I’m Not Doing It

My religion, evangelical Christianity, has given me some wonderful things over the course of my life, mainly community and friendship and a sense of belonging. The four years I spent at Wheaton were some of the best years of my life, and I formed lifetime friends there. But growing up in the evangelical Christian world also compounded my confusion about my sexuality. Probably most American kids, regardless of their religious background, receive a lot of mixed and harmful messages from society and pop culture about sex.  

From society at-large I received the message that sex is all-important, you do not need to wait until marriage, it is always pleasurable and, if women have sex with too many men, they are viewed negatively. The message I internalized from my church world was that sex before marriage was dirty, a no no. Desire was taboo and only led to bad stuff. I was to wait until marriage. Because sex was the forbidden fruit, I had an exaggerated view of its importance and especially of its consequences if I did not wait. I imagined that doing it would taint me for life and usher in all kinds of negative repercussions. My partner would lose all respect for me and I would be and feel dirty.  

The Bible says wait until marriage, right? Pastors and parents and mentors said wait. Waiting was ingrained into me. Sex before marriage was a sin.

Not as big a sin as the gay thing but Big.

I thought I was being a good Christian because I WAS NOT DOING IT.  

My own personal assumptions and the messages I received (and interpreted) from church, my parents, my friends, and the culture at-large led me to believe that sex was not a little dangerous and that guys had a very hard time controlling themselves beyond a certain point. They were victims of their hormones. It was my responsibility, as the girl, to maintain proper boundaries. It was my job to slow down and put the brakes on when it got too hot and heavy.  

Here is what I did not realize…that sex is more than a penis inserted into a vagina. I thought that was the only sex that counted. It was the kind of sex we saw on tv, what we read about and what the church taught. Even the language we used — “going all the way” — inferred that it was the ultimate. The other stuff was minor in comparison. Just watch Chasing Amy (yes, I’m that old). I believed anything involving fingers and mouths was only the precursor to the sex that is really sex. I thought that if I stopped things before the sex sex, than I was still not doing it. To be sure, I felt guilty about how far the boundaries were pushed, but because I hadn’t done the “ultimate” sex act, I was still okay, I was still pure for marriage. 

What I learned and observed about gender roles naturally became entangled with my confusion over sexuality, confounding me even further. In my mind, Matt was probably my future spouse so I placed a lot of pressure on our relationship. We needed to establish our roles early. I grew up seeing only men behind the pulpit, only men handling the offering plate, only men holding deacon positions. Women led Sunday school for the children.

Translation: Matt was to be the spiritual leader of us as a couple.  

And, he was to not only be the spiritual leader but the head of our home as a married couple. I grew up in a traditional household where my mother was responsible for the grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Even when she worked full-time. As I grew older, she and I split a lot of the chores. I resented my father for not having a bigger share of the responsibilities. While I wanted Matt to be the head of our home, I wanted him to pull his weight around the house. I wanted him to know how to cook and do laundry. I wanted a partnership. But I did not know how to reconcile this with my desire (that church-instilled desire) for him to be the leader of us. 

What’s more, I thought that he, as the leader, should initiate physical contact and intimacy. Guys like the chase, right? Matt was always the one to grab my hand, to pull me close for a hug, to lean in for a kiss, to start the petting. (Ick, I know…but I had to throw in a purity culture buzzword). I always slowed it down. 

I had no time to think about my sexual desires, or lack thereof, when I was so busy shaping him into the future husband I thought he should be. My expectations for him were a hot and tangled mess and made for a tumultuous relationship. I oftentimes felt angry at him for not living up to my expectations, but instead of talking about it with him, I became distant and cold.  

He would go into a tailspin and go all puppy dog on me, thinking he had done something wrong. I felt ashamed for getting angry with him over the pettiest of things. For example, he would tell me he was going to study but instead would end up going out with friends. This would make me mad because he didn’t have the work ethic I thought he should have or maybe it was because he didn’t do what he said he was going to do or it could have been a million other things. But I would feel too embarrassed to tell him the truth. My passive aggressiveness towards him and my lack of communication made him break up with me on more than one occasion. I would apologize, often tearfully, and beg him to stay. He always did.  

It was all angsty and teen-agy and drama-filled. But I was also trapped in religion, concerned only with following the rules.

Instead of Jesus.

The way I treated Matt was the exact opposite of what Jesus tells us: Love one another. My beliefs as to who I thought he should be stifled him. I paid no mind to my own actions. I was too focused on what I thought he should be. I just didn’t get it. Not at all.  

The longer we dated, the more invested I felt in Matt. I could not leave Wheaton without having, at least, a strong prospect for marriage. This was my only shot. And this was God’s plan for me. It just had to be, right?