There were parts of sexuality that Beatrice tried to talk to me about, but instead of meeting her curiosity with openness, I mocked or dismissed her. She wanted to explore ideas that felt strange or unfamiliar, and rather than creating safety, I reacted with ridicule. I had absorbed years of online shaming around sexual expression, and I repeated that same language toward her.
In truth, I was curious about many of the same things she was. I just didnβt know how to admit it. Past experiences of being judged had taught me to hide anything that felt taboo. The result was that instead of finding acceptance with me, Beatrice met the same judgment I feared from others.
This pattern appeared again and again. When I felt shame about a preference or a fantasy, I didnβt talk about it. I avoided subjects that mattered to me – and especially subjects that mattered for her, or I shut down when she asked questions. I kept private boxes of toys and equipment, told half-truths about what I liked, and denied things when she discovered them. Each time, I lost another opportunity to build trust.
My defensiveness created distance. What could have been moments of curiosity or laughter turned into conflict. Rather than saying, βThis interests me. How do you feel about it?β I reacted as if I had been accused of something. I made Beatrice feel as though her curiosity was wrong and my discomfort was her fault. In fact, she was the one person I could’ve talked completely openly to about these things. She held no judgment for anything and has always been willing to accommodate my needs. But I let my shame dictate my reactions, and I took everything as a confrontation and an attack on my person. I didn’t see how she tried to help me see and overcome certain preferences and tendencies, or deal with them healthily and maturely, or even change things and myself into something I didn’t have to feel ashamed about. But in denying communication and addressing things properly, I made things harder for her, for us, and I perpetuated the problems and made them bigger, darker and caused consequences for Beatrice.
This shame also touched the side of me that enjoys dominance and power play. I had explored that with past partners, yet I pretended it didnβt exist when Beatrice asked. I gave her the responsibility to lead and initiate everything while claiming to have no needs of my own. It wasnβt fair. She told me more than once that she didnβt have much experience, but I still left her to do the emotional and sexual labour for both of us.
Looking back, I see how the silence and denial became their own kind of control. It became sadism and cruelty. I withheld honesty, then punished her for not understanding me. I talked about my desires freely with others while pretending to her that I had none. That contradiction destroyed closeness.
The common thread in all of this is shame. Every time I hid or lied to protect myself from being judged, I judged Beatrice instead. I created a relationship where curiosity became fear, where connection was replaced by guessing and second-guessing. I created a spawning ground for insecurities, hostility and anxiety. Both in myself but also in Beatrice. The experiences I gave her – that was supposed to be based on fun, curiosity and exploration – turned into horrors, nightmares, traumas and PTSD.
My lack of communication didnβt just make her feel undesirable; it erased her sense that intimacy could be safe. I see now that I could have built trust by speaking plainly, listening, and letting her decide what she was comfortable with. Instead, I let my fear of being exposed dictate everything. I showed her that I didn’t trust her as I went elsewhere to talk. I showed her I didn’t desire her as I went to other women to complement them. I showed her I didn’t lust for her as I flirted with other women. I showed her I didn’t love her by prioritising everyone else before her. I showed her that her safety didn’t matter to me as I put her in dangerous situations, and I showed her I didn’t care. didn’t provide support and compassion when she was hurt, sick or alone.
What I withheld wasnβt just conversationβit was partnership. What I created wasn’t a relationship; it was imprisonment. I didn’t give, I took. I didn’t help; I punished. I did these things towards someone who was my salvation. Someone who would understand me and could help me heal. Someone who would see me and not judge what she saw. She was the first person to see me for who I was, and it didn’t scare her away. But it scared me. I couldn’t handle that she saw me because I saw myself as something detestable. And in my shame and fear, I made her feel these things about herself instead of changing them in myself. Β All the while blaming her for it. I avoided any responsibility for my actions, my treatment of her, the things she suffered for, and I didn’t give any thanks for the emotional and physical labour she gave to help me.
I also sought out pornography to help with release about my sexual tendencies and preferences. I watched porn with content of high violence – especially towards WOC – content with teenagers, content with domination and abuse and illegal or highly questionable kinks, fetishes and other content. This increased in quantity and brutality as the relationship with Beatrice continued and deteriorated. I fuelled my own sham, and I then took it out on Beatrice because she was willing to help me. She loved me despite these things. She saw the person behind the behaviour. She knew it was something that could be worked on and fixed, but only if I let it. I didn’t. Instead, I became more hostile . I confronted her with some of these things on occasions where I didn’t communicate with her as much as shouting at her. I furthered her feeling of insecurity, safety, and I continued to make her lose her sense of reality. I have done this up until now. I accused her of seeking revenge on me. I accused her of brainwashing me and manipulating me. Tricking me into believing things and admitting to things I have disagreed about for years. She has only tried to explain to me what she has been through. What I put her. through. How my lies and behaviour have destroyed her sense of self and her life. I saw her telling me of her feelings and experiences as attacks and as her engaging in confrontations and starting arguments, though all of those things I provided to the conversations. She attempted to make me understand that I was hurting her. I only kept making myself heard, turning things around on her and trying to avoid all of the responsibility of my actions. I refused to see the consequences Beatrice had suffered as I had lived a comfortable life with work, friends, sex and happiness, while I abandoned her in the middle of the winter or let her walk home at night suffering harassment and aggression from strangers. I abandoned her when she miscarried our child. I didn’t only withhold support and care. I created the harm.
