Unlearning Sexual Shame
#storytime
The desire to feel wanted unravels into a pile of clothes on a stranger’s floor, only to wake up filled with shame, wondering what his name was again. Milking the hangover with a chicken finger sub, a cool shower, and a nap, you think to yourself: At least I felt pretty and wanted for a few hours, even if now I’m busy slut-shaming myself.
👆🏻 That was the hamster wheel I didn’t know how to get off of.
I used sex as a means of validation, which went so strongly against everything I was ever taught growing up Catholic that I believed I was unworthy. In this cycle, sex wasn’t fun. I wasn’t chasing the high of orgasms or the release of pleasure. I wasn’t free or exploring fantasy. I was trapped, without windows or doors, chasing the idea of being wanted after a god-awful breakup that wrecked me—especially since he made sure everyone on campus heard just how “crazy” I was.
I didn’t know about gaslighting at the time. I didn’t know I was being abused. Between him and the religion I was raised with, I barely stood a chance.
“In an election where we are fighting over pronouns, we fail to realize that people are taking their own lives because the standard set by society doesn’t match who they are inside.”
I carried the shame of being a “slut” around for two decades, downplaying the fantasies I had, embarrassed that I lost track of my body count. At the same time, I always believed there should be more to sex than shame.
It’s not lost on me how differently my life could have turned out. At any given time, I could have become ingredients in serial killer stew.
For decades, I carried guilt and shame—the belief that this behavior made me bad.
Women weren’t supposed to enjoy sex.
I was just “giving it away.”
Didn’t that make me worthless?
When I finally faced the trauma and began healing the wounds, it was hard.
I had to unlearn so much about myself and rewrite the false truths I believed.
The deeper I went into healing, the freer I became—and the more I realized how deeply our beliefs about sex impact us.
Suddenly, my cause of suicide prevention and awareness and my beliefs about sex began to merge.
In an election where we are fighting over pronouns, we fail to realize that people are taking their own lives because the standard set by society doesn’t match who they are inside.
And while I can’t personally relate to what the trans community experiences, I’ve carried plenty of judgment for being in an open and kinky relationship.
Even more for speaking openly about my lifestyle and choices—and I don’t plan to stop.
I’ve navigated outlandish misconceptions, but I’ve never faced discrimination at the door of a bar.
I’ve never feared for my life or considered ending it because of who I am.
I’ve never been forced to make the impossible choices we are currently asking an entire community to make.
For me, healing came when I got honest and truthful with myself.
That was the hardest part.
But for others, getting honest with themselves is the easy part.
Living that truth is the hardest part.
I’d like to believe that if we boiled this down to human lives, not even a “Christian” could argue that God would choose suicide over pronouns, haircuts, and clothing.
I’d like to believe in a God who values love and understanding over fear.
I refuse to believe in a God who rules through fear—because that’s a dictator.
The value of human life trumps everything.
Forcing people to fight for their rights only increases suicide rates.
When the cost of judgment is a human life, we all have to decide what side we’re on.
I choose love. I choose truth. I choose life.
I hope you will too.
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