I’ve called myself a feminist since I was 16. I’ve marched. I’ve argued. I’ve read the books. I believe — deeply, fiercely — in women’s autonomy, equality, and right to define their own lives. And I also like being tied up and told what to do. For years, I couldn’t reconcile these two truths. I thought wanting to submit in bed meant I was somehow betraying everything I believed outside of it. The resolution, when it came, was simpler than I expected: feminism is about choice. I choose this. The choice is the feminism. The surrender is the sex. They’re not in conflict. They’re the same woman, fully expressed.
The false binary: power in public, powerless in private
Somewhere along the way, we absorbed a toxic idea: that strong women can’t want to be vulnerable in bed. That wanting to submit means you have internalised misogyny. That a real feminist is dominant in every room. This is nonsense. It’s the same logic that says a powerful CEO can’t enjoy being a passenger in a car, or a chef can’t enjoy being cooked for. You can run the world all day and still want someone else to take the wheel at night. The two things are not contradictory. They’re complementary. Submission, when chosen freely, is an exercise of agency — not an absence of it. The decision to hand over control is a decision. You made it. You can revoke it at any moment. That’s not weakness. That’s the ultimate expression of autonomy. I decide what happens to my body. I decide when to lead and when to follow. Both are me. Both are valid.
The BDSM paradox — more communication, not less
People outside the scene often imagine BDSM as a free-for-all where men do whatever they want. The reality is the opposite. BDSM relationships typically involve more explicit communication, clearer boundaries, and more active consent practices than vanilla ones. A submissive in a healthy dynamic has negotiated exactly what will happen, has established a safeword, and can stop everything instantly. That’s not oppression. That’s the most empowered form of sexuality I’ve ever experienced. The paradox is that surrender — real, consensual, bounded surrender — requires more strength than passivity ever could. You have to know yourself. You have to communicate. You have to trust. And you have to choose — actively, consciously, repeatedly. That’s not weakness. That’s womanhood fully claimed.
Feminism gave me the language to demand equality. BDSM gave me the space to choose surrender. Both are mine. Both are valid. The contradiction was never real. It was a script I’d been handed — and I’m done reading from it.
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