Ego Death in Submission

I started exploring kink as a submissive when I was eighteen. This was during a time where I was also very connected to meditating for two hours a day and comitted to my own spiritual growth. I didn't see my spiritual and sexual growth as separate. Sexual liberation is spiritual. I enjoyed that both gave me practice of the here and now.

Then I started dating a switch and everything changed. I realized that I really love being in charge. The first time I dommed someone, something clicked. I was always perceptive and observant of people around me more than I was social growing up but the consistent practice in kink and meditation grew this observance.

I could feel the whole scene before it started. The breath you take before I touch you, the way your eyes shift when you're dropping in, the way your body prepares without thinking. I felt it too. Not just power. Awareness. In myself and in you.

Ego collapse in the moment

In my early twenties I was also watching documentaries about Buddhism and meditation. I was doing yoga regularly for chronic pain and mental health. I was drawn to anything that helped quiet the noise. One thing that stuck with me was a segment on Zen Buddhism where a monk would walk behind practitioners during seated meditation and use a flat stick, called a keisaku, to strike them on the shoulders. Not to punish. To wake them up. To bring their attention back to the moment.
You can read more about that here.

That is what a good scene does. The right strike, the right restraint, the right denial—it collapses everything but the now. It wakes you. It pulls your body and mind into the same place. It can feel like meditation, because in both, the ego has to let go.

Researchers have studied this state in different forms. Ego dissolution, as it is sometimes called, shows up in psychedelic work and in meditation. It is the moment when the voice that usually narrates your experience goes quiet.
This article in Psychology Today connects BDSM to similar altered states of consciousness.

I have seen that happen in real time. I have seen people stop flinching. Stop performing. Start breathing in rhythm with the room. And I have felt it too. That silence where you are not holding anything together. You are just in it.

Ritual and presence

There is nothing chaotic about a good scene. Everything is intentional. We negotiate, we plan, we prepare, and we follow through. That structure mirrors any ritual worth its weight. I have been to temples. I have been to yoga classes that ended in collective stillness. A scene has that same arc. The arrival. The intensity. The return.

What people often miss is how spiritual that can feel. Because it is not about pretending. It is about choosing. It is about giving and receiving attention so focused it borders on reverence. That has always felt sacred to me.

Meditation, kink, and the breath

Yoga taught me how to breathe through sensation. Meditation taught me how to return to the body when my mind wanted to run. Kink lets me combine that with touch, sound, restraint, and intention. When someone is in subspace, their breathing changes. Their face softens. The same thing happens during deep meditation. It is a state shift.

Scientific studies on ego dissolution confirm that intense focus, breathwork, and altered sensory input create similar effects.
You can read more here in this study on self-transcendence and altered states.

It is not magic. It is attention. That is what every spiritual practice I care about is really asking. Are you paying attention to this moment? Can you stay here?

What it all comes down to

Kink, for me, is not just about roles. It is not just about pain. It is about staying. It is about showing up in your body without apology. It is about creating a container where ego can dissolve and breath can lead.

It started as a way to survive. It became a way to understand. And now, it is how I practice presence—with myself and with others.