"It Turns Out My Sexual Kinks Were Actually Unhealed Trauma"
After a violent assault as a teenager, Jasmine didn't know the difference between being open minded ...and reenacting physical abuse. PLUS: Jane is many things, but not a liar....
Hi Wednesday and beyond!
Just one little thing before we get into the far more riveting piece below from incredible Jasmine (how much more and how much longer can I continue to undersell what I write in these newsletters to you every day? Jesus, Jane. Let me work on that):
I got an email the other day that went straight into my junk folder. (Appropriately. God knew.) In it was a clip about an essay written by this Substack dude saying that I clearly lied and hadn’t actually read a book that I recommended recently.
Anyway, it is all complete bullshit because I read the book, but I'm glad if the guy bringing more attention to it causes any other people to read it, because it's great. It's called The Great Pretender by Susannah Cahalan, by the way. (Note that if this guy had dared to suggest that I didn't studiously read every single word of another book from my same recommendation list, "It’s Not Okay,” a memoir from 2014 Bachelor runner-up contestant Andi Dorfman [from Juan Pablo’s season, of course!], the damage to my reputation would've been so extreme, there would be hell to pay. Tread carefully in the future, sir.)
But it's worth it all for my hilarious expression in the picture that the Daily Mail used to accompany their story about it. It's almost as funny as when I was parodied on the back cover of Mad Magazine many years ago and another super-proud moment. I hope you get a laugh out of that picture, too. And a shout out to Erdem for that beautiful dress I'm wearing in it. I LOVE Erdem.
And you!
Tell me what you think of the story below and anything else at all you want to tell me in my dorky favorite spot, our comments.
Love, Jane
By Jasmine Glass
I’ve repressed all but one memory from childhood, so in many ways, my life began at thirteen. Only two years into that life that I can remember, I became homeless and experienced the crushing reality of sleeping outside in the pouring rain.
Before she abandoned me, my mother’s explosive rage obliterated my sense of self. I was repeatedly told I was worthless and wouldn’t amount to anything. Eventually, I believed it.
“I’m now horrified to admit that I asked a man to choke me in the bedroom —even after I was nearly murdered by strangulation.”
When I was brutally beaten by another teen girl, my mother’s response was, “You must have done something to deserve it.” (I hadn’t.) From that moment on, I accepted mistreatment as my lot in life. For years, it defined what I was willing to endure. I learned to shape-shift and perform, convinced it was the only way to earn love and acceptance.
It’s been two decades since my turbulent teens. For most of that time, if you had suggested there was any connection between my trauma and my kinks, I would have dismissed the idea. While I was in an open relationship with my girlfriend in 2015, and later part of the sex-positive community, when I attended “play parties” in New York City in 2019, I thought of myself as simply an open-minded, modern woman.
Only recently did I realize how deeply my emotional wounds had been influencing my sexual preferences and relationship values. I’m now horrified to admit that I asked a man to choke me in the bedroom—even after I was nearly murdered by strangulation.