For much of my life, I believed that women were not allowed to be sexual. Whenever a woman in the media expressed her sexuality, the adults around me criticized her and called her derogatory terms such as a “slut” or “whore”. I vividly remember a debate in the car between me and my stepdad. It was about Taylor Swift. A Tay Tay song came on the radio and I, of course, was jamming and singing my little heart out. About 15 seconds into the song, my stepdad starts ranting about how he can’t stand Taylor Swift. When I asked him why, his answer had nothing to do with her music, but rather, how many relationships she had been in. I explained that she was a grown woman, free to date whoever she wanted, free to have sex with whoever she wanted, and he was so taken aback by these comments. He claimed that she was a horrible role model for young girls like me. Taylor Swift was not the only “role model” subjected to these comments. I heard similar things about Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Selena Gomez, and others. All of these womxn grew up as child stars, and so many people and much of the media have decided that they are not allowed to be sexual, simply because of how they rose to fame. There is a shared narrative in society that women are not allowed to be sexual in the way that men can and this negatively impacts the self-esteem and confidence of young girls as they develop into women. One of them, being me.
Growing up, I was always painted as a pure, innocent, pretty girl. This identity was thrown upon me at such an early age, and for a long time I didn’t even question it. In fact, I took pride in it, not understanding the damage it would have later in my life. When I began to feel sexual desire, I was ashamed. I felt so guilty for maturbating that I remember praying to God and asking Him to make my sinful feelings go away so I could be pure and good again. This shame and guilt pushed on for most of high school. I always assumed that I would wait to have sex until I was married. I was raised Christian, and I was taught to hold my virginity like a trophy. No one explicitly told me that sex was wrong, but the message that purity was important echoed through my adolescence. Up until I was 17, I had never even held hands with someone in a romantic way. I had never had a relationship, only crushes that never came to fruition. Right around my 17th birthday, I started dating my first, and current boyfriend.
I wasn’t aware that I had an unhealthy relationship with sex. I didn’t think about it too much, and I didn’t start investigating my trauma around it until it became apparent that I needed to. By the time I felt ready to be intimate with someone else, I still hadn’t unpacked my negative relationship with my own sexuality. I soon realized that it was essential for me to explore and become comfortable with my sexuality on my own, before I could be fully comfortable and enjoy sex with another person. I eased myself in and tried a variety of things to aid in my exploration; looking at my body in the mirror, buying a vibrator, and getting familiar with my own anatomy. For some reason, these things feel embarrassing, even as I write about them now, but I have to remind myself how powerful it is to feel comfortable in my own sexuality. It is truly magical and life-changing.
Now, I am in a place where I feel confident in my sexuality alone and with an intimate partner. It didn’t happen overnight and there is still more growing to do, but I am so proud of the younger me for getting here. Part of me wishes that someone would’ve talked to me about sex in an open and loving way. I wonder what a difference that could have made. Although, at the same time, the journey I went on with myself was incredibly rewarding. I encourage parents of teenagers to be more open and honest about sex. I encourage parents to stop weaponizing sex and putting pressure on little girls to be pure. I encourage all young womxn to take pride in their sexuality, whatever that may mean to them.