---
title: "Between Scores and Self"
description: "I recently took a BDSM test again — not to be defined by it, but because tests like these offer something: language, shape, a mirror held at an angle you might not have chosen yourself. What I found was less about the result and more about what happens in the space between the question and the answer."
pubDate: 2026-03-18
tags: ["reflection", "identity", "intimacy", "self-knowledge", "personal", "nuance", "trust"]
category: "reflection"
featuredEssay: false
draft: true
---

A test can give you a shape.

Meaning only really appears in context.

I took a BDSM test recently. Not because I believe a chart can define me — not because I expect a set of percentages to fully explain something as layered as desire, intimacy, or trust. But because I still find these kinds of tools interesting, in the way that any well-constructed mirror is interesting.

They offer language. They map out dynamics. They give names to things that sometimes resist articulation.

And honestly, I do not think there is anything wrong with the test.

What I find difficult is not the test. It is the act of answering.

---

## Questions are simple. Answers are not.

The test has to ask directly. That is just the nature of the format.

But when I read those questions, my mind does not stay inside the sentence. It expands. I start thinking about tone. About emotional safety. About whether something I would want in theory is something I would want in practice, and whether those two things are even the same question.

I catch myself holding the checkbox and thinking: *yes, but only with the right person. Yes, but not like that. Yes, but that depends entirely on trust.*

It is not that I do not know myself. It is that self-knowledge, for me, is not stored as a list of fixed categories. It lives in memory and texture and relational experience. Things become clear when they are felt — not always when they are abstracted into a sliding scale.

So a simple question becomes layered, and the difficulty lives not in the test being wrong but in the answer being more than the format allows.

---

## Low to medium, and what that actually means

Looking at my results, something confirmed itself that I already knew before I clicked submit.

I sit somewhere in the low to medium range across most dimensions. If someone read only the labels without context, they might assume something heavier. More extreme. More intense in the way that word usually implies.

But that has never been how I experience it.

What draws me in is not *how far can this go.* It is *what does this feel like when it is shared well.*

Intensity, for me, does not come from extremity. It comes from attention. Anticipation. Closeness. Trust. The quiet kind of restraint that is really about presence. Being seen carefully. Being able to let go because the ground beneath you is actually there.

Some of the most powerful moments I can recall were not loud at all.

They were quiet, grounded, and held.

---

## Broad results and why I find them coherent

One thing that stood out in my results was how wide they spread.

Dominant and submissive both high. Switch present. Brat and brat tamer. Rope bunny and rigger. On paper, that can look inconsistent — like someone who did not know what they were answering, or like the test is broken, or like the person taking it is.

To me, it feels completely coherent.

Because I do not experience intimacy as a fixed role. I experience it as something dynamic — something that shifts and breathes depending on trust, connection, and the particular emotional texture between two people. Different sides of me can exist without canceling each other out.

Giving and receiving are not opposites. Control and surrender are not enemies. They are part of the same movement, just facing different directions.

The results are broad because I am responsive, not because I am inconsistent.

---

## What real connection changed

Some of this understanding did not come from self-reflection. It came from experience — from a connection where BDSM was not a concept or a category to discuss. It was something lived.

Dominance was not just control. It was presence. Care. Attentiveness that did not waver.

Submission was not just giving up power. It was trust. Softness. The particular kind of letting go that is only possible when you genuinely believe in the ground beneath you.

Physical closeness was not separate from emotional regulation. It was part of it — inseparable, in the way that the warmth of a room and the feeling of safety inside it are not really two different things.

Once you have experienced intimacy at that kind of depth, it changes how you read everything else afterward. Because then BDSM is no longer just what happens. It becomes what it *means.*

And that distinction — between what happens and what it means — is exactly what a test cannot hold.

---

## A score can point at something

I do not think the test is wrong.

I think it is useful. Insightful, even. Surprisingly accurate in places. I think it can be a genuinely good starting point for self-reflection or conversation, especially for people who do not yet have language for what they want.

But for people who answer from nuance — from memory, from relational experience, from a sense that the yes or no depends heavily on the *how* — it is difficult to compress everything into a checkbox. Not because something is broken. Because something is alive.

And that might be the most useful part of taking the test at all: not just reading the percentages at the end, but noticing what happens along the way.

Where you hesitate. Where you soften. Where you want to add a footnote. Where your answer would change completely depending on trust. Where something feels different in theory than it does in memory.

That tells you just as much as the result does. Maybe more.

---

## Closing

I can appreciate the test and still find it difficult to answer sometimes.

Both of those things can be true.

The result reflects something real. The shape it draws is not wrong. But the meaning behind it lives in context, in experience, in the specific texture of connection — and none of that fits neatly inside a percentage.

A score can point at something.

The lived version will always be deeper.
