Not a Ripped Piece of Paper

The purity culture metaphor I’m still unlearning.

“This is what happens when you have sex before marriage.”

I’m in my eighth grade health class at an international Christian school. My teacher is holding up a piece of paper. She rips it down the middle, then tapes the two pieces back together.

“You’ve given a part of yourself away that you shouldn’t have. Even if you try to put yourself back together, you won’t be the same.”

Little thirteen-year-old me nodded and accepted what she told me as fact. It was as if she said the sky was blue.

Sex before marriage was bad, no questions asked.

On the popular TV show, Jane the Virgin, the titular protagonist Jane receives a similar message from her grandmother. Except this time, her virginity is a flower that’s crumpled on the floor if she has sex before marriage.

I had never seen my struggle with my faith captured so beautifully on TV before. Jane wants to please the people in her life by keeping sex for marriage, but she is discovering her sexuality in the process too. She’s a human being with desires like everyone else, and struggles to keep those desires in check to remain a virgin until marriage.

Of course, she gets pregnant through an accidental artificial insemination at the gynaecologist’s office, and that’s when her character lost some of her relatability for me. This all happens in the first episode by the way. Watch the show if you haven’t already; it’s a wild ride.

Watching Jane the Virgin was the beginning of me examining some questionable facets of my faith.

Since then, I’ve heard more variations of this metaphor: if you have sex before marriage, you’re a chewed-up wad of gum nobody wants, or a nubby pencil that’s been sharpened too many times (I don’t get why Christian circles are obsessed with stationery). Regardless of the metaphor, the message is the same: you don’t want to be “used”, as a child of God you’re set apart and saving yourself for your spouse.

Surprise, surprise, I grow up associating sex with guilt. I’m terrified of making the mistake of “giving myself away” to the wrong person.

I’m the good little Christian girl who doesn’t ask questions. It makes me mighty judgemental and uppity.

The process of unlearning something you’re taught at a young age is complicated and difficult.

There are many stories of people leaving the Christian faith because of toxic and damaging experiences. While I can’t fault them for leaving their faith behind, my story isn’t one of them. I look back at that time in that school fondly. I loved my friends and teachers. It was where I cracked open a Bible for the first time and became a Christian.

I can’t bash Christianity, as my faith is still incredibly important to me. I love God and want to honour Him in everything I do. I want to love people the way that Jesus loved them. My education had a huge part in building its foundation, which is why I’ve been so conflicted on separating what I actually believe from what I was taught in school.

But now I’m examining the cracks in the bricks that formed my faith. As much as those teachers had the best intentions, I wrestled with seeing my worth as a child of God for a long time.

Purity culture is harmful. It makes you feel like no matter what you do, think, or say, you’re not holy enough for God.

Oh, did I forget to mention that it’s also sexist? “Saving yourself” for marriage is meant for keeping yourself “pure” for your husband. Women get this purity narrative and it’s our responsibility to prevent men from giving in to their “sexual urges”.

Unlearning and Rebuilding

As an adult, a huge part of deconstructing Christian teachings involved me reading the Bible for myself.

There’s even an entire book in the Bible, Songs of Solomon, where two lovers are basically expressing their desire to get it on and rejoicing in sexual intimacy.

I’m not going to lie though, keeping guilt from creeping in is tough.

I had to rewrite the narrative I was taught in school: God created sex to be enjoyed. It is something good and wonderful. You are loved. He won’t come after you if you dare open your legs to someone. You can’t judge people who choose to make different choices in their sexual relationships than you.

I’m also grateful to be with a loving partner who doesn’t judge me for working through all of this.

I’m still unlearning, studying the Bible, and trying to be more like Jesus. I don’t know if I’m able to completely separate sexuality and guilt yet, despite how far I’ve come in unraveling harmful purity culture narratives.

But I do know one thing: I’m not a ripped piece of paper. I’m throwing that metaphor straight into the trash.