For much of my life, I have grappled with a strange vacuum, this cordoned-off backroom, the shadowy realms of sexuality. Growing up in a conservative, Christian home and community, I was primed with a keen awareness of the concepts of sin and holiness, "the flesh" versus "the spirit." I learned of a fundamental split between the sacred and the profane, between godliness and the carnal body, the vestigial burden of man to be cast off or at the very least, subdued.
The thing about taboos is that there exists a kind of force-field around them, at once repelling and alluring. That which cannot be named, nor even glanced at, begins to constellate a very present absence-- a forbidden zone of reality, a terrible wilderness abandoned by God. In a culture of purity, we are taught: no lust, no coveting, no passions of the flesh. Scrutinize every desire, treat them with contempt, sever your arm if you must to keep yourself from reaching, and gouge out your eyes to keep yourself from wanting. Reject your impulses, deny yourself, and grow in the virtues of self-sacrifice and self-negation, as is most pleasing to God. And so, the body goes underground; I was trained to dissociate from an embodied existence, ashamed of my humanity and my unsuccessful efforts to transcend it.
The guilt and shame around having a pleasure-seeking body crushed me for years. I wish I could tell my younger self what I know now: there is no shame in being human. I wish I could hug myself as a teenager, wipe away her tears, and tell her that masturbation is not a sinful act. I remember feeling completely out of control every time I indulged, sinking into a blackhole, wherein for a moment, I was lost to God and God to me. For a moment, I would forget He was watching, somehow convinced He could turn a blind eye, carried by waves of pleasure, deep in the jungles of fantasy. Every time I would emerge, cowering before Him, the piercing sun under whom I was scorched. Forgive me, I know I'm disgusting. I'm so sorry, I'll do better, I'll try harder to resist. I confessed again and again, kicking myself in the shin, hoping to be redeemed and healed from my condition: being human.
Some of the consequences of purity culture include a tendency towards self-blame and shame, an unshakeable feeling of defectiveness and bad-ness. The compounding effects of dissociation, repulsion, and embarrassment around the body may lead to an overall sense of numbness, difficulty identifying personal boundaries, and an inclination to perform sexuality rather than feeling into it as an authentic expression of self. Over time, these mental attitudes can contribute to challenges in sexual functioning and the ability to orgasm, among many other symptoms of psychic disequilibrium.
As a hormonal teenager, I craved the relief I experienced whenever my girlfriends confessed to their own longings, their own secret pleasures. Perhaps I was not so bad if we all shared that same thrill of desire and arousal, whether inspired by romantic fiction, the latest celebrity crush, or a chance encounter with a pillow between thighs. With this piece of writing, I hope to convey to you that you are not alone and that you are worthy of feeling good-- in your body and as you are.
