I Shed Cultural Shame to Embrace Pleasure

And realized that sexual double standards hurt everyone

As I grew up, religious repression kept me abstinent; I had to escape the fear of hellfire. But by college, I became rebellious. Recently I realized that my sexual activity puts me in the top one percent of promiscuous women in America… and I’m only 27 years old.

Though I often feel proud of my sex drive, I’ve also endured slut-shaming, externally and internally. Instead of feeling confident and blessed by my sexuality, I sometimes felt “cheap” and “easy.”

Reflecting on my experiences and influences, I’ve untangled numerous unhelpful judgments on female sexuality. Studying feminine literature, working with a depth therapist, and reconnecting with creative passions have helped me see the influence of societal shame more clearly.

The truth is, I always found so much pleasure in physical and emotional connection. Exploring the heights of rolling orgasms, I felt wildly alive in my body. Was that really so bad? But historically, most cultures have viewed female promiscuity as “unladylike.”

Probably the most negative legacy mothers have passed onto their daughters for generations has been the repression of their sexuality and their bodies. Women have to reunite with themselves as sexual, passionate creatures — Marion Woodman, “Addiction to Perfection”

Following my more natural desires, I discovered ethical polyamory. I got curious about my actual needs and I learned to ask for what I wanted more honestly and directly. Without pursuing the traditional “marriage and babies” monogamy route, I now feel even more empowered to prioritize my pleasure… and for me, that’s the healthiest thing I could do.

Changing deeply ingrained cultural perspectives likely requires relentless activism. For now, I know sharing the stories of my own sexual shame and repression will resonate with and encourage other women. With increased awareness, ongoing authenticity feels easier.

The more we talk about sex as a powerful, pleasurable blessing — rather than a dangerous, shameful act — the more we empower authentic women to be their true selves and the happier we’ll all be.

Cultural repression of female sexuality

My religious upbringing taught me to be modest and “save myself” for “the one.” I could either be a virtuous virgin or a shameful whore. There’s really no winning with sexuality as a woman; I always felt guilt and social pressure for either choice. I heard slut-shaming comments on the one hand and “Why won’t you give him a chance?” on the other hand.

Judith Duerk, author of “Circle of Stones,” describes “the gift of sexual love” as being “the most sacred of the gifts bestowed by the Goddess.” When people belittle female sexuality, it reduces our humanity. (Look up the evolution of the word “slut” for more infuriating research.)

The more I understand the mass gaslighting I’ve endured, the angrier I become. It sometimes feels like an overbearing cloud that won’t go away.

Some believe patriarchy began about 12,000 years ago when property rights — aka capitalism — emerged. Women have been legally considered property until the mid 19th century, and marital rape wasn’t a crime until the 1980s. No wonder we often feel unsafe to be emotionally authentic or to “just be yourself,” as I’ve seen listed on numerous dating profiles.

Family members, church leaders, peers, and partners have reinforced misogynist views of sexuality throughout my life. Here are some lines that stand out in my memories:

• “Shoulders to knees, nobody touches, nobody sees.” — a mantra my dad described as a guide for my wardrobe. Translation: Your body belongs to your future husband.
• “You look like a whore.” — my older brother told me when I was 14 years old and started wearing makeup (and barely had my first kiss). Translation: Self-expression is unsafe, and appearing sexual is demeaning.
• “She’s dressing inappropriately and likes the attention too much.” — a male church pastor told my dad, who repeated to me when I was 14 years old. Translation: Women should mute themselves to make men more comfortable.
• “Pure women save their first kiss for marriage.” — my “princess of purity” church group leader often shared. Translation: Your body belongs to your future husband.
• “Don’t advertise if you’re not selling.” — a male college classmate said when I wore a low-cut top. Translation: Your body is a commodity.
• “Well, if you’re going to wear a dress like that…” — my female manager at a college internship said when a group of men ogled me. Translation: You are responsible for how men treat you.
• “Sex is really more about the man.” — said a short-term college boyfriend who wanted a blow job and wasn’t concerned about orgasm equality. Translation: It’s just blatant misogyny — also, no wonder we have a massive orgasm gap.
• “She’s just too sexual.” — said the religious mother of a man I was in love with (not that long ago); she disapproved. Translation: Being a sexy lady is not respectable.

What about my pleasure, authentic expression, and dreams? Where was the sage advice and encouragement for me to discover what I liked and needed?

Authoritative literature like the Bible didn’t help much. Have you read the numerous Bible verses about how women should be silent, submissive, and modest? Or the stories about women being legally stoned to death for committing adultery, consensual or not?

Then, multiple men sexually assaulted me. I felt guilty because I’d been flirtatious and wore a short skirt. At 21 years old, I felt too embarrassed to tell anyone.

Outside of religious circles, our culture repeatedly gaslights women about sexual abuse, criticizing victims’ clothing choices as the cause for abusers’ behaviors.

Women’s wardrobes have long been used as an excuse for sex crimes; however, when you look at the data on why people rape, that doesn’t hold up. These arguments are for transferring the responsibility of control and power from the perpetrator to the victim — Sandra Shullman, Ph.D. (a psychologist who specializes in harassment)

Women make up half the world’s population; when will our governing systems equally reflect feminine needs, struggles, and desires?

Self-discovery in expressive sexuality

“Every woman has an innate erotic essence that must be nourished, honored, and expressed so she may be truly free in her magical feminine body,” writes Sheila Kelley, founder of “S Factor.”

When I had sex for the first time at 17 years old, I felt thrilled by the intensity of physical sensation. Did colors suddenly get brighter? I remember thinking, “Oh my god! That’s why all those secular artists keep writing songs about sex. I get it now.”

As a hardworking college student, I became efficient in my academic and resume-building work, like a well-oiled machine. I had 5 am workouts, an updated and detailed planner, careful schedules. But when I had sex, I felt like an exotic, wild animal. I forgot about assignments, projects, and deadlines and reconnected to my instincts. I became a bit addicted to the high, but all while feeling like a lowly sinner.

After an especially toxic monogamous relationship, I found a book on ethical polyamory and realized my natural behaviors might actually be healthy. Leaving monogamous expectations behind me felt game-changing. I felt less pressure to morph into others’ expectations of me and more free to explore my own.

When I stopped viewing sex as a moral issue, I became more thoughtful and discerning in my sexual activity. I felt more valuable as a human. I could have as much or as little sex as I wanted, and I could change my mind at any time.

Looking back, I believe purity culture made me more extreme and risky in my behaviors. If I was going to be “bad,” I might as well be thoroughly bad. According to most religious theologies, I was definitely heading for hell anyway — what an intense fear to place on a curious 17-year-old woman!

Unraveling the tangled web of repression, though, I can now say with complete confidence: I am a healthy, passionate, sexual being, and that gives exactly no one the right to abuse or belittle me.

Reclaiming my authentic desires

Masculinity and femininity are two sides of the same coin, and when we repress one, there’s bound to be a painful imbalance. My journey to healthy femininity has included a lot of mourning. I had no idea how much misogyny I’d internalized.

Observing my thoughts, I realized how much pressure I still feel in every outfit choice. Is this too sexy? Will people stare at me? Will they judge or harass me? Now I’m changing my inner narrative to prioritize boldness over appeasement. I’m so tired of playing small.

I also noticed how I unconsciously “played dumb” around guys. How absurd it is that women feel pressured to win men’s approval by protecting their egos! After a year of soul-searching solitude, I refuse to trade likability for authenticity. Approving myself is always more important. I’m still surprised by how obvious, and unfamiliar that feels.

Once I realized how angry I felt about all the sexism I’ve experienced, I’ve been actively releasing judgments. I can wear sexy clothes all I want, which still doesn’t make me responsible for men’s behaviors.

Now, I would much rather spend Friday night alone than changing myself to be more likable. Who knew I’d been repressing my authentic self and desires for so long?

Plus, being sexual is about much more than sex; it gives us passion and creativity. Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes, author of “Women Who Run with the Wolves,” describes sexuality as our “life force.” Embracing our sexuality makes us feel alive.

At 27 years old, I’ve been reflecting on what went right and what went wrong. I’m done with the power plays, needing external validation, and impossible cultural expectations. I’m ready for more emotional depth, open curiosity, self-love, and shameless pleasure.

Listening to my desires, I feel more connected to my wise, passionate body. I’ve also been less critical of my body. I indulge my desires more often than not and embrace my “ebb and flow.”

After sexual abuse and shame, I choose to metabolize that anger into becoming my boldest self. My strong sexual desire is a beautiful blessing.

What if we discussed sexual pleasure more openly? What if we accepted that we’re all sexual beings, and that’s wonderfully healthy? I believe our “land of the free” would be a much freer, kinder, and more compassionate place if that happened.

Now, I just feel grateful to be capable of enjoying so much shameless pleasure.

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