t always intersect; our blogs are read by people who have no understanding of or sympathy with our topics, but who will continue reading (or censoring, or attacking) because they’ve taken an interest in us, personally. Family, friends, employers.
Most of us approach the process of information exchange from a modern, web-based perspective. Information is no longer presented to us in complete, self-sufficient volumes. Rather, we exchange information in small packets which link dynamically to other packets, creating the context upon which our ideas rest.
I hesitate to cite a generational influence here; I realize that I’m young within my own community. But it seems fair to say that where I see dynamic linking and packet exchange, my family member may see a single, isolated volume.
You, the people who read my blog, are under no obligation to read other blogs, nor to educate yourselves upon the history, issues, or best practices of BDSM. I think we have to acknowledge that dynamic, self-driven education will not always occur naturally, and is much less likely to occur when the reader is taking a personal interest in us, rather than in our topics.
This means that the people most in need of establishing a cultural context before judging us personally are, in fact, the people least likely to do so.
My family member read accounts of sadism and saw pictures of blood, and came to the same conclusions I might come to if presented with such things independently. Independently, some of the things we do and say are scary as hell.
It seemed, as I had suspected, that my initial impulse would become my plan of action.
Initially my instinct was that I would continue writing, do some hard thinking on what I say and how I say it, and in the meantime try to open a dialogue with my family member that might allow them to put my 401 graduate level blog within a framework of elementary knowledge.
I would prove myself sane, not by backing down or changing myself, but by changing the way I present myself.
This is an easy resolution to make, but hard to carry through. I couldn’t bring myself to make such an awkward phone call. I began writing a very long, very passionate letter. I asked people around me to recommend books and resources, and debated how to send them. With a little note? With my letter? Briefly I flirted with the idea of giving the books as Christmas gifts, but rejected that as cruel and melodramatic.
Why did I (do I) assume that my family member would want to be educated? Doesn’t that seem presumptuous?
When I started writing and exploring my sexuality, I did very little to hide my interests or activities from my family. I saw my actions, my development and beliefs, and took pride in them. I assumed that my family, similar in their basic principles and sharing my inquiring mind, would come to the same conclusions.
This assumption turned out to be wrong, with shattering results. I forgot that one crucial piece of the equation: that the assumption was based on information we didn’t share.
But the inquiring minds remain. I have faith in inquiring minds.
I had begun to examine the situation within the baseline of a loving, troubled relationship. Again, it came to my rescue.
They emailed me, a single line: “I love you.” The lines of communication were open.
