"Babygirl" Helped Me Realize Kink Can Be Healing - I'm Living Proof

I lingered at the movie theater as the credits rolled after watching A24's new release, "Babygirl." Not because I was disturbed and not even because of the infamous milk scene (although that was pretty wild). I sat there reflecting because I had seen parts of myself staring back at me on that big screen.

Sure, I'm not a powerful CEO, and I'm definitely not a wife and mother having an illicit affair. Still, main character Romy (Nicole Kidman) and I share a few core similarities: we both come from a childhood that impacted our psyche in ways many others can't relate to.

While the film doesn't explicitly clarify what exactly Romy experienced growing up, she tells her husband (Antonio Banderas) that she's always had "these dark thoughts" that may explain the confusion she experiences about her sexual desires. At one point, she is also seen experiencing what looks like Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, a specialized form of trauma therapy known as EMDR.

I've received EMDR treatment after being raised in an environment ravaged by purity culture and religious control that definitely made figuring out my sexuality difficult growing up. When I first started having sex at 20 years old and began exploring my own desires in the bedroom, I had no idea that trauma from my past would inform the things I desire — and maybe even need — out of my sex life. Now that I'm in my 30s and have gained much more experience as a sex-positive person, I've had the time to recognize how my upbringing impacts my preferences. This is why I felt more than just entertained by "Babygirl" — in some odd way, I felt seen by it.

When Romy first starts exploring her kinks with Samuel (Harris Dickinson), she quickly realizes she enjoys him telling her what to do. Demanding her, even. This is where their power dynamic begins: Romy, as a submissive, is turned on by Samuel's role as a dominant, and they begin a Dom/sub dynamic together.

I will note, however, that as someone with real-life experience in sexual power play and kink, the film doesn't display a healthy or emotionally safe example of a D/s relationship. Between Romy cheating on her husband with Samuel and the toxic manipulation they both engage in, I wouldn't suggest that anyone follow their relationship as a model. That said, I can empathize with why Romy seems to enjoy submitting to Samuel's control.

Growing up as a teen under very strict and religious expectations, I always felt like I had no control over my life. Everything was dictated to me: I had virtually no say in what I wore, where I went, what I ate, how I spoke, or even who I was friends with. My phone and computer were regularly taken from me and sifted through, my diaries were read without my consent, and even at 18 years old, I had a 10 p.m. curfew. There was no room for me to feel freedom or independence, much less explore my changing body or sexual urges. I've come to believe that these feelings are exactly why I choose to play the role of a submissive in the bedroom.

Over the years, I've recognized a pattern in my own dating habits: I tend to date notably older men; they are usually successful in their careers, and they all exude masculine, dominant energy. In a "vanilla" sense, I've found emotional safety and comfort in the ways those traits allow me to stay in my feminine energy. As they say, I get to be a "soft girl" in these connections.

In the bedroom, I love for them to set the tone. When they have the power, call the shots, and tell me what to do and when (within reason and with my explicit and enthusiastic consent, of course), I feel like I can relax and enjoy the moment. Because of the way I was raised, I have become pretty hyper-independent and a little too career-focused in my adulthood, so being able to shed my "girlboss" nature and just let someone else make the decisions feels healing. Plus, it's incredibly empowering that I have the space and ability to choose submission — rather than being forced into it. There's no authority figure (or god) telling me that what I'm doing is not allowed, sinful, or damning me to hell.

This is where Romy and I truly intersect. Without spoiling too much from the film, one of my biggest takeaways was that, in exploring sexual power dynamics and releasing the pressures and responsibility of being a CEO, mother, and wife, her character seems to find healing. Even her marriage is healed by her exploration with Samuel. She feels happier, more free, and uninhibited. She was empowered to say what she felt and take what she deserved. Major mistakes were made along the way, of course, but I felt my own journey reflected while I watched the movie.

When I allow a partner to take control and dominate me, the power is ultimately mine. I can choose to use a safe word at any moment to rescind my decision, or I can even embody the role of a brat and add a little spice to my submission (and I often do). This experience allows me to fully embrace pleasure, relaxation, and playfulness. I get to be my raw, sexual self while feeling cared for and even adored.

And, like Romy, I'll admit I do love being called a "good girl."

Lexi Inks is a lifestyle journalist based in Brooklyn, NY. In addition to her contributions at PS, she is a staff writer on Bustle's Sex & Relationships vertical and a lifestyle news writer for The List.