Sex

All through my childhood, I ended up as the innocent, naive, uniformed one amongst my friends. I remember sitting up late with cousins and girlfriends and hearing about all the things that boys and girls did together when they were alone; those secret moments of "intimacy" that are the beginning of understanding one’s own sexuality. I remember many conversations, pretending to know what everyone was talking about when truthfully, I didn't have a clue.

My innocence never bothered me. At the time, given my identity as an extremely devote Christian girl, I treasured it. I can see the situation very clearly now, ten years later. A natural and innocent curiosity burned within me and I suppressed it. I only allowed myself to listen to the exploits of girls much braver than myself, but to never follow in their footsteps.

I have never asked anyone what it was like for them their first time. For me, the only good thing was that I chose to do it with someone I loved. It definitely didn't feel good and afterwards an ocean of shame washed over me. In fact, for the entire second year of that relationship, I made love frequently with my boyfriend and almost never felt anything but discomfort, pain, and shame over these feelings. I thought sex was supposed to be the quintessential experience of pleasure and yet it never even came close.

I convinced myself that I was broken. Every time we made love, I told myself I was giving a gift to my lover. Self-lessly, I was doing something that made him feel good but almost always caused me pain.

The worst part wasn't the fact that I didn't like sex, it was the loneliness that came from not having a soul in the world to talk with about it. Not a relative, not a close girlfriend, or even my boyfriend (the man who I'd been more intimate with than anyone). This horrifying feeling of dread and embarrassment flooded my body and blushed my cheeks scarlet anytime I even considered that someone might guess that I was sexually active. Drowning in guilt, shame, confusion, sadness, and fear, I barely kept my head above the water and nobody knew. I absolutely could not, would not, talk about sex with anyone. For years I had listened to my girlfriends and their stories but never learned how to tell my own.

Most of my life, I believed that everything fell clearly into piles of black and white. Sex out of wedlock and alcohol (obviously abhorred by God) should be avoided at all costs. You are a bad person, who frankly might end up in hell, if you succumb to these temptations.

When the cracks began to appear in the perfection of the church and its' associated beliefs, my life fell apart. The sidewalk beneath me crumbled when I no longer could fit a place called "hell" into my belief system, when I realized that things like sex and alcohol should never determine if you are a good or bad person, and when I saw the grey piles of a million things the church and Christianity couldn't explain, understand, or accept.

Chains, in the form of rules, judgments, and fear about sex and alcohol bound my chest for years but recently broke after two separate things occurred.

My last semester of university, I went out for the first time to a few parties and drank with my friends. I needed to eliminate my fear and curiosity about it. Zach has a Buddhist tattoo on his chest that says, “Ehi Passika” which basically means, “Go and seek for yourself. Don’t accept things merely from tradition.” This is exactly what I needed to do because the things I had been taught were not accurate. As a result, I have shed those misconceptions and breathe more freely.

The experience to free me of my shame, fear, and judgments about sex came in the form of a Greek scientist in Barcelona, Spain. I slept with him. Twice. And I felt no pleasure from it. I realized that sex is not this horrifyingly heinous deed; it's just a physical thing people do with their bodies. An amazing thing occurred though, after I slept with this stranger: I felt no shame. As I walked to the metro listening to the sounds of Barcelona awakening, I remember trying to figure out the reason for shame's freeing absence. My thoughts rang clear, "I make my own rules now. Nobody can make me feel guilty for this. What I did last night freed me of my fear of breaking rules and provoking others judgments."

I went home that day and wrote an email about what I had done to some friends. Not because I’m some hussy that wanted to brag, but because I needed to sincerely shed my fear of their judgments and to do that, I had to openly share my life story with them.

If you don't share your life stories, their value depreciates enormously. All the beautiful, painful, interesting, educational, and wonderful things that happen to you will remain locked in the pages of a private diary, not doing anything good for anyone but yourself. I'm just learning to be brave enough to share my whole self with others.

I refuse to live my eighty or so years on this planet (like a speck in the enormity of space and time) pretending like I’m somebody different than me. If I keep all the important experiences of my life locked up, nobody will ever see my soul; they’ll only see this weird shell that houses it.

Zach knows everything about me and loves me more because of it. That is what I expect from everyone. Anything less isn't real love and I don't want it.

The most beautiful thing about our relationship is how openly we communicate. I can talk about anything with him, even sex, and never feel shame or embarrassment. At the beginning of our relationship, I shared with Zach about my brokenness and he told me we never had to have sex if I didn’t like it. The offer, amazingly sincere, wasn’t necessary because he helped me realize I’m not broken. I can’t believe how extraordinarily lucky I am to call him my husband.