BDSM and Kink for Healing
Note to the reader: this short piece of writing isn’t meant to be a fully encompassing review on BDSM and kink, but a short overview on some of the things I’ve witnessed in the space, and how to mitigate some risk through aftercare practices. For more information, look into conscious kink, and the work of Madison Young, Midori, Barbara Carellas, Eve Minax, Seani Love, and many others.
In my work as a psychotherapist and intimacy coach, I see the deep impact that BDSM can have on an individual’s psyche in both positive and less positive ways. There is the potential for rewiring the nervous system, revisiting past trauma on one’s own terms, and accessing profound feelings of release and catharsis. At the same time, there is also the risk of retraumatization.
Many of us who explore kink and BDSM carry some amount of trauma in our histories. Sometimes we use these practices as tools to heal or to make meaning of our stories, and they can be incredibly powerful and impactful for this work. But also, because of those histories, it’s not uncommon for people to overextend themselves: showing up with the desire to please a scene partner at all costs, ignoring signals from the body, or pushing past their own limits. Sometimes we only find sensation or meaning in the most intense experiences, and continually seek a kind of intensity that makes us feel something. Slowing down can feel terrifying and deeply unsafe.
I’ve experienced this in my own early days of exploring kink. It mattered more to me to be liked than it did to be conscious of my own needs. I wanted to show myself and others how high my pain tolerance was, and so I allowed myself to go to edges that weren’t actually safe for my body. I played with people who didn’t hold me well, or with whom I didn’t negotiate beforehand. There were times when I ended up in a place of “Sub-drop” without anyone to hold it with me, feeling shame, confusion, and anger with myself.
When I learned to slow down, listen inwardly, and care about what my body actually wanted, I discovered subtler longings. It was the connection and focused healing that I was after. Exhibitionism played a role, but knowing that someone would be there from beginning to end mattered more than anything else.
Intentionality is key. With clear intention, honest communication, and practicing listening, we can create a more transformative container, and risks of retraumatization can be mitigated. This naturally starts with the self. Ask yourself: Why am I doing this? What do I hope to feel during and afterwards, and for how long? How do I want to care for myself, and how would I be comfortable being cared for? Do I trust my own “no?”
Sometimes “bad” feelings are a part of the experience. When the rush of endorphins and adrenaline subsides, the body and heart can feel tender: sometimes raw, sometimes fragmented and disoriented, sometimes simply quieter than expected. We can call these states “Sub-drop” and “Top-drop,” depending on what your role was in the scene. These states are natural parts of the aftermath of a kink scene. They are the body’s physiological and emotional comedown after the euphoric high of a BDSM scene.These shifts aren’t signs of something “going wrong,” but rather reminders that our nervous systems need support in moving from intensity back into everyday life.
Intentional aftercare can play an essential role. Aftercare is the ongoing practice of tending to one another and to ourselves post-scene. It can take many forms, depending on the people and the dynamics involved, but at its heart, aftercare is about honoring the depth of what’s been shared. When partners build it into their play intentionally, they give themselves permission not just to come down, but to land more grounded, connected, and whole. Physical care might mean cuddling, hugging, making eye contact, bringing scene partners a warm or cold compress, offering snacks, hydrating, or resting together or apart. Emotional care might include loving words, affirmation, or gently talking through what unfolded. Some people find solo practices like journaling, meditation, intentional rest, stretching, or breathwork to be grounding. And aftercare doesn’t have to end the same night, it can include check-ins days or weeks later with everyone who was part of the scene, and is likely ongoing if you have long-term kink partners.
At its best, BDSM can be a space of deep intimacy, transformation, and even healing, but only when we honor both the intensity and the tenderness that come with it. The work is deeper and more transformative when we don’t think of aftercare as an afterthought, but rather a part of the art. By tending to ourselves and each other with curiosity, patience, and care, we create the possibility for kink to be not just exhilarating in the moment, but also nourishing and sustainable in the long run.