Picture me, a no-nonsense, bitch-in-charge, rolling solo into Dungeon East’s 'Bondage 201: Exploring Chest Harnesses' class in downtown LA. And get this—I forgot my fucking rope. Clearly, I was the model student. Fortunately, the instructor had an extra stash. Thank you Jordan!

Dungeon East isn't some sketchy, red-light district establishment. Oh no, it's a queer-run operation offering a tantalizing buffet of courses for kink explorers. All aboard the kink express, right?

So, let's talk Shibari. In case you're wondering, "What the hell is that?" Shibari, or Kinbaku, is a form of Japanese rope bondage. It started back in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as Hojojutsu, a martial art used by Samurais to tie up their captives. Now, it's transformed into this raw and exhilarating tangle of trust, connection, and surrender

Now, why the hell would a HBIC (Head Bitch in Charge) like me be into this? Because, for once, I didn't have to call the shots. It's like therapy, but you're tied up with a safe word.

For context, I grew up as the eldest of three, the backbone for my single, hustler of a mother, and the only consistent figure in my siblings' lives, while my dad played a shitty game of hide and seek. I had to be the strong one, the one who didn't let feelings get in the way. I had no space to feel, to need, to be.

So there I was, surrounded by strangers, learning how to tie knots suddenly free to let go. The second that harness enveloped me, I felt like I'd been given the world's warmest, most secure hug.

In that moment, being tied up felt like finally receiving all the hugs I was always afraid to ask for. Safe to say, I held on to that feeling as long as I could before it was my turn to take the ropes.

It wasn't just a knotting class. It was a class in letting go, surrendering control, and finding peace in the tension. 

Post-class, in my car, I felt a silence that was unfamiliar but soothing. Still could feel the rope on my skin, as if they were reminding me of what I'd discovered.

I never thought a Shibari class would bring such a revelation. But there it was: I had been carrying this weight, this need, this fear of asking for comfort. It was like this class ripped off the tough exterior I put on every day to expose a side of me I was too ashamed to admit existed—the side of me that needed a hug, that sometimes cried myself to sleep, arms wrapped around myself for solace.

Suddenly, it became clear—I needed to get better at communicating my needs. There's no shame in wanting a hug, in needing to be cared for. And it's about f*cking time I stopped being so afraid to admit it. It was a bittersweet realization. It hurt, sure, but it also brought hope. I'm ready for this journey, ready to unlearn the habit of burying my needs.

If you're always the one in control, always making the decisions, and keeping everything from going to shit, I urge you to try this. Try letting go. It might just be the therapy you never knew you needed. So here's to Shibari, to unexpected revelations and to finding comfort in unexpected places. I'll catch you on the ropes, bitches. See you in the next class.