What If Part of You Wants the Pattern You Say You Don't Want?
Existential Kink by Carolyn Elliott
There is a confronting idea at the heart of Existential Kink, a concept developed by Carolyn Elliott: what if part of you is getting something from the very experiences you consciously say you don't want?
Not necessarily consciously, and not because you deliberately choose disappointment, rejection or struggle. Rather, the idea invites us to become curious about the less visible parts of ourselves: the desires, identities, protective strategies and familiar emotional experiences that don't always align neatly with what our rational mind says it wants.
We can want a loving relationship and repeatedly become attracted to unavailable people. We can want greater visibility in our work while continually finding reasons not to put ourselves forward. We can say we want more money while feeling deeply uncomfortable asking to be paid what our work is worth. We can long for change and simultaneously organise our lives in ways that keep everything reassuringly familiar.
Usually, we approach these contradictions as problems to solve. Existential Kink offers a much more provocative question: what if, rather than immediately trying to get rid of the pattern, we became curious about the part of us that might actually enjoy it?
The hidden pleasure in the patterns we don't want
When the same experience happens repeatedly, it's tempting to assume that something has gone wrong. We blame circumstances, other people or ourselves. We decide we're unlucky, incapable of changing or somehow fundamentally flawed. Sometimes external circumstances genuinely are responsible, of course. Not everything that happens to us is an unconscious creation, and Existential Kink becomes unhelpful if it is used to suggest that people secretly wanted experiences over which they had little or no control.
Where I think the idea becomes interesting is in relation to the patterns in which we do have some participation, particularly when our conscious intentions and our behaviour seem to be pulling in different directions. Perhaps being overlooked allows us to remain safely outside the scrutiny that visibility would bring. Being attracted to unavailable people may allow us to experience longing without facing the vulnerability of a fully available relationship (that was my particular kink!). Continually struggling might reinforce an identity built around being the person who has to fight for everything.
The word pleasure can initially feel strange here. We don't necessarily enjoy these experiences in the ordinary sense. The invitation is to look for a subtler satisfaction: familiarity, intensity, righteousness, safety, identity, drama, longing, control or even the reassurance of having our existing beliefs confirmed. If I already carry the belief that people eventually reject me, there can be something strangely familiar when somebody does. Painful, certainly, but also known.
The psyche is more complex than our stated preferences. Different parts of us can want contradictory things at the same time.
From self-blame to curiosity
This distinction matters because Existential Kink can very easily become another sophisticated form of self-blame. I created this. I'm sabotaging myself. Some unconscious part of me must want to suffer. I don't think that is particularly useful.
A more interesting orientation is curiosity. Instead of asking, What is wrong with me that I keep doing this?, we might ask, What does this pattern make possible? What does it protect me from? What identity does it allow me to maintain? What feeling within it is strangely familiar? What might become more confronting if the pattern actually disappeared?
Imagine somebody who repeatedly says they want to become more visible professionally but continually delays putting their work into the world. Calling themselves a self-saboteur probably won't tell them very much. Becoming curious about what they gain from remaining unseen might. Perhaps invisibility protects them from criticism. Perhaps it allows them to retain the fantasy of what they could achieve without ever having to discover what happens when they really try. Perhaps there is even a familiar pleasure in feeling overlooked.
None of those possibilities needs to be assumed in advance. The value lies in asking the question and noticing what resonates.
The shadow and the parts we don't want to own
Existential Kink has similarities with shadow work because both invite us to become interested in aspects of ourselves that don't fit comfortably with our conscious identity. We tend to identify with the qualities we find acceptable and distance ourselves from those we have learned are undesirable.
We might consciously identify as independent while disowning how much we want to be cared for. We may pride ourselves on being generous while finding it difficult to acknowledge how much we want to receive. We might think of ourselves as modest while secretly longing to be admired, or see ourselves as easy-going while carrying a great deal of unexpressed anger.
The shadow doesn't necessarily contain something dark or destructive. It can also contain our appetite, ambition, sensuality, confidence, need, vulnerability, power and capacity to take up space. Sometimes the very thing we keep creating around ourselves gives us an indirect way of experiencing something we haven't yet permitted ourselves to want directly.
Seen in this way, the question isn't simply Why do I keep sabotaging myself? It becomes: What part of myself am I getting to experience through this pattern?
Why fighting ourselves doesn't always create change
When we recognise an unwanted pattern, our instinct is often to fight it. We decide that we need to stop procrastinating, stop choosing unavailable partners, stop worrying, stop people-pleasing or finally become more disciplined. Sometimes behavioural change is exactly what is needed, but there are other times when declaring war on the pattern simply creates another internal conflict.
One part of us says, I want this. Another says, Absolutely not. Then we spend enormous amounts of energy trying to make the second part disappear.
What I like about the Existential Kink perspective is its invitation to turn towards the disowned part instead. If there really is some satisfaction within the pattern, what happens when we allow ourselves to acknowledge it rather than pretending it isn't there?
This doesn't mean acting out every desire or continuing behaviours that harm us. Acceptance is not the same as enactment. I can acknowledge that part of me enjoys being right when somebody disappoints me without deliberately creating disappointment. I can recognise the safety of staying small without deciding to remain small. I can admit that struggle gives me a sense of identity without needing to manufacture more struggle.
Bringing something into awareness can create more choice around how we relate to it.
Finding the pleasure in the pain
One of the more provocative practices within Existential Kink is deliberately looking for the pleasure within an unwanted experience.
Take a recurring pattern that frustrates you and ask yourself: If some part of me were getting something delicious from this, what might it be?
Let yourself be imaginative. Perhaps there is pleasure in the drama. Perhaps being rejected permits you to retreat. Perhaps never quite succeeding means you never have to discover whether success would actually make you happy. Perhaps being indispensable allows you to feel important while simultaneously resenting everybody for needing you.
The answer may be uncomfortable, funny, ridiculous or unexpectedly accurate. The exercise can loosen the certainty of the story you have been telling yourself.
Appreciating the part that keeps creating the pattern
Another way of working with this is to stop attacking the part of yourself that appears to be getting in the way. What we call self-sabotage can sometimes contain an attempt to protect us from something we anticipate will be difficult.
You might experiment with saying, A part of me is extremely good at keeping me away from this. Or, Something in me really knows how to recreate this particular experience.
Notice what happens when you say that without criticism.
Perhaps you recognise intelligence in a behaviour you previously hated. Staying invisible may once have reduced criticism. Not asking for what you wanted may have protected you from rejection. Hyper-independence may have developed because depending on somebody didn't feel reliable. The strategy may no longer serve you particularly well, but understanding what it has been trying to accomplish can create a very different relationship with it.
Bringing in a little dark humour
Humour can sometimes help us see a pattern without collapsing into shame. Instead of another round of I can't believe I'm doing this again, we can exaggerate the behaviour enough to recognise its absurdity.
Ah yes, another masterful attempt to avoid being seen. Exceptional work.
Or, there I go again, choosing the one person in the room who couldn't possibly be available. Impeccable consistency.
The point isn't to ridicule ourselves. If the humour feels cruel, it has probably become criticism wearing a different outfit. The quality we're looking for is affectionate irreverence: the ability to see our contradictions without making ourselves wrong for having them.
Sometimes a little humour creates precisely enough distance for us to recognise that a pattern is something we do, rather than something we are.
Moving from the story into the body
We can also explore these patterns somatically. This is where Existential Kink connects with some of the embodied work I use in coaching and bodywork.
Imagine you've just experienced a familiar rejection. The mind immediately begins constructing the story: Of course this happened. Nobody chooses me. Why do I keep attracting these people?
Rather than trying to argue with the story, temporarily put it to one side and notice what is happening physically. Perhaps your chest contracts, your stomach drops, or there is heat through your body. Become curious about the sensation without immediately trying to release it.
Then introduce the more provocative question: Is there anything about this sensation that is compelling, familiar or even pleasurable?
Pleasure doesn't necessarily mean sexual pleasure or enjoyment. Perhaps there is an intensity that makes you feel extraordinarily alive. Perhaps the contraction feels familiar. Perhaps there is something satisfying about the righteousness of anger, the ache of longing or the certainty of disappointment.
Again, we don't need to conclude that this is why the pattern exists. We are experimenting with our relationship to the experience.
What becomes possible when we own more of ourselves?
The deeper value of this work isn't discovering that we secretly enjoy suffering. It is becoming less divided against ourselves.
Perhaps you can admit that you want attention instead of pretending you don't care whether anybody notices you. Perhaps you can acknowledge your desire for power without assuming that power makes you a bad person. Perhaps you can recognise that part of you enjoys being needed while another part resents it. Perhaps you can own your desire to receive rather than creating situations in which you give endlessly and wait for somebody to notice.
When these desires remain outside our conscious identity, they may still influence our choices.
This is where shadow work becomes less about getting rid of our darker qualities and more about expanding the range of ourselves that we're willing to meet.
Perhaps the part that wants attention can ask to be seen. The part that wants rest can stop creating exhaustion as the only acceptable reason to stop. The part that wants intimacy can begin taking the risk of choosing people who are actually available. The part that wants recognition can practise allowing itself to take up more space.
We don't have to eradicate the old pattern before beginning to choose differently.
Exploring Your Own Patterns
Recognising a pattern is one thing; understanding what keeps us participating in it can take us somewhere deeper. If you find yourself repeatedly caught in the same situations, relationships or internal struggles, my coaching offers a space to explore not only why the pattern exists, but what you may be protecting, avoiding or unconsciously getting from it.
My approach brings together coaching, shadow work, emotional awareness and embodied practices, helping you move beyond intellectual understanding and become curious about what is happening through your thoughts, emotions and body. The intention isn't to judge or eliminate parts of yourself, but to bring more of what is unconscious into awareness, so that you have greater choice.
You can also explore shadow through my BEING HUMAN workshops. These experiential group workshops invite us to meet the qualities, emotions and parts of ourselves we may have learned to hide, reject or suppress. Through embodiment and relational work, the group can become a mirror, revealing aspects of ourselves that can be harder to see alone and helping us expand the range of who we allow ourselves to be.
