Let's Talk About Sex, Baby....

It's ironic to me that my previous post dated almost a year ago was regarding the bravery of my younger sister being that this post is in response to something brave that she has done.  She has opened her lap top and pushed key after key, her body in full resistance with each stroke, but she hit "Publish" anyway.

I can empathize with her in that this will not and is not easy for me to write either.  I do fear man and their opinions. This is not true daily, but it comes to me in waves especially when it regards my writing or...vulnerability I suppose (as some of you well know I hate more than any other thing being vulnerable).

Leah wrote from the perspective of a virgin looking in on a world that only regards her virginity--and its entire concept--as something of value because ultimately of how physically amazing it feels to take a girl's virginity.  It is something that is desired only if you are the one allowed to take it.  Otherwise, in a sweeping generalization, it's expendable, a "hot potato".

I want to be very clear.  I do not blame anyone else for the decisions I have made in life.  When I was younger, I did, but as I grew, I realized I am responsible for my own choices. Too rarely are people willing to point the finger at themselves and evaluate why they made the decisions they made.

I still remember the looks.  I remember so vividly being in middle school and high school and proclaiming I wanted to wait for my husband.  I remember the bugged out eyes, the incredulous stares, the laughter.  I remember the shame I then felt associated with being "prude", with being a virgin.

I remember, then, no longer being a virgin and the stares that followed by those who knew.  Triumph from those who knew I wouldn't last or just didn't want me to, didn't expect me to. Disgust from those who had expected me to. Shame and confusion from my own face in the mirror.

This, as so many other things, hardened me as a person. Granted, I allowed it.  I was angry.  I was so angry with the church for shaming me, with my "friends" for encouraging me, with boys not being men, and with my own naivety.

That's the most twisted part.

I saw my desire to save my virginity, my desire to only ever be with  my husband, as naive.

I don't know that I have ever felt healed or whole or had a healthy perspective about who I am as a woman.  I remember even after I felt release from the way I was viewed by my peers and even feeling as though I was accepted, I still only believed that I was a tool for the pleasure of men.  That's also the twisted thing--it wasn't even about me feeling good.  The high I received was from knowing I was giving someone else pleasure, and that they desired me.

I remember looking in the mirror hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, over the years and scrutinizing, wondering what it was they saw.  I supposed, objectively, I was an 8 on a good day.  The deeper I looked, the more I saw something in which its value was only in its usefulness, and successes, sexually.  I began to only see my value in whether or not men looked at me as though they wanted me. And it, truthfully, wasn't vanity.  I never once looked in the mirror and thought, "Hell yea! I'm awesome." It was always critical, always scathing.

I hated the way I looked naked.  I looked nothing like women in porn. I looked nothing like movie stars or their "body doubles". My hair wasn't long enough. I wasn't tall enough.  My eyes should be bigger. My boobs should be bigger.

I suppose that all is so vain.  I was self-obsessed.  If I didn't feel the approval of a man, I slipped into depression and self-loathing.

I was aware I wasn't happy, but then I'd have sex and I'd be fine again. I was putting a band aid on a gushing wound. I actually believed my abilities in bed and my sexiness were my strongest attributes, were the only things I was good at, at which I would ever be good.  I came to the place where I hoped I died young since I knew once I got to a certain age, sex would no longer make me valuable. I would have lived out my usefulness and should, therefore, just kick the bucket.

I need everyone to understand this was a mentality I carried into my marriage.  I could sob thinking about the patience and tenderness and love Ray has given me. I have sobbed.  There is no man stronger than him, no man more caring or loving.  He had to deal with the scars and open wounds that been self-inflicted and inflicted by others and he never once flinched at the sight of them.  His love has truly carried me limping and bleeding and not wanting to go on, but his whisper has urged me, his touch has spurred me forward.

We live in a world that places value on promiscuity, but only to a point. I watched an episode of a sitcom where the characters were discussing their "numbers".  I noticed that the characters whom had only slept with two or three people said as much out loud, but the show would do cut scenes when others were discussing and the number was obviously higher than that.  It has been a trepidatious and even taboo topic to discuss your "number" openly with people. How much is too much? How many is too many? We shame women for their over-promiscuity, call men "animals" for their over-promiscuity.  But as long as I've only slept with "x" amount of people, I'm okay? I'm deemed worthy of your time? I'm not tainted or dirty?

I apologize to no one when I say that is absolute bull shit.

I, too, am angry. I'm furious, in fact, that the world has screamed for decades that virginity isn't valuable, that it's shameful and awkward.  Leah wrote from the perspective of someone who had to overcome being viewed as innocent and naive and that those were BAD THINGS.  I'm writing from the perspective of someone who caved because she was scared of being different, because she was scared of being alone and viewed as odd.

They say "don't live with regrets because you can't change the choices you have made".  I would go back.  I would go back in a heart beat because I carried too many people into my marriage in my head.  You see, when you have more than one partner, those moments stay with you whether you want them to or not.  Whether they sucked or were great or they hurt you or they didn't, it's seared into your brain.  I can still remember so vividly some moments.  And now, I'm with one man--the only man who has ever truly loved every bit of who I am, who has seen my value beyond how I physically please him, who would bring me the moon if I asked him, the man I will spend the rest of my natural days with--and I find I wish regularly it was only ever just him.

For those of you reading this who have also slept with someone outside of marriage and maybe are judging me for feeling the way I do now or laughing at me or are crying because you feel ashamed or whatever, this is just one person's perspective.  I challenge you to dig deeper in your brain and take an hour of silence--no phones, no video games, no cars, no music--just get alone and THINK.  Whatever the results may be, think about why you have made the decisions you have made. THINK about why you believe what you believe is "good".

I guess one of the last things I'll say that despite being a sexually active person being something that is esteemed in our culture, I never felt respected for the things I had done/was doing. I never felt like people looked at me and were like, "Wow. How cool!"  It was more like getting on a boat and everyone was like, "Hey, we're all in the same boat. Cool." Anti-climactic truly.

I think even in posting this, I'm still showing a very small side of it, of me.  I'm not being fully vulnerable or open regarding this topic. If anyone wants to sit down and have coffee to talk more or hear more of my heart behind all of this, I would be glad to.  Despite this being something that is quite straight-forward and bold, I have been extremely vulnerable in writing it, in exposing myself to the whims of others and their opinions of the woman I am.

This year, I vowed to pursue things I've always wanted to pursue.  Wood-working, crafting, creative "food-ing", so many other things.  The best part about the very end of last year and the beginning of this year is I'm finally starting to not care what people think of me in a healthy way for the first time.  I feel more of myself than I ever have and I find that's why people can say what they will, but I am so deeply and truly loved by at least one, perhaps a few others, and that is enough for me. It has become enough for me.

I hope this serves as a spring board for discussion in the same way Leah's blog does. I hope that whether you are a woman like myself or a woman like Leah, you find freedom.  Know that there is no dark place you can go where the light cannot touch and most importantly, you are not alone.