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What Do I Do With the Parts of Me That Get Off on Being Hated?

Content Note: This piece explores themes of degradation kink, erotic shame, trauma recovery, and emotional complexity in submission. Mentions of objectification, self-abandonment, and survivor patterns. Please read with care.

There are cravings I still hesitate to name. Not the sweet ones. Not the ones about surrender or touch or even pain. I mean the ones that live deeper—coiled tight with shame. The ones that whisper, I want you to hate me. I want you to ruin me. I want you to spit in my mouth and call me a thing, not a person. And I want to come undone from it.

Sometimes I want to be stripped of power, pressed into silence, and treated like a toy. Not just used—but discarded. It turns me on in a way I don’t entirely understand. And sometimes it terrifies me.

In recovery, I’ve been taught to listen to the signal behind the craving. To slow down and ask: Is this coming from a place of need—or from a place of pain? And the truth is, sometimes I’m not sure. Sometimes it feels like both.

For context: What I’m describing is often called a degradation kink—a form of consensual play where being insulted, humiliated, or stripped of dignity becomes part of the turn-on. It can look like name-calling, being objectified, spit on, ignored, mocked, broken down emotionally or physically. It’s intense. It’s taboo. And it’s far more common than most people admit. Psychologist and kink researcher Dr. Brad Sagarin notes that “degradation and humiliation kinks often allow individuals to explore deep emotional vulnerabilities in a structured, consensual context.”

But what if that vulnerability isn't just roleplay? What if part of me believes I deserve to be hated? That’s where the shame creeps in. And it’s where I start to question: is this just a new language for an old wound?

Before I ever called myself submissive, I was already performing for men. I let them treat me however they wanted, because I thought love looked like endurance. I thought being wanted meant being small. Being silent. Being good.

Now, I give permission. Now, I ask for things. I tell men I want to be degraded, made powerless, called a slut or a thing. Sometimes I even mean it literally: “Use me like a toy. I want to be nothing but function.” And I do feel powerful, in a twisted way, when I orchestrate that. When I control my own objectification. When I say, “Ruin me,” and I don’t flinch.

But I still wonder: am I healing—or am I reenacting the same self-hatred, just with better lighting?

Author and trauma educator Melissa Febos writes in Girlhood that “erotic desire is shaped by shame as much as it is by pleasure—and often, the two become indistinguishable.” That line haunts me. Because it makes sense. The same part of me that learned to be desirable through self-abandonment is now scripting scenes where that abandonment becomes sexy. Empowering, even. But does that mean it’s safe?

When I hand someone the script—Call me a whore. Spit on me. Don’t ask me if I’m okay until it’s over—that feels like agency. That feels like I’m in control of the degradation. I choose it. I orchestrate it. But not always. Sometimes I get off because I don’t have to make a decision. Because being hated is easier than being loved. Because it quiets the part of me that’s always trying to be good. And that’s when I start to feel scared. Because the part of me that gets off on being hated doesn’t always care if I feel okay afterward.

As trauma therapist Dr. Jamie Marich puts it, “Survivors often return to what is familiar. Sometimes, that includes being treated in ways that replicate harm—not because they like it, but because the nervous system confuses it with home.”

So I check in with myself: Am I choosing this now, or am I being pulled into a pattern I haven’t healed yet? Do I feel seen afterward—or just used? Can I talk about the scene with my partner—or do I feel embarrassed, ashamed, afraid it’ll make them stop wanting me?

The truth is, there’s no clear answer. Sometimes I crave degradation because it brings me into my body. Sometimes it helps me rewrite old scripts. And sometimes I just like it—and that’s okay too. But I keep asking the questions. I keep grounding myself in partners who can handle the weight of what I’m asking for. I talk. I write. I don’t just chase the craving—I try to listen to it.

And maybe that’s the most honest thing I can do.

Because yes, there are parts of me that get off on being hated. And yes, sometimes I worry that I’m still trying to hurt myself in prettier ways. But I’m here. I’m awake inside it. And that means something.

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Safewords.

• Safewords should be determined during negotiations, clothed, before any play takes place.

• They should be something clear and concise, something easy to remember.

• Basic and generally accepted safewords are RED, MERCY, SAFE.

• Begging is not a safeword, stop is not a safeword.

• There are such things as non-verbal safewords: a drop, finger snap, or hand gesture.

• Remember to check in: are you with Me? Do you remember your safeword?

• Use the finger spread method to let your Top know how much distress you’re in: the wider the fingers are spread the more intense the pain.

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Yes, she is beautiful to look upon. Like the crystals of frost on a window pane, morning dew on flower petals, or the way the light separates when the angle is right.

That is what you see when you look at her, the beauty of her flesh, the storm in her eyes but you do not know her soul. You may look for it, chase it even, but though you may think you know her, you do not see her. What I see, what I see is something altogether different.

I have held her heart in my hands, run my fingers over all the scars and cracks it has withstood. I have navigated the dark corridors in her mind that she herself dare not tread. Bound my soul to hers eternally, willing to give my life for her without hesitation or doubt.

You think you know her because you know things about her. You think you see her because you can gaze upon her.

To see her, you must look at her without time. You must see all she was, all she is, and everything she will become. I see her as you could never, for I have been with her more than a single lifetime will allow. I feel her presence. Sense her needs. Fulfill her desires. In every existence, every version of reality, she will always be Mine in all ways. Only Mine.

I am Hers, and she is Mine. It is as simple and complicated as that.

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IN SEARCH OF APPROPRIATE IMAGES Mattia Balsamini

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Robert Gruszecki

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Kodak Ultramax 400

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Wanted to read D/s stuff but my dashboard is full of porn

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Pedestrian crossing

Echo Park, CA

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♡ Pink Flowers ♡

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— Captain Flint (via letsbeloneytogetherr)

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More moon photo's and closer to being full

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