I lived through Purity Culture and all I got was this t-shirt…oh, and shame.
I just finished reading the book “Pure: Inside the Evangelical Movement that Shamed a Generation of Young Women and How I Broke Free” by Linda Kay Klein. It’s made me reflect on my own journey and the effects that purity culture has had on my life.
As a homeschooled pastor’s kid growing up in the 90s? I was immersed in it.
The message was simple: Keep yourself pure for God and your future husband.
However, that message was implicitly complicated and nuanced in daily life. What exactly was “pure?” How far was too far? What if I did something by accident that made myself impure? Forget even considering IF I ever wanted to have a husband someday. The standard was “you will get married to a good Christian man” and “he and God expect you to be a virgin.” Actually communicating about sexuality and purity, though, seemed to be off the table.
We talked about how to avoid causing our “brothers in Christ” to stumble. We had Sunday School lessons about how to apply minimal makeup so our faces would look “natural.” Our youth group broke into boys and girls groups; the boys played paintball and the girls had lessons about modesty. My father had to approve all clothes that my mom, sister, and I purchased, so we would do a fashion show of sorts, begrudgingly twirling our outfits in front of him while he watched TV until we knew which clothes we could hang in our closets and which had to go in the “return” pile.
My mother never, ever wore makeup or did her hair, so I never learned how to make myself look presentable. In fact, the implicit message was that you should strive to make yourself look unattractive. I learned that being a girl meant I should live for the men around me. If I emphasized my body or sexuality, I was slowly chipping away at the gift that belonged to my husband. Every time I had an impure thought or did an impure act, I was defacing what was sacred in the eyes of God.
My self worth during my teenage years was loooooooow. I hated who I was. I was desperately seeking to gain approval from my community, but secretly was having all kinds of thoughts and desires that I knew my community would find disgraceful. I tried so hard to fit in. I wore the purity ring. I avoided boys. I sat through youth group where we tore up paper hearts to represent our virginity. I bought the Virginity Rocks t-shirt (The back says ”I’m loving my husband and I haven’t even met him yet!”). I didn’t wear makeup. I didn’t wear clothes that fit me, let alone flattered me. I played the part of the good Christian girl flawlessly. No one knew that I was struggling with my sexuality and had no one to go to.
I had to break myself out of purity culture and the shame that came with it. I came out as a lesbian in my late teens, and basically said to hell with the church and every message it ever gave me. Every “rule” the church had given me about sex and purity was thrown in the dumpster. I overcame my shame by running headfirst into the culture that I had been told would surely be my downfall.
And you know what? It wasn’t my downfall. I definitely made mistakes. If I could go back and change things, there are some things I wouldn’t have done with some of the people who came into my life. But there are other things that I shared with people who I loved fully, and I don’t regret those interactions for a second, even if the church would shame me for my sexual history.
I actually don’t feel shame about my sex life. What?! The pastor’s kid made it out unscathed? Well, not quite. While my ability to have a healthy sex life is intact, other effects of the purity culture are still evident in my life. No, I don’t have panic attacks in the bedroom. I don’t feel an ounce of guilt or shame when I’m intimate with my partner. But I have extreme insecurity about my body and feeling good about myself. I’m getting better at makeup, but I always question if I’m doing it right and often opt for a “natural” look over the smokey eyes and dramatic colors. I know how to do my hair two ways: straight or a bun. I am insanely jealous of girls who can effortlessly curl their hair just right and look adorable. I try to curl my hair and I feel like I’m doing something wrong just by getting a little dolled up.
Clothes are still really hard for me. I know that I can buy clothes that are flattering, I know I don’t need to have anyone’s permission or approval, I know that I don’t need to feel shame about feeling good about how my body looks. Yet I still ask my fiance if I should get this top or wear that dress, I still avoid revealing clothes (that really aren’t revealing at all), and I still feel so incredibly uncomfortable when I’m wearing anything that’s not a size too big. I may fight those feelings for my whole life, but I’m working on it.
My biggest hope is that I’m able to stop these messages from reaching my future daughter’s ears. I want to have conversations with her about her sexuality and explain that it’s okay to have questions. It’s okay to feel the feelings. It’s okay to feel good about yourself. It’s okay to look nice. I pray that she never feels shamed into behaving a certain way for someone else. I hope that she knows about her options when she is considering having sex, and that she feels comfortable coming to her mom if she has questions or needs help. God knows I didn’t have that when I was a kid.
There is nothing wrong with wanting to save yourself for your future husband, or even just waiting until you feel the time is right. There IS something wrong with using shame to make women behave a certain way and live up to a standard put in place by an institution. I’m thankful that I found freedom and that so many other women have, too.
