This post has been very interesting to write. It's taken me three hours to finish! I'm going to attempt NOT to preach, not to condemn, and not to sound like I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm just going to compare the purity myth to my own experiences.
The purity myth: what the heck is that? Jessica Valenti, a feminist writer, defines it thusly: "The lie of virginity - the idea that such a thing even exists - is ensuring that young women's perception of themselves is inextricable from their bodies, and that their ability to be moral actors is absolutely dependent on their sexuality....So while young women are subject to overt sexual messages every day, they're simultaneously being taught - by the people who are supposed to care for their personal and moral development, no less - that their only real worth is their virginity and their ability to remain 'pure.'"
First off, by way of a quick explanation, Ms. Valenti says that virginity does not exist because there is no definition of it. She claims that there is no medical, scientific definition of virginity. The dictionary definition is simply "a person that has never had sexual intercourse." Well great, but then of course we must define sexual intercourse: is it vaginal sex? Oral? Anal? Does heavy petting count as sex? How far is too far?? I haven't done enough research to answer her claim, but just from what I've said in this paragraph, I would say that technical "virginity" doesn't matter as much as purity does. You can engage in heavy petting and your "virginity" may very well remain intact - but your purity is compromised.
There is definitely a double standard where purity is concerned. If a woman sleeps around, she is labeled as a slut, a whore, a skank with no pride and no shame, and looked down upon and condemned. If a man sleeps around, he is labeled a ladies' man, a stud, or a player at worst, and he is usually congratulated and looked up to. Sexual violence against women is often blamed on the women themselves, as though they brought this upon themselves by daring to have had consensual sexual encounters before.
Ms. Valenti continues: "I've always found the idea of 'saving' your virginity intriguing - it's not like we're Saran-wrapping our hymens away in the freezer, after all, or pasting them in scrapbooks (admittedly, not the best visual - my apologies). But packed-away virginities aside, the interesting - and dangerous - idea at play here is that of 'morality.' When young women are taught about morality, there's not often talk of compassion, kindness, courage or integrity. There is, however, a lot of talk about hymens (though the preferred words are undoubtedly more refined - think 'virginity' and 'chastity'): if we have them, when we'll lose them, and under what circumstances we'll be rid of them."
I don't know what kind of home Ms. Valenti was raised in, and I have no idea how many families she's interviewed who apparently are currently raising their daughters to believe that virginity is the end-all be-all of a woman's existence. But it doesn't seem to be much like the upbringing I experienced, nor many that I have observed. Morality in my upbringing had little to do with being a virgin and everything to do with compassion, kindness, courage, integrity, and more. Honesty, humility, generosity, obedience, all these things were taught to me from a very young age. Something that was hardly taught at all was anything to do with sex.
This is where it gets a little awkward, but I'm going to be honest here. First of all, yes, I am a virgin, and I am proud of that. I'm twenty-four years old (well I will be on Monday!), and I have never had sex. I've never even kissed anyone. I've never had a boyfriend. And every single bit of information I know about sex, I learned from a book. No one has ever had "the talk" with me. Not one person has ever given me any spoken information about sex. I've never heard anyone actually speak about what it feels like, how to do it, how long it lasts, what happens after. I got my first period when I was eleven; not long after that, my mom handed me a book (appropriately) called Almost Twelve and told me to read it. It would tell me everything I needed to know about menstruation and about the changes that were beginning to happen to my body. I'm sure she added that if I had questions, I could come to her and ask, but I don't remember that specifically, probably because I never did ask her any questions. I've never once talked about sex to my mom, or my older sister, or my aunts, or any other of the older females in my life that all the books say you should talk to about it. I was far too - I guess "embarrassed" is the best word to use. When I read about sex - the actual act of sexual intercourse, what it is and how it happens - well, I thought it was really just gross. Who would want to do that? There is no way that feels good. There is no way people find those parts of the human anatomy to be anything other than just - well, just gross. When I realized that a number of my girlfriends knew what sex was too, I did nothing more than confirm with them that apparently that really was what it was, and that really is how it works, and people really do enjoy it - but we all knew it was gross! - before I put it out of my mind.
That was all when I was twelve, and honestly, I don't think I thought much about sex or spoke about sex to anyone at all (other than love scenes in movies and things of that nature) until I was eighteen or nineteen. I would never have asked my mom questions about it, really. I would have been too embarrassed to ask my mom anything about it, and I think she would have been nearly as embarrassed to answer (though I feel confident she would have answered in some way). I knew everything I needed to know: I knew technically what sexual intercourse was, and I knew that God created it as a gift only to be done between husbands and wives, and any sex outside of marriage was a sin against Him. Oh yeah, that's right - I was raised in a Christian home. I was also home schooled. So you can bet I was sheltered. Oh yes, I was sheltered. I never had a "health class," not like the ones you hear about these days, where either condoms are rolled down bananas or abstinence-only education is screamed in the students' faces. I learned about sex from books. Books written by conservative Christian men, books that told me what sex was and that it was only to be done between a husband and a wife, and anything else was sin. Books that Jessica Valenti would mock and then rip to pieces.
And yes, I will admit that one day when I was probably fourteen or so, I picked up a stray romance novel from a stack of books that someone had left on my table at the library. And when I got to a certain scene in the book, I was shocked. Shocked that not only were these two characters having sex, but they were not married to one another, and they both seemed to be thinking and feeling and desiring things I had never dreamed of. I didn't understand it. Oh sure, I'd seen stuff in movies and TV, but nothing that had told me exactly, specifically, what the characters were thinking. Nothing that could tell me exactly what they did and why they wanted to do it. Now while I have certainly steered clear of the romance sections of libraries and bookstores, that wasn't the only such scene I've ever read in books. I've learned a lot about sex from reading fiction, though most of that reading was done after I graduated high school! When I was in high school, I never experienced the temptation to have sex. Almost all the boys I knew were just like me - Christian and home schooled, no doubt having been handed the same kind of book I had when they were twelve too. Every activity I did, every class I took or trip I went on was through church youth group or a home school organization. I can honestly say that when I was in high school, it never once occurred to me that I could have sex. Having sex was within the scope of possibility. I suppose it helped that I never had a boyfriend in high school, so there was never any immediate temptation for any kind of sexual behavior. Oh, I wanted a boyfriend. I wanted to walk down the hall at church holding hands with my boyfriend. I wanted to sit next to my boyfriend in class or meet him in the lunch room at co-op. And looking back, I'm sure I would have agreed to sneak off behind the church for a make-out session every now and then, if I had had a boyfriend. And if I had done that, I'm sure I might have considered seeing how far I could go physically without actually, technically, having sex. Obviously God knew the choices I would make if given the opportunity, so I was fortunate enough to never have had the opportunity! I assumed I was far too smart and sensible to make the wrong decisions - maybe I was and maybe I wasn't. Fortunately, I never had to realize I wasn't! God has really protected me from some serious mistakes.
Wow, super long rabbit trail. All that is to say, I grew up in a home where sex was not talked about at all. The concept of "saving my virginity for marriage" was never brought up by either of my parents that I can recall. I'm sure I mentioned it in passing in my later teens, and they placed literature in my path that praised the idea, but my parents never sought me out to make sure I had made that commitment. The idea of going to a purity ball, or even wearing a purity ring, was never mentioned at home, and none of my friends wore purity rings either. It was just an assumption among all of us that we would be virgins until marriage. There was never any other way for us in high school. Again, we were fortunate.
Now, obviously, Jessica Valenti would ask why on earth having sex is a mistake. Clearly, to her, it isn't. And if the only answer I gave her was because the Bible defines sex as being something that belongs only within marriage, she would laugh me right out the door. Not that that would stop me, but I will admit that I do not want to be labeled only as a sheltered little Christian girl who can't think for herself and bases her choices on a 2,000-year-old book that no one cares about anymore. I absolutely do want to be labeled as a Christian who knows what the Bible says and actually, truly, 100% believes it and acts on those beliefs.
And ironically, those beliefs - and the fact that I care enough about them to hold to them and actually live by them - are the only proof I have that I do have any idea how to think for myself. That I'm not just some crazy little girl who is only doing what she thinks her parents want her to do, who doesn't know how to think any other way.
Believe me, I know the choices I'm capable of making. And now that I'm twenty-four instead of fourteen, or even sixteen or eighteen, I'm at a point in life where those choices mean so much more.
If I had sex right now, this very evening, I would feel guilty, empty, degraded, dirty, worthless. Ms. Valenti would say that's because I would no longer have my virginity, the thing society values so much these days. She would say that sex only has whatever meaning I ascribe to it. If I think having sex is nothing particularly special, I can have it with as many men as I want, and that should have no affect on the fact that I am sweet, generous, kind, friendly, and caring. In a way, Ms. Valenti is right: my worth shouldn't be based on whether or not my hymen is still unbroken. (I can't believe I just wrote that sentence, but whatever.) My worth should be based on what I do and how I act in society.
Well, Ms. Valenti, let me tell you what gives me worth in society. I have the integrity to live by the Bible, and that statement alone will get me guffaws and rolled eyes and mutters under the breath by most of my classmates at college. I have the wisdom to live in a way that is opposite the way I would choose to live otherwise. I have the strength to make choices that earn me shrugs of indifference at best, or ridicule and dismissal as the norm. And one of those choices is to give myself sexually only to my husband. Do I view my virginity as a gift, a "present" to be "given" to someone like a box of chocolates or a new tie? In one sense, no. I don't have some far-fetched idea that sex is just going to be some sort of magical, the-world-turns-upside-down experience that will absolutely blow my mind. There used to be a group on Facebook whose title was exactly what I always thought sex would be: it was called "I'm Saving Myself For Wild, Passionate, Awkward Honeymoon Sex." I fully expect sex to be that way for the first few weeks: wild, passionate, and so, so awkward. And I don't think that I myself am necessarily going to be particularly gifted at it. But in another sense, I do view my virginity as a treasure, a prize, a pearl of great price. I fully intend that only one person will ever take my virginity: my husband. No, I'm not gift-wrapping my hymen and putting it in the freezer or a scrapbook until I meet him (again, I can't believe I just typed that sentence, but whatever...). I just happen to believe in something more than myself. I believe in Someone more than myself. I believe God created sex to be a gift to married couples - why would I ruin something that was intended to be a gift to me? If you don't believe the same way that I do, that's fine, it's your decision, but don't call me a prude for valuing my virginity far more than you value your own.
All in all, I really have no reason to care about my virginity without my Christian beliefs. If I disregarded those, I'm sure I'd go out to a bar tonight and see who I might meet. I've wondered what it would be like to actually go to a bar and see if anyone tried to pick me up (yes, I have been to bars before, and yes, one or two drunk guys have flirted with me, and no, I never flirted back, and yes, I have been drunk before, and no, I'm not ashamed of any of that!). I've often wondered if that scene, so often done in movies and books, really does happen in real life. (More rabbit trails - sorry! Back to the point!)
The point is, Jessica Valenti would probably scoff at my decision to view my body as needing to be "protected" and kept "pure." She would probably think I'm just a sad loser who is only a virgin because I haven't found anyone willing to do the deed with me. I'm sorry she thinks that way. I'm sorry anyone thinks that way. I could go on and on and on about the effects sex can have on a person, emotionally and physically, and the dangers of STDs and unwanted pregnancies and abortions and miscarriages and so on and so forth. But I'll spare you that. You can Google those details for yourself. Me, I'm going to continue to value myself and my body. I'm going to continue to not have sex, until I get married, if that ever happens. I'm going to continue to do what I can to protect my purity and the purity of others. If that earns me the label I so dislike, that of a clueless little girl who lives in a bubble and doesn't know any other way...fine. UGH, but fine. You're wrong, but fine. I've already been so blessed by choosing to wait. You can call my husband in ten years and ask if he's happy I waited.
I'm pretty sure he'll say yes.
Meanwhile, I have some books to read...and no, none of them are about sex.
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