You know, our bodies will never – ever! – give up on us. Suicide is a mental decision. But our bodies will always act in self-preservation. The more I learn about it, the more fascinated I become.

Rope bottoms often ask: where must I endure, and where must I stop?

Rope bottom leaning backwards in a physically demanding Kinbaku tie

Where to draw the line? It’s a million-dollar question in rope bottoming. 

Here is my attempt to answer from 5 years ago: Good Pain vs. Bad Pain – offering a gentle possibility on how one can approach thinking about it. These days, my answers are slightly different, and probably even less concrete. 

First of all, this line / boundary is not found once and for all. It’s something we have to discover anew each time, depending on our resilience and resourcefulness in the moment.

It’s about meeting ourselves again and again in the situation of rope / impact play. 

To support this process, we need to slow down. Take small steps towards our limits. Listen closely to ourselves. 

Ask: What does each step feel like in my body? 

Notice: What sensations are there: pressure, temperature, movement…? What is their intensity? Are they changing, becoming sharper, more urgent?

To make it more tangible, here are some examples: 

  • icy coldness creeping into our fingers and toes
  • sudden flush of heat in the face or chest
  • rapid trembling of a fatigued muscle
  • tingling pins and needles in hands or feet
  • rhythmic pounding in the head
  • swelling sensation or a numbness of the tissue
  • sharp stabbing like a needle
  • dull, heavy ache in the joints
  • burning sensations 
  • deep soreness building gradually
  • electric tingle racing across nerves
  • hollow emptiness in the stomach
  • buzzing sound in the ears  
  • everything else – millions of happenings – we can notice in our bodies when being tied… these are just examples…

We need to memorize these sensations. And when the session ends, and the ropes come off, we need to notice how they change. Next time, when you are tied, you will meet a familiar sensation again. You will know a little more what it means for you, and how urgent it is. 

This is the work: learning to feel ourselves. 

For some of us, this sensitivity comes easily. It’s a precious gift. 

For some, it takes effort and patience to develop this ability. I’m convinced that it is necessary work, if we like to play with impact and go to our limits. 

There are no shortcuts in this journey. 

The anatomic lectures about nerve pathways and checklists on the internet forums might give you some theoretical knowledge, but they are also misleading. The thing is, that line – the boundary we are searching for – does not become accessible through the knowledge. It must be felt. It’s a wave of ANS activation, it’s our muscle tension, heartbeat and pulse, sweat and breath. It’s our capacity to absorb and integrate, which manifests at a certain limit.

So we must look inward. There is literally nothing outside of your body that will offer you any indication about that capacity of yours. 

Safety is not a cognitive concept; it’s felt. 

It’s about developing our sixth sense, an intuition. 

The more we do that, the more refined our “safety radar” becomes.

Our developed intuition is the greatest gift we have as rope bottoms – and the greatest offering we can bring into our rope partnerships… 

***

And if you’d like support in tackling this and other bottoming questions, check out my rope bottoming coaching offer.

MORE POSTS

The stubborn “little bone”

We all have a stubborn “little bone” inside us – something our bodies learned to protect a long time ago. In somatics, we speak about conditioned tendencies: patterns of resistance, dissociation, shrinking or fighting that appear when we feel under pressure. They may limit us today, but perhaps before trying to get rid of them, we should understand what they were protecting. That stubborn little thing might also be the place from which we love, create and remain unmistakably ourselves.

When it’s going to be wrong…

The more experienced we become in ropes, the earlier we sometimes know: this is not going to work. But what happens when that knowledge gets in the way of the experience itself? When anticipation replaces feeling, corrections replace communication, and both partners end up frustrated? Perhaps the practice is not to know less, but to trust ourselves enough to stay with what is actually happening – until there is something real to respond to.

You don’t need to be “educated” to enjoy ropes

A newbie rope bottom told me that a rigger had stopped tying them because they were “not educated enough”. That sentence stayed with me. When did we start believing that we need an education before we are allowed to experience our own bodies? There is much we can learn in ropes – but perhaps we should be careful not to let knowledge replace something we already carry: our capacity to feel, respond, enjoy and say no.

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