Rosie’s Birth Story, in which the Protagonist Gives Birth in a Global Pandemic.

I almost want to ask a favor of you so that you’ll understand just how great the following story is. I kind of want you to go read Mac’s birth story first.

You know, if you want.

Okay. SO. Welcome back.

Because Mac’s birth was so rough, Jordan and I joked from the beginning of this pregnancy that no matter what happened, our daughter’s birth would be a cakewalk in comparison. Then, with a laugh, the universe threw the curveball of COVID-19. We still joked about it, but the laughter was more mirth-y and ironic than relieved like before.

We’d scheduled a C-section for April 19th (my mom’s birthday, which just made it more special). COVID hit the United States in late February. Suddenly, all my dreams of a smooth, joyful delivery were looking like they might be less and less likely. The first disappointment was knowing only one person would be allowed to accompany me into the hospital, which meant that the image I’d cooked up in my head of my son, parents, and in-laws meeting our daughter in the hospital room were out the window. In fact, no family would be traveling to meet our new baby at all, and that would be true for a totally uncertain amount of time. My wonderful mom was in town, which gave me a completely indescribable amount of comfort, but otherwise, family visits were not really on the table.

Jordan is a dentist and among the professions in which a person is highly likely to contract COVID-19, his ranks near the very, very top. In New York, hospitals were banning partners from accompanying birthing people into hospitals, which meant women were delivering babies ALONE. The thought of going into a hospital without Jordan for precautionary reasons, or because Jordan had gotten sick at work, was harrowing. But the way I process things is to address the risk and then begin to mentally mitigate it, especially in situations where I have no control (which I try to avoid at all costs because I truly love control). I steeled myself for those less desirable outcomes, but privately was anxious.

In the weeks leading up to our due date, Jordan avoided work as much as possible and, blessedly, didn’t get sick. New York rescinded its “no partners” policy, and though our hospital would still only allow one person to accompany me into labor, we were over the moon that it would actually get to be Jordan.

The morning of 4/19, we woke up at 4 AM to make our 5:30 check-in for a 7:30 surgery. Jordan and I were both bleary-eyed, but so excited (but also trying to keep a lid on it - me because my nervous chatter would give away the fact that I was nervous; him because he’s a healthcare provider who doesn’t allow himself to get worked up in medical situations).

We’re totally fine and normal, SEE?! (Just kidding we’re both nervous wrecks.)

It was a truly bizarre experience to pull up into a handicapped spot, where we’d been instructed to park because there were so few surgeries taking place. We grabbed our bags, considerably lighter and fewer than we brought with Mac, when we lugged our entire closets and every belonging we could carry into the hospital. Each of us has an N-95 mask, so we walked in, masks on, to the front desk. We were some of the only people there and were directed to another wing and bank of elevators, then ultimately to Labor and Delivery where I was shown to a room and given a gown and a blood work up.

The hospital was like a ghost town both because of the hour and because of the lack of surgeries on the docket, all of which had been canceled or postponed to ensure staff and patient safety. Everyone there was a little bleary-eyed because of the early hour. I was not only tired, but also looked like a dog because I was told that for a C-section, I wouldn’t be allowed any makeup, nail polish, self tanner, or lotion. I had also, like a total moron, gone outside without sunscreen for a socially distant lunch on the hottest day of the year and procured the most intense farmer’s tan sunburn from my sleeveless dress. Turns out, no one follows the rule about no makeup. NOTE TO ALL FUTURE MOMS - wear the makeup!! (I did cheat and put on concealer and mascara. I mean, come on. I had to!)

Our nurse was delightful and chipper, and though it took three times to successfully place the needle for my IV (by the way HOLY SHIT), we loved her and appreciated her happy energy, even that early in the day. The sun came up and reality started setting in: we were going to meet our daughter in less than two hours.

While we were waiting, both a CRNA and an anesthesiologist came (at different times) to talk to me. They’d both be in the OR and wanted to know if I had any questions or concerns. This was a huge relief, because the problems I had with Mac’s birth were anesthesia-related.

(in case you’re coming to this story cold, I had what’s called a high spinal with Mac, a super rare event wherein anesthetic floods your spinal space and causes paralysis. In my case, it happened as I was being reclined back for my C-section after hours of labor, attempted vaginal delivery, and many doses of pain medication. When I was reclined for surgery, the spinal block I’d been given combined with the other existing pain meds to rush up my spinal column and paralyze me up to my chin. This included my diaphragm, which made it impossible to breathe. I was totally awake and was aware of slowly losing the ability to breathe until I eventually lost consciousness. When the anesthesiologist resolved the situation and I woke up, Mac had been out for ten minutes or so.)

Though the chance of something similar happening was extremely small, the chances of it having happened at all were also minuscule, so I had some quiet nerves. These women coming to visit me soothed so much of that, and their obvious familiarity with my last delivery was so comforting. When my doctor arrived, I got a little choked up. I’m always relieved to see her, but this time felt extra special. And suddenly, we were off to the races!

The difference between last time and this time were just hysterical. Instead of being wheeled in a flurry of movement and paperwork to the OR, I just stood my ass up and walked there in my socks, chatting about whatever came to mind. I pushed myself up onto the table, rather than being deposited there by a team of really strong humans who lifted me and shifted me.

When I said the OR was chilly, someone gave me a warming blanket. When I had my spinal block administered, the women in charge were so tuned in to my every feeling, checking in constantly and truly listening to my feedback about what/whether I could feel (and Jordan was with me through the whole meshugas of spinal block delivery, which my precious OB photographed and is now a picture I treasure).

It wasn’t quiet and tense; the room was filled with Kacey Musgraves’ fun music which I actually got to request. And my husband, rather than being in the hallway throughout all of this (where he was in the lead-up to Mac’s delivery) was right by my side, easing the process more than I could ever explain.

Jordan, because he is a maniac, decided that he wanted to watch the surgery. So he stood by my head and looked over the curtain throughout the whole thing, from first incision to close.

What. A. Murderer.

But he obviously loved it, so I was on board.

I had some anxiety about whether the anesthesia would work, based on my last experience, so I asked them to do a scratch test a few different times, which they patiently obliged me and did. Once I was certain I was numb (hehe!), things got rolling. My amazing CRNA stood right by my head the entire time, talking to me and making sure that I was in good shape. It was such a bizarre experience to have a simple blue drape separating me from a team of people who had their hands INSIDE MY BODY. There was tugging and pulling and tension and pressure, but no pain.

It’s here that I should mention the team in the room. Every single one of the, save Jordan, was a woman. It was like being operated on by The Avengers. My surgeons, the anesthesiologist, the CRNA, the L&D nurse, the Mother/Baby nurse, the nurse from the PICU who was there just in case, the techs - ALL WOMEN. If you’re reading this and you identify as female, you know the kind of casual, nurturing chatter that fills a room full of women who are comrades. And it was into this all-girl room that Rosemary Parker Scott made her debut at 8:20 AM, weighing in at 7 lbs, 15 ounces, and 20.5 inches long.

Throughout my pregnancy, I’d told Jordan that Rosie had a lot of moxie (because, frankly, it was nicer than saying “this baby is a pain in the ass”). The second I saw her, I felt all that personality smack me between the eyes. This little girl, even though she was brand new, had clear, sharp eyes and grew right into her name in a split second. Rosie, Jordan’s great-grandmother, was a spicy spitfire who lived to nearly 100 because, everyone said, she was “too stubborn to die.” Parker is a family name on my dad’s side, but presently belongs to my brother, a sweet and grounded creative who is kind and so smart. Spicy and kind, creative and stubborn - this is Rosie’s killer combo, I already know. It’s exactly the kind of girl the world needs.

After she was born, weighed, measured, and delivered into my arms, Jordan and I got to have a lot of peaceful, blissful time with her while my surgery was completed (AKA, while they put me back together). In recovery, I got to enjoy a slow intake of snacks and sips of Sprite while everyone watched my vitals and wrapped my legs up in those “make sure your legs don’t explode” Velcro swelling-control sock things. I don’t know, I was basically stoned out of my mind on pain meds at that point. It was fantastic.

This was a decidedly different recovery experience from when Mac was born, where all four of Jordan’s and my parents were anxiously waiting in the waiting room to be invited back. In this case, no one was waiting to come in - COVID prevented anyone from being at the hospital except Jordan. And though we were initially disappointed by that, it turned out to be the most low-maintenance and easy hospital stay because we didn’t have a revolving door of people. Both ways were wonderful.

I imagined our time in the hospital room was going to be fraught with sterilizations, that Jordan and I would both be locked in the room for three days, etc. In reality, though our team wore masks and certainly washed hands thoroughly, it was relatively normal. We were even allowed (with masks, of course) to take a couple of laps around the floor as we felt able. We stayed cozied up in our room and Jordan fell in love with his daughter, who is OBSESSED with him (and with his singing, which he did a lot of - the songs of his youth - Jimmy Buffett. And now I like Jimmy Buffet. Damn it.).

But the biggest difference of all was our departure. When Mac was born and I stepped out of the wheelchair and into the sunlight for the first time in a few days, all the “keeping it together”-ness I’d worked so hard to cultivate fell away and I sobbed all the way home. I vividly remember the feeling of looking around at the world and thinking about the fact that everyone else had been going about their business, living their lives, and I’d been inside having the most traumatizing experience of my life (though of course, it ended well!). That juxtaposition was too much to process for me, and so was the reality that we were now headed home to our new normal - discharged from the scary and life-altering and en route to routine.

When we left with Rosie in our arms, we confidently strapped her into her carseat (which she was comically too small for), turned on Jimmy Buffett live, and drove home with the windows down to the sounds of Margaritaville. I was smiling. The sun was shining. We had our girl. And my last experience with a life-changing moment had taught me that even during a global pandemic, I could handle this.

We pulled up to the driveway to find our garage door, sidewalk, and den had been decorated by our precious family and neighbors, and received the most amazing welcome for Rosie that we could imagine via video messages that had been compiled by two of our closest friends in Asheville. I had to bend in half because the happy crying was upsetting my incision. It was perfect. Mac met his little sister (and his veritable twin at birth), and Jordan and I looked at each other across the room - just like that, we were a family of four. Since then, nothing has been easy, but everything has been good.

Having a daughter has been a totally different experience from having my son. As a woman, bringing a girl into the world is a different animal. There is a legacy of womanhood I feel I’m passing on; she’s one in a line down frome, me, her grandmothers, their mothers, and back as far as we know how to trace. She contains all this and so much of her own. To know that baby girls are born with all the eggs they’ll have for their lives - it means that at one point, I was carrying my daughter and part of my own grandchildren. It is wondrous to be a woman.

The older women knew before, but all of us know now, both individually and collectively, that nothing is certain. Nothing is promised. Life can change on a dime, bringing with it waves of grief or patches of joy and everything in between. But what I know is that the world needed a little more moxie, a little more gumption, a little more spice, a little more kindness, a little more stubbornness. This era of uncertainty called for a sure-footed new addition who had ideas of her own, right from the beginning - a bright light delivered into a weary world.

Her name is Rosie.

The first rose in our garden that bloomed the day Rosie was born.

An epilogue:

A brief word about C-section moms.

The complications during Mac’s delivery were mysterious but intense, and coming up on Rosie’s birth, we didn’t know whether my high spinal had taken place as a result of a badly placed epidural (the most obvious possibility) or because of some totally freak anatomical issue wherein my spinal space is smaller than most women’s. There was no way for us to definitively get those answers ahead of time. My options were to go for a vaginal delivery (a “trial of labor after Caesarean, or “TOLAC”) and roll the dice that the same circumstances wouldn’t crop up again, or to go straight to a C-section and bypass the drama. Though I was a good candidate for a TOLAC by all the normal measures, the information that pushed me over the line was that if I had any anesthesia problems in this delivery, they’d have to put me completely out for the surgery. In other words, I’d be guaranteed to miss this baby’s birth just like I missed Mac’s. Ultimately, that was the tipping point: I wanted to see my daughter come into the world.

I had always assumed that my children would be born vaginally instead of via C-section because my own mom had two healthy babies that way. I will admit, even typing the title of this post - “birth story” - I feel a little fraudulent, because “birth” is an action verb and the way my children came into the world seems very passive: I laid on an operating table and someone else took them out. It can feel like, because I didn’t do the pushing (though I definitely did with Mac) that brought them here, my children weren’t “born” - they were kind of…evicted.

There is a lot of stigma around C-sections: that they’re the “easy way out;” that they exist simply to make provider’s lives easier and more predictable; that they’re exclusively the result of poor health of the mom; that they’re the result of massive amounts of interventions because the birthing person didn’t advocate for herself enough. If you’ve seen The Business of Being Born, you walk away with the conclusion that C-sections are basically the worst thing a person could do. All that stuff is really easy to get suckered into believing - as though recovering from having layers of dermis, fascia, muscle, and organs sliced through and sewn back up is some easy way out for chumps - as though it’s not real delivery.

So let me tell you what I’ve decided about that.

It’s bullshit. EVERY birth is amazing and a miracle.

The end.

A PSA about giving birth in America:

When I had Mac and experienced a traumatic delivery, I began to dig into a lot of research and stats about giving birth in the United States. It turns out that we as a country rank critically low against other wealthy nations - in fact, against 10 similar countries, the US would rank 10th. There’s lots to be said about this, but I’ll save it for another blog post. Here, I simply want to highlight the disturbing statistic that Black women are anywhere from 2 to 6 times more likely to die from pregnancy complications than white women. This was shocking information for me to learn in 2017, and things have not gotten better. If it shocks you, too, do some Googling and learn more.

Purity Culture, Part IV: So What?

In each section below, you’ll hear from people who responded to my survey. I have ascribed everyone in this essay a fake name (I didn’t ask for names in my survey) to help delineate each individual response from the one before or after it. 

What do we teach this new generation? (Also titled: “Social distancing!”)

When I was 15 (and every summer before or since), I attended church camp each year at a United Methodist camp called Sumatanga. (Which, by the way, was the very, very best). 

The schedule wasn’t quite what you’d see at a more secular camp - no horseback riding, no zip lines. We had morning devotion, small groups, activities, vespers - all kinds of good, Jesus-y stuff. Being that it was a fairly progressive camp, one of the small group offerings that summer was a co-ed sexuality course. Our group leader, a woman in her mid-late thirties, made the wise choice to have each of us submit anonymous questions prior to the start of her class. At the beginning of each meeting, she pulled out the questions and read them aloud, writing them down verbatim on a sheet of chart paper, then going through the answers in a very judgment-free tone - no matter how silly the question, she treated it with the utmost seriousness, clinically explaining anything that came up. Everything was on the table.  

This freedom and anonymity allowed for all kinds of questions that we would’ve been too afraid to ask out loud. I don’t remember what the question was, but I submitted something that contained the word “semen” and mistakenly spelled it “seamen.” I will never forget the white-hot embarrassment of trying not to reveal the question was mine as she wrote “s-e-a-m-e-n” on the chart paper! 

But I’ll also never forget how rudimentary many of the questions were. Someone asked if you could get pregnant from swallowing during oral sex. Someone else asked if you could shower off an STD. There was never a day where we didn’t have a dozen new questions, and they got bolder each time we gathered. People had things they needed to know, and things they couldn’t ask anyone else. 

While it may seem shocking to some that a church camp was encouraging this kind of open and frank conversation about sex, looking back, it’s an incredibly powerful testament to how we as the church can engage our young people around issues of sexuality, curb any problematic theories or thinking, and still manage to push the concept that sex is a sacred, beautiful act meant for commitment - even exclusively within marriage. 

By the way, “s-e-m-e-n.” Just needed to redeem myself. 

——

The numbers don’t lie: abstinence-only education simply is not an effective way to keep people from having sex. 

“In 2008, federal funding for abstinence-only-until-marriage programming was curbed under the Obama administration after a congressionally mandated, comprehensive nine-year study showed that students who experienced abstinence-only education in public schools were ‘no more likely than control group youth to have abstained from sex and, among those who reported having had sex, they had similar numbers of partners and had initiated sex at the same mean age.’” - Pure, Linda Kay Klein, 25

In her book, Klein talks specifically about how education that centers around purity or abstinence is not only ineffective, but the correlation that its (particularly female) students draw between sex and shame only strengthens over time. She cites research being done among three conservative Christian groups: Baptists, Catholics, and Latter-day Saints. 

(If you want to really nerd out, the paper is called “The Intersection of Religion and Sex: Sex Guilt Resiliency among Baptists, Catholics, and Latter-day Saints” by K.S. Beale, E. Maynard, and M. O. Bigger, and was published in 2016). 

In their paper, these researches write: 

“There is little support indicating that the mechanisms currently used in our society (abstinence education, chastity pledges, and religious grounding) to curb teenage sexual activity actually work. The question remains, ‘Is our focus on sexual abstinence actually doing anything?’ 

It turns out that those who are sexually active and have experienced abstinence education and/or have stronger beliefs that the Bible should be literally translated [a core tenant of evangelicalism] have more sexual guilt. ...females report significantly higher sex guilt than males (and) sex guilt from the first sexual experience is predictive of higher sex anxiety, lower sexual efficacy, and lower sexual satisfaction. 

The relationship between sex guilt and...sexual satisfaction doesn’t diminish over time; it gets stronger….This is not a recipe for young women to embark on a fulfilling relationship with their partner and we predict it could be an indicator of further sexual problems and relationships issues.”

———

A huge struggle for the women who took my survey revolves around a really specific theological idea that I wasn’t familiar with: the concept of “cheap grace.” 

As I understood if from their definitions, “cheap grace” is when a person understands their sinfulness and repents, then acknowledges that God’s grace (and particularly the crucifixion of Christ) covers their sinfulness in perpetuity, and continues sinning with the benefit of that eternal forgiveness in mind. In other words, a person just assumes that they’ll always be forgiven, so the sinning itself isn’t so important. 

If you believe pre-marital sex is sinful, then it’s a really easy sin to identify - you’ve either done it or you haven’t. That’s part of why so many churches hang their hats on it (along with attitudes about drugs and alcohol) as a major piece of identity within a community. A binary action is easy to avoid. 

“I struggle with the fact that God is loving and forgives sins when we repent. But the Bible is so clear about sex before marriage. So if someone sins somewhat intentionally (ex- sex before marriage).... and keeps doing it.... will God keep forgiving their sin when they repent and truly feel bad or does this mean the person really isn’t saved or something else? I was raised to wait until marriage. But I haven’t waited and I go through periods where I will stop but then eventually have sex again and feel bad.” - Janet

“My college boyfriend and I had healthy, consensual sex. He was Catholic, and all of a sudden, one day, he decided sex was off the table. He was so guilt-stricken that he made himself sick about it. Eventually, we started having sex again, but he refused to buy condoms in advance because doing so would be premeditating the sin - otherwise, he could simply excuse it to himself as an ‘in-the-moment’ mistake that warranted God’s forgiveness.” - Rachel

I don’t have the benefit of years of scientific data or research, but I can imagine what this understanding of grace coupled with or own failure ultimately leads to. We turn off our ability to be honest with ourselves and vulnerable to a living God because what we get from church is that sexual purity (and heterosexual purity at that) is the biggest identifier we should be grappling with, and when that fails to be something we can achieve, we have two options: relent to the endless cycle of self-hatred that comes with repeatedly breaking a promise to God, or wall off that part of ourselves and decide that it doesn’t matter that much anyway. 

Neither option is really a good one. 

Again, this is not to say that pre/extra-marital sex as sinful is a problematic teaching in and of itself. It is to say that when we set something up as the ultimate indicator of whether or not someone is a faithful Christian, then refuse to engage young people about it beyond, “Don’t do that,” we force them into the choices I mentioned above. 

There are women who waited until marriage to have sex, who have healthy relationships with their spouses, but I am willing to bet that they were taught more than “Don’t do that.” 

“I am happy that I waited until my husband to have sex. It was actually pretty easy for me to say no - until I met him. Once I met him all bets were off! I never felt shame but I was concerned about getting pregnant before marriage. I think that is the ultimate “shame” in purity culture. People have sex quietly but those that get pregnant and “shamed” for basically getting “caught.” So I think purity culture really just encourages people to keep their sex life to themselves ... and you better not get pregnant!” - Maria

If your understanding of being a Christian is that being one means buying into a more legalistic lifestyle and set of behaviors (which for many is the case - and that’s great!), then it logically follows that all of those behaviors need to be viewed on equal footing and without technicality: sexual conservatism should be aligned with a charitable heart; abstinence from alcohol should go hand-in-hand with careful speech and abstention from gossip. Adherence to this quantitative and qualitative kind of life comprises a whole person, not a set of rules. 

But the rules are so much easier to teach, so much easier to break, so much easier to cheat, and so much easier to judge our successes by. It seems we as people crave a yardstick for both measuring our own failure by and for beating ourselves over the heads with when that failure is discovered. Rather than teaching our children the nuances of faith, we simply hand them the yardstick.

“Don’t do that,” we say, with a stern look. And then we leave the room. 

———

I talked to a wonderful human being by phone about all this. She’s a longtime friend of mine who grew up evangelical, who has actually been studying this exact field for her postgraduate research. At the end of our call, I asked her what advice she’d give the church moving forward. She said: 

“Changing the conversation is so rooted in ideas about gender. The church would have to get rid of, or let go of, complementarianism. The church has to let go of gender essentialism, gendered roles in the worship service and church labor overall. As long as you have this idea that women are x and men are y and that’s inherent - eg, all women are inherently nurturing and all men are inherently warriors - all of that undergirds this conversation about purity. For me, the church could ask itself, “Why are we so hung up about these ideas about what it means to be a Christian woman versus what it means to be a Christian man?” 

I loved this idea and thought it held a lot of weight, particularly in the realm of eliminating the conversation about Christianity as being tied to a particular piece of identity. There are certainly specifications laid out for how to excel at being something - a wife, a minister, a husband, a single person, a mother - but we’re all drawing our basics from the same holy book. The major thesis of Christianity as described by Christ, to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself,” doesn’t come with a caveat. 

Why do we seem so hell-bent on creating one? 

When you think about it objectively, in a faith system that’s based on service, love, radical inclusion, and humility, why is sex/sexuality/gender even a part of the conversation? And what is keeping the focus on those things keeping us from getting to? 

———

"Purity culture, in my opinion, was/is rooted in biblical truth about God's design for sex and intimacy, but it was taught in a way that a) put too much focus on this one area of obedience, leaving young women with the impression that it is the sum total of their identity before Christ and b) preloaded sex acts with so much shame that it's difficult to transition from ""Good Girls Don't"" to ""Hell Yeah Let's Get Naked,"" even in a covenant marriage. There has to be a better/more nuanced way to teach biblical orthodoxy regarding sexuality." - Michelle

Abstinence, from sex or from anything else, tends to be an easy identifier for a group of people. It’s an easy thing to teach children and young adults who may not be able to grasp the more amorphous ideals. “We don’t ______” is a lot easier to promote than “We’re people who love and give, people who value justice and mercy, and tout the benefits of radical inclusion.” 

Then again, who better to get those ideals than children and young adults, who haven’t been jaded by the world? What better group of people to hammer idealism into than that demographic? 

Overall, I get the sense that what we’re doing to our young people is unnecessarily hammering them with them they’re flawed, then offering them a solution. But here’s the thing about people between the ages of 11 and 20: they already know they’re not perfect. Everything in their lives is about measuring up - to the expectations of their parents, to the standards of their friends. Their lives are lived down a long, narrow hallway full of mirrors, comparison, and self-criticism. Christ can still be the solution to their problems without us planting the seeds of guilt within them - those seeds are already sprouting. No one is harder on them than they are on themselves. 

But no one smells bullshit faster than kids: 

“I’m still in high school and I had a mandatory “purity class” my freshman year. I would like to note that the boys didn’t have a purity class and got to do PE while the girls participated. Every time I would question why the boys don’t have one I was told they couldn’t find a male teacher to lead it. That’s bull. If they wanted to they could find a male teacher to lead this once a month class teaching from a book, they easily could. We read from a book called “and the bride wore white”. I couldn’t tell you if it was good or not because I quit reading after I saw the purity vs. cup scale [an object lesson comparing sexual experiences to chips in a teacup] while thumbing through it. I figured I didn’t really care what it said if it could pose such a biblically flawed scale of self-worth to the women and girls who would inevitably read this book. I’m not sure if you could even call what we did sex Ed because we mainly discussed the spiritual and emotional side of sex. All that aside, I have several friends who have told me that they are scared that when they do get married they won’t be able to separate sex from shame in their heads despite whether or not they will have waited by then.” - Carrie

It is no accident that young people are moving away from churches all over the country. Attendance among millennials, my peers, is at an all-time low. According to the Washington Post last year, “At the Pew Research Center, studies tracking America’s religious landscape found that although religious beliefs and practice have been declining at a rapid pace for people of all ages, the drop-off has been most pronounced among people ages 23 to 38. In 2019, roughly two-thirds attend worship services “a few times a year” or less, and 4 in 10 say they seldom or never go. A decade ago, it was more than half and only 3 in 10, respectively.”

We were brought up on doctrine and dogma, many of us raised deep within purity culture. The church, rather than being centered around the teachings of Jesus, was often centered around rules and a collective identity of following them. 

What if, instead of scaring our kids into abstinence, shaming them into judging their own biological urges, or hyper-gendering their church involvement, we instead gave them a place to be TRULY vulnerable? To share their deepest fears and concerns? More tangibly, to mis-spell the word “semen” and ask whether oral sex can get you pregnant? To admit something they’re ashamed of or embarrassed about having done? 

What if we allowed the inside of a church to reflect what’s happening on the outside? What if there was no performance needed? What if stepping through the doors became a relief instead of a restriction? 

———

Okay, so: practically speaking - what do we do to get there? 

I spoke by phone with my friend Emily who grew up evangelical and is now still very much a Christian, though no longer an evangelical one, about what she would’ve liked to have seen growing up. I asked her how she’d like to see sex discussed as sacred without the shame factor. Here’s what she said: 

“I have not personally found voices in a public space that are telling a good story about sex in a way that models sex in a way that I want to teach my children. I want to try really hard not to judge people who have one-night stands, or who have lots of sex with whoever they want - I am trying to get to the point where I accept that as a valid choice. To be totally honest, I’m not there yet. I don’t know how much of that is purity culture rearing its head and me being judgmental and and puritanical about sex, but I’m hoping that it’s more indicative of the reality that we are still so far off the mark when it comes to honorably discussing women’s sexuality. There doesn’t even seem to be science about it, or attention paid to it medically - how do we teach our sons and daughters about pleasure and consent, but also about how it’s sacred and important? You’re not a sinner if you have sex before marriage, but you’re not ready at 14.” 

As I listened, I tried to conjure anyone in popular culture who promotes a sacred view of sex without touting that sexual mis-steps are a dogmatic deal-breakers, and came up empty. A seemingly unbreachable dichotomy exists. On one hand, there are people who identify as sex-positive and unapologetic about their choices - some of whom even declaring sex positivity and adherence to faith in the same breath (harkening back to the origin of this series, Hannah Brown’s declaration that “I had sex and Jesus still loves me.”). On the other, there are strict rule-followers holding the line of pre/extra-marital sex as sinful. 

I submit that the church has an incredibly unique opportunity to bridge that gap. 

Here’s Emily again, with a truly brilliant observation: 

“I think one of the reasons that it was so easy for us (as evangelicals) to demonize sex outside of marriage is because we’re such a disembodied faith tradition. There’s a lot of “spirit is good, flesh is bad.” Starting there, and talking about the fact that God became flesh, God had a body, bodies are good and sacred - from there, we can get more into the ways that, just like everything else, sex and our bodies can be used to foster connection, but can also be used to harm.” 

Just like everything else, can be used to foster connection, but can also be used to harm. 

———

I’ve asked a lot of questions throughout this series, and the most important one may be this: are we, the grown ups, willing to do the risky work of stepping away from the rulebook in favor of actually engaging the players in the game? 

Getting at the heart of purity culture requires that we step away from the things that are simply not working. Young people don’t need coffee in worship - they just need somebody to shoot them straight. And the only people who can do that are the adults who’ve decided that it’s okay that they will, inevitably, run up against a question they don’t know the answer to. It will be the adults who decide if nuance is comfortable and if stepping away from the old guard is worth the risk to keep younger people interested and invested in their religious communities (which have so, so much to offer and can be so very formative to their development). 

What has been made incredibly clear to me is that this is that purity culture is layered - often lined with good intentions and executed with unintended (or unconsidered) consequences. To dissect it means to delve into the world of gender normativity, sexual politics, rape culture, and discrimination - again, not always intended, but often produced. 

What has also been made clear is that this is an amazing, pivotal moment for the church. It shouldn’t be viewed with dread, but with excitement, and with tons of hope for change. There is a way forward. There is room to grow. And in some cases, there is space for a much needed apology where harm has been done. 

It seems the best we can do may be to take everything back to basics. We must stop pre-supposing we know what’s best for people and allowing them to have some agency in making that choice; to stop prescribing labels and allowing the fullness of God to spring to life in one another. Living a Christian lifestyle and living with empathy, understanding, and willingness to grow shouldn’t be mutually exclusive. 

Maybe, as a last thought - whenever we’re sure we’ve got it all figured out, we might check ourselves by looking to the unending and radical heart of God, who has a sneaky way of reorienting even our most certain ideas. 

(And, at the risk of sounding trite, hallelujah for that.)

———

Acknowledgements: 

I was bowled over by just how many women (and men!) wanted to talk to me about this topic. In the last 6 months, I’ve had 7 hour-long phone calls, 240 survey responses, and countless coffee conversations where friends (but mostly perfect strangers) were willing to tell me what they thought: their stories, their pain, and their hope for a better future. So many took time to write paragraphs of academic paper-level discourse on this subject, to the point that they really should’ve written this series themselves. Thank you so much to all who were up for telling me some pretty intimate things, and especially to the people who told their stories of sexual violence for the first time to me. I am humbled by your openness, and I hope this series has honored your experiences. 

Purity Culture, Part III: Can You Keep A Secret?

In each section below, you’ll hear from people who responded to my survey. I have ascribed everyone in this essay a fake name (I didn’t ask for names in my survey) to help delineate each individual response from the one before or after it. 

———

“I never knew you were such a slut.” 

In college, four of my very best friends were goofy straight guys who I adored. We were all on the executive board of our school’s SGA together, so we spent tons of time in each other’s company, procrastinating schoolwork and generally acting stupid. I wish I could say that we were at least drinking while we sat up until 2 AM - nope. We were mostly making up sketch comedy that never got performed, going to Waffle House, or writing papers that were due the next morning. It’s as lame (and as innocent, and fun, honestly) as it sounds. 

My senior year, I started dating a guy (we’ll call him Steven) who most people would agree was a bit of a wrong fit. Without going into too much detail because (unlike the women you’ll hear from later in this piece) I’m not anonymous, I’ll say that texts like the one I quoted above were not uncommon occurrences. Steven hated that I had male friends, especially ones I really loved, especially straight ones - though I’d venture a guess that any male in my life, gay or straight, would’ve posed a problem. He regularly lashed out via text and eventually drove me to the point that I stopped seeing my friends altogether - stopped going to socials and date parties - during my senior year of college. He crashed my graduation after staying up all night and arrived looking haggard and sinister, loomed around every corner, even demanded that I refuse to pose for photos with my male professors, because doing so would’ve been disrespectful to him. 

These were the most savory of his unsavory behaviors, and the only ones I’m comfortable discussing in such a public way. My family and friends knew that it wasn’t the best relationship, but had no idea about the depth of darkness behind the scenes, mostly because I was pretty adept at hiding it from them. Eventually, I joined Teach For America and found myself falling into my same patterns - keeping my male peers within TFA at arm’s length, icing them out with no real explanation, fielding furious phone calls and never feeling comfortable leaving my phone out of reach, in case (disaster of disasters) I missed a phone call or took more than 3 minutes to respond to his texts. The prospect of starting a new chapter in my life still tethered to someone whose presence I’d never be able to really explain spooked me just enough that mid-way through training in TFA, I called and broke up with him by phone, and never looked back. We had dated for just over a year, and it was a year I’d never get back.

This series is not about me, but I wanted to include that anecdote for a couple of reasons. First, because it’s honest, and I would feel a little disingenuous allowing the brave people who told me their stories to talk without sharing that I was once also part of the club of women who’ve been pushed around (whether literally or figuratively) by a romantic partner. 

Secondly, because I think we often picture women who are involved in abusive relationships as frail and weak, as though they’re simply not smart enough to pull the trigger and leave for good. I hope at this point in our relationship, you know that I am outspoken, loud, and borderline obnoxious - I don’t think “weak” or “frail” would normally be used to describe me - and yet, I spent a year of my life being treated very badly. 

Having been in an abusive relationship, I can say that the view looking out from within it is quite different than standing on the outside looking in. I never believed that I was worthless, or slutty, or any of the other things he called me, but I was certain that with enough time, I could change his heart and make him into a kinder person. My belief in the dynamic nature of people fueled by decades of church attendance certainly kept me in the relationship for lots longer than I should’ve been in it. With years of a healthy marriage and the gift of retrospect, I see now that changing him was never possible - at least, not possible for me to take on, and not at that time in his life. But it sure seemed like it could happen at the time. 

———

“For women: if you grew up in church, were you taught that you should have sex with your husband whenever he asked for it or demanded it, whether you were in the mood or not?”

Of 155 people who answered that survey question, 60 answered (38%), “Yes.” 

A major theme that arose in talking to women about their experience within purity culture was making the jump from non-sexual to hyper-sexual once there was a ring involved. For years, many women were taught that anything associated with sex - the act itself, foreplay, dressing too provocatively, even being too conversationally assertive and “forward” - was unacceptable and even sinful. However, within the confines of marriage, the game changed - but their knowledge of the playbook remained the same. 

As with anything we’ve discussed here, there are many facets: I heard from many women who waited to have sex until marriage and now enjoy beautifully fulfilling sex lives with their spouses, free of shame or hang-ups. 

But this particular group struggled to make the leap from viewing sex as shameful before marriage, to finding freedom in it within marriage. For some, it felt awkward and clumsy, and they walked away from the first experience confused and embarrassed that they weren’t able to satisfy or fulfill themselves or their partners: 

“Sex is the biggest pain point in my marriage. Even though the first time I had sex with my husband was consensual, and I wanted it, I dealt with a ton of shame afterward. Even though, intellectually I knew I was in a committed, supportive, loving relationship, and it was with the guy I was going to marry. I had it programmed in my mind that it should be an immediate thing, since we were engaged. I should just know what to do, it should be super comfortable, and super actualized - and that’s obviously not true. My parents didn’t talk about it very much, I never learned a ton about mechanics, so I didn’t have enough frank conversations about how to actually have sex. I was taught, ‘If you draw a line and the line is NO SEX, stay as far away from the line as possible.’ So when I did it, I was like, ‘Oh, God. I can see that this is good, but also, there’s so much of the in-between stuff that I feel like I missed because I avoided it my whole life.’ - Grace

For a particularly unfortunate few respondents, there was no sexual diplomacy; they were treated as living blow-up dolls for their husbands, who’d been taught that their sexual desires should be fulfilled at every opportunity.

In a pre-marriage world, having a lack of knowledge about details, sexual positions, what you personally enjoy, how to please a partner - all of those things are lauded as wholesome qualities. Post-marriage, for these women, they were suddenly expected to have all the answers. Virgin to vixen, just like that. 

———

It would be a mistake to assume that boys don’t experience any shame around sex. The fact of the matter is that boys and girls experience messages of shame around their sexuality - the difference isn’t the messages they receive, but how it plays out. 

I got to have a fascinating phone conversation with a friend of mine, Andrew (not his real name), where he started discussing how his desire to appear good and worthy to his parents when he was growing up caused him to treat women as disposable: 

“I would make a bad choice [sexually with a girl], then realize it was bad sometimes, then be like, ‘Fuck. What do I do to make sure no one knows about this?’ Which would at times mean that the girl in school who was more sexually active, who might’ve been labeled ‘slutty,’ or something like that - I would flirt with them (in private), and enjoy it. And then at school, I’d treat them like a pariah. Which probably felt really...shitty for those women. But at the time, I didn’t really have the capability to reckon with those two sides (of myself).” 

One of the big complications of complementarianism is that it emphasizes traditional gender roles. It promotes the traditional definition of masculinity (which, on its own and free of value judgment, isn’t particularly problematic), then, in the same breath, condemns the sexual desires that come along with that definition - and that, for many young men, come early and naturally. In other words, we teach our young men: “Be leaders in your families, be honorable, be attracted to women, be male,” and then, “Don’t have sex, don’t think about sex, don’t masturbate.” 

Here’s Andrew again: 

“The mid-2000’s was the age of the pimp. If you get girls, then you’re good. I wanted to have the status that was surrounding that image of a man. But then, at church...we were taught that sex was bad, boys are blue, girls are pink, you should never make purple. I was taught that the things that I wanted were dirty and bad. I would invite girls over, make out with them, and then get them out the door before my parents got home.” 

When your whole relationship to sexuality is based in shame, but the sexual urges and images (to say nothing of access to those images in the age of instant Internet porn) are constant and unrelenting, as they often are for boys from elementary to high school, then a sort of mental concession takes place: “I obviously can’t do anything about what I’m feeling, and the church is teaching me that sexual purity is not only attainable, but mandatory. Since I can’t seem to attain it, that must mean I’m a bad person. Oh well. I guess I’ll just lean into the shame. I give up.” 

For many young adults, especially young Christians, the idea of being “good” is the driver of so much behavior. I relate to that deeply -- the worst thing I could imagine growing up was to shame my family with some behavior or choice of mine. But I also relate so much to this next quote from Andrew: 

“I have always had a proclivity for being afraid of getting in trouble. When I got older, I realized you can’t get into trouble if people don’t know about it.’”

That struck such a chord for me as I listened to him talk. If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, did it really happen? If a sexual act between two young Christians takes place behind closed doors and no one knows, did it really happen? 

Of course it did. The real question is: what happens to the young people’s opinions of themselves when they’re split in two? What happens when the public and private sides become two completely different people? 

“In youth group growing up, we were expected to be perfect, pure, non-sexual virgin martyrs, and we treated men like they were lustful, horny animals all the time - who have no control and are not capable of being thoughtful about women. It’s unfair to both of us. Most of the conversation is centered around women in [unpacking the damages of] purity culture, and I think like, 70% of it should be, but it also sucks for guys.” - Emily 

———

After you’ve started hiding your choices, it’s easier to hide more and more of them. Hiding sexual choices, though, especially without proper education and information, can lead to a lot of intimidating and unexpected bumps in the road. 

For example: if you’re a young woman in high school, and your parents don’t know you’re having sex because it flies in the face of your faith, how do you access to birth control? What happens if you get pregnant? Almost 50% of my 241 survey respondents answered that they had irrational fears of getting pregnant growing up because it would've made apparent something that was otherwise a secret. Here are a few examples of their answers when asked if they harbored this fear: 

“Yes!!! I took pregnancy tests when not sexually active. Makes no sense.” - Belle

“I was sort of the opposite example. Since sex was sinful, I shouldn't be having it. Since I shouldn't be having sex, there was no reason for me to buy birth control. When I became sexually active, I was more terrified of being "caught" buying birth control than anything else, so I routinely practiced unsafe sex. Terrifying in hindsight." - Diana

“Yes. I remember doing research to ensure that I couldn’t get pregnant from oral sex. I wanted to make sure that those pesky sperm couldn’t somehow swim from my mouth to my digestive system and into my reproductive system!” - Candace

Secrecy can put young people, particularly young women, in precarious situations, especially if they’ve been taught that their modesty and their own desires should set the sexual boundaries within relationships: 

“I really liked a guy and wanted him to kiss me. He didn't kiss me until he was in the middle of sexually assaulting me. I wanted to be kissed. But I was taught at church that if I was aroused, the guy was aroused even more. If I wanted to be kissed, and since I was taught that men have no control when they get aroused, then it was my fault I was assaulted. Sex (or lack of) has been the reason why I did not date much and if I did, why relationships were so difficult. It is not that I am against sex. I really want to have a wonderful sexual relationship with someone. A relationship filled with love, passion and imagination. I just have so many thoughts and emotions ‘in the moment’  that can be challenging to work through.” - Kristen 

“I married my middle school boyfriend, and we both experienced a lot of shame for our sexuality throughout our teenage and young adult years. We experimented with sex on and off beginning around age 14. It was a constant cycle of sex - guilt - repent  - repeat. Even after marriage and leaving the church entirely, I still have twitches associated with sex. I sometimes get overly anxious, if I think a neighbor can hear us having sex. I had a panic attack the last time we stayed at his parents house and tried to have an intimate moment. I still feel shame when shopping for new clothing sometimes. For several years of adulthood, it felt like I was recovering from a trauma.” - Anne

As a counter to that, I feel it’s important to include that several women wrote in to describe how vivacious and - direct quote here - “bangin’” (you go, girl!) their sex lives were after remaining abstinent and exploring sex openly with their husbands: 

“Everything is on the table now, including us literally having sex on a table sometimes. It’s wonderful to have trust and commitment and confidence before stepping into a physical relationship. All of that is built before sex, so you know that the sex is just icing on the cake.” - Kathryn

“It's weird. I *thought* I was uninhibited and enjoying sex in the early years of my marriage, but I'm beginning to realize that I was still pretty caged up for a long time. I get a bit more free every year now, and enjoy sex in my 40s way more than in my 20s/30s.” - Teresa 

The differences in these anecdotes tell the story of what it means to celebrate and educate youth about sex vs. what it means to create a culture of shame around it. What kind of success stories would there be, I wonder, if we could transparently discuss sex (including things young people might identify as their own sexual mis-steps) in our churches without creating fear or stigma? 

———

One woman who took the survey found an old notebook she’d kept during her youth group’s study of I Kissed Dating Goodbye, a book that rose to popularity in the late 90’s and early 00’s. IKDG promotes courtship and group dates over one-on-one dating, condemns homosexuality, and suggests that young people should keep themselves pure for their eventual spouse. (It should be noted that Joshua Harris, the author, recently went on the record retracting much of what he wrote, after divorcing his wife and revealing that he is no longer a Christian.) 

In her notes from the study guide on chapter six, “The Direction of Purity,” she wrote: 

“Make the purity of others a priority. Watch out for the opposite sex. Try not to make them impure. In fact, make it your mission to steer them away from temptation.” 

That sort of messaging - that the purity of men is the responsibility of women - is communicated a lot, whether tacitly or explicitly. The things we wear are often scrutinized, and our bodies are referred to as “stumbling blocks” of male sexuality. It doesn’t take too many more steps down that path to see how this line of logic could be used to justify all sorts of unhealthy male behavior, even the most reprehensible. 

——— 

Trigger warning: the following section contains details about sexual assault and rape.

I will admit freely that when I posed the question, “Have you ever been the victim of sexual violence?”, I was totally unprepared for the answers. For the first few days of the survey being live, each night, I’d wade through the newest answers, shaking my head in utter disbelief that this many people had experienced that kind of trauma. That’s evidence of my own ignorance to the pervasiveness of this issue. 

Out of 240 respondents, over 30% answered, “Yes.” Many of those people had been sexually assaulted or raped by more than one person, so the number of actual incidents is higher than the number of people reporting. 

34 individual people wrote in harrowing detail about the instances of their rape. In order to consolidate the responses I received, I exported them to an Excel spreadsheet. As I sit here writing this, I am literally scrolling through the dozens of accounts: molestation at the hands of family members; date rape in college; forced oral sex...I can practically hear the voices, almost as though these individuals are reading them aloud to me. I feel very humbled to have been told so many deeply personal and hard-to-talk-about things. 

Thank you to everyone who shared. 

The next question I asked in the survey, after whether the respondent had experience sexual violence, was whether their faith community knew about it and, if so, what the response was. There were mixed reports - some wrote that they shared with their clergy and were warmly and unwaveringly supported. Others have never shared with their faith communities - some have never told another living soul. 

Here are two stories that paint two different pictures of the church’s response: 

“I met the guy, let’s call him Dan. He was older and had already graduated college. I was a senior. Dan visited the school one night. I had had one drink before I showed up, and he got me a beer when I showed up. Around 30 minutes later I felt very drunk (still only having had 2 drinks) so I told Dan I was going back to my place. He insisted on going back with me and got a friend to drive us back. I thought Dan was just being nice and/or was interested in me. He came back to my room and I thought we’d make out or fool around a little and then he’d leave. However, I remember walking into my room and then nothing until waking up with him on top of me, inside me. I was paralyzed. I felt like I couldn’t do anything or say anything. I guess it was out of shock. I didn’t tell anyone for two years. When I told my parents they cried and comforted me but also got upset with me for not reporting him or trying to press charges. I know it is the right thing to do, but I honestly never want to see Dan again, and there’s a very low chance that I ever will. When I told my long time friends from college who are all Christians, they acted like they believed me but I don’t actually think they did. It took me a long time to tell people because I blamed myself for the longest time. I felt that since I let him in my room and liked him, it was my fault that he raped me. I was to blame. The only reason I confronted it two years later is because I started having flashbacks and nightmares of that night all the time. It was to the point that I couldn’t focus on anything or would start crying for no reason. I have worked through this, but I still don’t share my experience with many people out of fear that I won’t be believed.” 

“When I was 20 years old, a friend that I had known for about a year raped me in his vehicle outside of a party I was attending. It was not extremely physically violent (aka he didn't hold a gun to my head), but it was VERY emotionally and mentally violent. Looking back, there were a lot of red flags about him and he had been grooming/stalking me for the entire year that we were friends. Because I was so naive about what healthy friendships/relationships looked like, I didn't notice until it was too late. Once I realized it, he was already fully committed and it turned into a power control issue. He stalked me by randomly showing up places I was or forcing me to go places with him. He was very verbally and emotionally abusive towards me, saying things like, ‘Are you sure you don't want to date me? You do realized that *insert the guy’s name I was dating at the time* cheats on you and doesn't really like you.’ Anyway, the night of the rape, he called me and asked if I would come out to his car because he wanted to apologize. I should've known better, but I didn't. Long story short, he lured me into his car and held me down and berated me until I submitted to him in order to just get myself out of there. When he was done, he said ‘You can go back to the stupid party now,’ and he drove off. I was left crying in the street outside. I immediately drove home and showered. He texted me the next day saying, ‘You liked it didn't you? I know you did even though you didn't show it.’ I deleted the text and blocked his number and I've never been in contact with him again. I told no one about my experience until I found out was pregnant and was basically forced to. But when I did, they responded with such grace and comfort towards me and my family.”

Including too many quotes in this section feels tawdry and unnecessarily cheapens the sanctity of what I feel these brave folks did in typing out their stories, so I won’t do that. 

There’s no correlation between growing up in church and experiencing sexual assault. There were, though, a number of people who said something along the lines of, “I didn’t know what appropriate boundaries looked like because we never discussed them in my house or church.” This, of course, wouldn’t prevent anyone from experiencing assault; knowing where a boundary is doesn’t mean someone else is going to observe it. But it struck me as poignant that those boundaries need to be discussed early and often, and if we’re talking about sex in church, then we should be talking about healthy sex in church.

To round this section out in an unapologetically editorial paragraph: if this number of people were willing to write in to me anonymously, I can almost guarantee that you know someone (whether you know it or not) who’s been the victim of sexual assault or rape. Maybe you yourself have been. Whatever else you take away from this post, I hope you make it your mission to speak aloud in any church circle you can that anyone who’s been the victim of this sort of abuse is NOT AT FAULT, that they are deeply loved, and that you are available to support them and to help them seek additional help. It makes an enormous difference to have a judgment-free place to land.

Shouldn’t that be what the church is? 

——— 

As a new parent myself, I sympathize deeply and in a new way with what it must be like for parents and church leaders who don’t want their children having sex (for reasons religious or otherwise), but who also want to be honest enough to keep their children safe from harm. What a very challenging line that must be to walk. 

And I sure don’t have the answer. But I asked a lot of people what they’d tell the adults in their lives to do differently if they could do it over again - and there’s lots to unpack. It’s pretty hopeful, I have to say. It turns out, we can change some things. 

That’s next week. 

Purity Culture, Part II: Take a Complement

In the survey I posted on my Instagram, hundreds responded to this question: “Did you ever feel like you were out of place within your prescribed gender role at church? If so, please elaborate on how that looked.”

In each section below, you’ll hear from people who responded to my survey. I have ascribed everyone in this essay a fake name (I didn’t ask for names in my survey) to help delineate each individual response from the one before or after it. 

---

“I was always viewed as being ‘too much,’ and told that no man would ever want me because I had dreams and aspirations beyond being a homemaker. I didn’t sit idly by and I always spoke my mind. I was constantly told that my behavior was ‘unbecoming.’” - Jenna

“I don’t know, she just seems kind of bitchy.” - me, on Hillary Clinton, talking to my youth group on a Wednesday night at church in 2006. 

Oh, high school Mary Catherine. 

Calling Hillary Clinton “bitchy” was my own tiny way of saying, “I’m going to curse and say something subversive here, because I don’t like the assumption that, just because I’m a girl, I have to be a ‘lady.’” I don’t know if I even really felt that way about Hillary (I certainly don’t now). But rocking the boat in whatever small, safe way I could felt good and powerful, even if it was ultimately pretty silly. 

For me, this was an act of protest. Which, for the record, is ridiculous - my church was very pro-women-in-leadership, as were my parents, so I had no system to buck against. And still - I couldn’t embrace feminism as an idea until my junior year of college, and even then, did it a little begrudgingly. Feminism was a word that didn’t belong in a sentence with “church going girl” or “Southern girl,” for that matter - both huge parts of my identity. It represented aggressive, loud, brash women.

Today, of course, I feel differently about it. Feminism stands alongside Southern and Christian as a profound part of who I am. But the gender roles taught within purity culture (and within society, really) constantly cause us to evaluate: even if women can, there’s always a question about whether women should. 

———

“I do have a strong personality and a gift for leadership but that was always encouraged. I was on our leadership team in youth group and led other groups. Submission was/is discussed as how a wife should submit to her husband's leadership in marriage, assuming he is leading in accordance with scripture. It has been made clear many times that this is NEVER in reference to women in a hurtful/abusive relationship and is never in a demeaning or overpowering way.” - Cindy

Complementarianism is “the idea that there are two distinct genders that have equal worth in God’s eyes, but very different rules, responsibilities, and expectations here on earth: The man is to be undeniably masculine, even as he practices patience and understanding as a leader, whereas the woman is to be irrefutably feminine and to lovingly consent to and support the leadership of the man” (Linda Kay Klein, 62). 

Though this term was new for me in doing this research, I was deeply familiar with its execution. Growing up, my first two long-term boyfriends (3 and 4.5 years, respectively) both attended the same Church of Christ in Decatur. I spent a lot of time in that church and around the idea of complementarianism, which showed up in pretty obvious ways, but is kind of all over the place if you’re looking for it. 

Cindy’s quote above reflects the goal of a healthy complementarian lifestyle: a man, led by God, leads his wife and household; a woman, following a godly male lead, leads a life alongside him - not unequal to him, but decidedly different in purpose. Within each role is a deeply understood set of gender prescriptions about the traditionally Christian male (strong, honorable, magnanimous, wise) and the traditionally Christian female (beautiful, humble, kind, nurturing).  

Complementarianism is evident in both protestant and Catholic churches, no matter how progressive. In the United Methodist Church, where I grew up, women are allowed in every position (all the way to the top - the Bishop of the UMC in the United States is a woman), but still experience massive gender discrimination. No matter how liberal the church, women in leadership positions almost inevitably ruffles someone’s feathers because the idea that men should lead is tacitly ingrained in many of us.

More obviously, many evangelical denominations don’t allow women in higher-level leadership - certainly at the preaching level, but as far-reaching as Sunday School or bible study classes. Doing so would buck against the norms set up by complementarianism: women shouldn’t be in leadership positions that give them authority over men in any setting.

In portions of the evangelical community, like the Church of Christ, the concept of gender separate-ness is taken to extremes: because of the implicit doctrine that women must never preside over men, if a boy as young as 8 chooses to get baptized, he could no longer participate in mixed-gender Sunday School or bible lessons taught by a woman. Getting baptized, which would effectively make him “beyond the age of innocence,” and, in essence, go from a spiritual boy to a spiritual man, would cause the formerly acceptable female Sunday School teacher to be rendered problematic. In those cases, the female teacher would either have to be replaced by a male, or the student would have to be moved out of the class. 

———

“I am female, but I was always very outspoken and questioned authority a lot (still do, hard enneagram 8 here). I was told I wouldn't make a good "Christian Wife" and that my career dreams (knew I wanted to be a lawyer since I was little) would fail because it was a man's world.” - Rhea

A particularly intense example of how complementarianism plays itself out in culture is evident at Lads to Leaders/Leaderettes, a convention held in many cities across the country, often on Easter weekend, that brings together thousands of young people from different Churches of Christ and offers competition-based activities to promote biblical familiarity, leadership skills, etc. 

One survey respondent wrote in specifically about this event, and I’ll let her take it from here: 

“We (the youth group) were involved in competitions within the Church of Christ—bible reading, song leading, etc. Men were not allowed to attend anything where women were leading worship. I remember being second place nationally in my age group in song leading (stay jealous) and being devastated that the men in my family, specifically my father, brother, and boy cousins, who I was always closest to, couldn’t see me win.  When I converted to the Episcopal church, I was allowed to be an acolyte and actively participate in the service. I was ecstatic and was “serving” at almost every service from the time I was 14 until I was 18.” - Lee

Another response about Lads to Leaders came shortly after: 

“Our congregation was/is involved in a regional conference-type event that happened yearly. The conference is/was geared to children ages 5-18, and tried/tries to create an environment in which youth from different congregations can compete in certain events- speech, song leading, you get it. At this conference, if a girl child participates in speech, even your very own five-year-old girl child, Dad cannot watch her give it/compete. Or brothers. Grandfather. Zero penis. [No] men at all. Because....that's women teaching men in the church and we just can NOT have that.” - Hannah

I can speak directly to this because I actually competed in the debate competition at Nashville’s Lads to Leaders in high school - no men were allowed to watch us compete (including my debate partner’s dad and my boyfriend), though we advanced and ultimately took first place. (That there was a humble brag.) 

Hannah continued:

“Ladies (at church) were expected to be in charge of young children, committees, bridal teas, baby showers, cleaning baptismal garments, and taking food to the sick folk. And honestly, no man was ever mean or rude or went out of their way to throw their proverbial weight around. Not to say there have never been those, or weren't those then, that have, but in my own personal experience it was just sort of the natural state of being.” 

The last part of Hannah’s answer, where she talks about how no one ever “threw (his) proverbial weight around” is noteworthy to me because it paints a clear picture of how this sort of dynamic is perpetuated. If everyone feels valued within their prescribed place in the structure of a church, then what’s the problem? 

Is it possible to see value in a system that also, in the end, caps what we teach our daughters about their own leadership potential? How do you answer the questions of a 5-year-old girl who asks why her father isn’t allowed to watch her shine? 

---

“I  am definitely assertive with strong leadership skills and during my years in the church, I was never not in a leadership position. I taught Sunday school, sang in both the choir and as a worship leader, and was even given the opportunity to speak in front of the congregation a couple of times. If there were people telling me I needed to “submit” to anyone, I wasn’t listening!” - Rachel

It would be a mistake to assume that women who believe in and abide by complementarianism are weak, subservient, or simple-minded. Some of the strongest, most assertive women I know have learned to flex their leadership muscles in churches that promote ideals of gender separate-ness, and that may be part of the reason they have such powerful leadership skills to begin with: instead of competing with boys and men for the spotlight, they were given their own stage. 

I got to chat by phone with an inter-generational buddy/hero of mine who we’ll call Melissa - an undeniable leader with a sharp sense of humor and knock-your-boots off writing skills, who also subscribes to complementarianism. She and I differ politically and doctrinally on lots of things, but we share in common a streak of outspokenness. Here’s what she had to say about complementarianism: 

“Sometimes I wonder, am I a fraud? As a Southern Baptist, on its face, I believe in complementarianism - in the home, at least, I believe God has given...not unequal roles, but slightly different roles. On the one hand, our home functions that way because my husband is the breadwinner. But at the same time, in my own life, I have a husband who is pre-programmed...to esteem me, consider me...and I know in lots of complementarian homes and churches, that just ain’t the case.” 

When I asked her if she’d ever been negatively impacted by her big personality as it pertains to her gender role, especially as a young adult, she said: 

“I can’t ever say that anyone said to me, ‘You need to hush and sit down,’ but there was a lot of talk around me about the roles of women - enough that I knew that there was only so far I could go with certain things before I would run into that buzzsaw.” 

We talked a little longer about how the current climate of feminism and political promotion of women as leaders has impacted the Baptist church’s view on gender roles. Melissa acknowledged that there’s a lot of turmoil, and shared this story with me:

“There’s a massive internal debate raging about it right now. You have a lot of millennial pastors who’ve grown up in a world where professionally and civically, they’ve been raised to think of women as their peers. They find it utterly awkward to look at a woman and say, ‘You can’t teach this class because there are some men in it.’

I have a high view of scripture and believe that it’s specific about ordination and pastoral ministry, and that that is something that is reserved for men. But I do not at all buy into this idea that women are never to speak or teach or lead in front of men. When our long-time Sunday School teacher had to step back...he came to me and asked me if I would fill in. He had heard an audio tape of me teaching. He said, ‘You’re the person, will you do this?’ I said, ‘I’m happy to do this, but I know the Baptist faith and message well enough to know that this could not go well with some people. I’d like an assurance that no one is going to have a problem with this.’ I stood up and taught that class week after week that was populated with no fewer than 8 deacons in our church.” 

Eventually, a young male pastor came to her to express his discontent with her new role. She ultimately agreed with him that a man would’ve been the preferable choice and said to the pastor: 

“It’s a funny thing - none of the men in that class had studied the word as much as I had in the decade prior to that, and none of them were equipped. So who failed complementarianism there? I’m all for staying in my lane, but if you abdicate yours, I’m not going to let the sheep go unfed.’” 

--- 

“While I had female role-models I looked up to, I more often found myself wanting to look like and be like boys, which really started ramping up in high school where I was a theatre kid and played mostly male roles, and dressed almost exclusively as male characters. Nowadays I've been transitioning in earnest for about five years, and have been one hormone replacement therapy for roughly 3 of those, and had a double mastectomy in March 2019.” - Taylor

Of course, the elephant in the room is comprised of all the people who don’t fit into a prescribed gender at all. What if your sexual orientation, from the beginning of your life, precludes you from ever feeling at home in the church because what you’re taught is that being a Christian means being a straight, cis-gendered male or female? 

I won’t presume to speak for the people who’ve had these experiences, beyond saying that this facet of complementarianism can’t be cleaned up or “done right.” There is simply no space for genderqueer, gender non-comforming, or gender non-binary people within its structure, and because of that, if you identify as anything other than traditionally male or female, you’re receiving the message in a complementarian church that the family of God does not have room for you. The pushback here would be that a conservative reading of scripture doesn’t allow for anything but traditionally heterosexual male/female relationships, and that the exclusionary nature of that reading is reflective of God’s design for men and women within marriage.

I wish to both represent that opinion as objectively as I can and also add as a personal and editorial comment that I find anything that is exclusionary about church to be against the very heart of God. 

If all you want to be seen as is “good,” in the eyes of your church family and your Creator, the idea that the very fabric of who you are is unacceptable right from the start is harrowing. And if you’re trying that to be true to who you are, yet still welcomed into your chosen house of God, it means you must be driven into secrecy. People who responded to my survey who had this experience spent years unwinding the lessons the church taught them about their own lack of worthiness or place.

By the time I came out, I was Episcopalian, and my church is affirming so it was a nonissue. I know I haven’t had it as bad as some have. It took me a long time to not hate myself for experimenting with my sexuality and gender identity, to allow myself to enjoy sex and to be interested in both learning about it and doing it. I was suicidal for a long time because I would feel like it was okay and then I’d lay in bed at night wondering if my natural state would send me to hell. I’ve never shaken the feeling of being rejected by my family. My wife’s family has always treated me as one of their own family and they love on me and cherish me, and it makes me sad to think about how my relationship with my family could have been if I had conformed to their expectations. But in the end, my life is full and joyous and I get to love the person God made for me and I get to enjoy being who I believe God wanted me to be. That is what I find so comforting when I am reminded of my family relationships. And not all of my family relationships are bad. They are all mostly civil to my wife and I. I guess I was just raised in such a tight-knit family that I expected more than civil. I expected deep and boundless love, and that’s just not a realistic reality for my family given the circumstances. And I hope to be okay with that someday. - Lee, who identifies as genderqueer and is now married to a trans woman

———

At my home church in Decatur, the youth take over the service for one Sunday a year. In 2005, I gave the sermon. I remember writing it, rehearsing it, going over it and over it to make it exactly right. I felt so proud, so energized - it was one of the purest moments of purpose I’ve ever had, not because it was about me, but because I felt like I was being used for something. My dad, brother, and grandfather were in the congregation that day. Just a year later, I would be standing in a room at the Opryland Hotel, working toward winning the debate prize at Lads to Leaders, while my boyfriend stood in the hall and prayed for us.

There will always be congregations - entire denominations, even - whose doctrine and politics promote complementarianism. Many of the people I love most subscribe to it and feel healthy within it, and that very fact keeps me from passing a judgment on the idea itself - it would be disrespectful and presumptuous of me to do so. Melissa’s existence and her role in the world prove that there are perfectly healthy ways to exercise this principle which promote women and their views, leadership, and skills.

What I can say from reading the 240 responses that were submitted to me about this very thing is that the practice is widely varied in its execution, sometimes lifting women up and celebrating their gifts at every turn, and other times communicating to them even as children that their gifts and talents (within the walls of the church and in the world at large) are only for the benefit of their female peers. Played to its fullest and most dangerous extreme, the latter notion gives women the impression that men will always have the final say and hold the cards for them - even when those men, contrary to Cindy’s quote above, aren’t living a godly life.

I am sorry to report that the power dynamic encouraged by complementarianism gone wrong leads to oppression and sometimes sexual violence, and that’s what we’ll talk about next week. It’s gnarly stuff, but it’s worth your time. And really, we have to look closely to ask: what are we teaching our daughters about what they deserve?

See you there.

Stuck Inside? What to Watch!

She’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes (when she comes)!

“She,” of course, being COVID-19.

…I realize it’s not something to make light of, I just had to get into this blog post somehow.

Many of us, I know, will be spending lots of time inside - some with children to entertain (God bless), and some with themselves to keep occupied (lucky bastards). There are so, SO (many too??) many options for us to peruse when it comes to finding ways to spend our time inside, so I crowd-sourced some favorites from my Instagram followers and included a few of my own!

First of all, some quick tips. I only have one child and he’s just over 2 - so take this with a grain of salt, but I’m a stay-at-home parent, and I know if you’re not used to all this togetherness (and frankly, even if you are), things can get DICEY. Like, hide in the bathroom while kids scream in the other room and you pray for the cover of night so you can eat a full sleeve of Oreos kind of dicey. Also, I’m aware that there are lots of parents who will be working full-time hours while still trying to parent at home since schools are closed - YOU ARE THE REAL HEROES. I salute you!

Here’s what works for our family, largely plagiarized from things I’ve learned from other SAHP’s:

• Subscribe to Disney+ and PBS. Just do it.

• Get up and get ready before your kids wake up. I know, it’s a pain in the ass and you’d rather sleep in. But the days I do this, I’m so much better off than the days I don’t.

• Add structure to your days, even if you’re just inside. I’m not suggesting you’re regimented in everything, of course. But for my money, kids appreciate boundaries, structure, and dependability. Waking up every day without any idea what’s on the docket for the next tWeLvE hOuRs is extremely overwhelming and leads to decision fatigue before you even get to lunch. My little rule for myself is that by 10 AM, we need to be in the car going somewhere or doing an activity. Obviously, things look different right now, but you can still get out of the house - run around in the backyard, drive around, have a car dance party, I saw one mom suggest the car wash - get creative! Maybe at 10 and 3 every day, screens get put away and you do something together as a family.

• Make mealtimes a “thing.” Have your kids help get them ready, pump them up, eat as a family at the table, have them clear their own plates. Kids are really good helpers when we empower them to be!

• If you need activities, visit the Holy Grail of sources: the busy toddler.com This woman will save your bacon and keep you from sneaking into your bathroom to have a shower beer at by 9 in the morning. Rainbow Rice (and I know everyone has an excess of rice right now) is a gift from the baby Jesus.

• Control the TV and when it goes off. For Mac, the things that works best is giving him a warning that it’s coming and a promise of the next activity. Suddenly turning off a show or a video leads to a meltdown - “The TV is going off in 10 minutes, and then we’re going to have lunch!” There’s nothing wrong with screen time in moderation, but unmitigated TV all day every day is going to create problems for you. Just trust me. Been there (way too many times).

• Have kids help with random household tasks. Are they going to be done perfectly? No. Will they probably have to be done again? Sure will. But “folding” laundry, sweeping up a mess, etc., can be a good way to occupy your time.

• SORT. Anything. Everything. By color, size, shape, texture, function - put things into piles with your kids. Make forts. Rearrange the bookshelf. Take your clothes off and run around outside. Have a “naked day.” Eat popsicles in the bathtub. Paint pictures for grandparents. Write letters to friends. Whatever you do - your energy and attitude are going to reflect in how your child perceives the activity they’re doing. Keep it light, positive, and sunshine-y. Just like with a spouse, constant togetherness can breed contempt - try to take deep breaths, be patient, and remember that your kids are likely doing their best (even when they’re jumping off the couch onto the dog). BTW, this is really hard to do and really easy to say.

• Disconnect when you need to. If Mac is playing independently outside, I almost always have one AirPod in listening to podcasts - that way, I can hear him and interact with him, but I’m also doing something that I enjoy. It keeps me going!

• Follow the golden rule of SAHP-ing: “Don’t do anything while your kids are asleep that you could do while they’re awake.” Obviously if you’re including them in helping with a household chore, that’s one thing. But if they’re sleeping and you’re folding laundry? No, friend. Watch a show. Take a nap. Have your shower beer. Re-charging and taking some kid-free time to yourself is THE ONLY WAY to be energized by the time they’re awake again.

Okay - back to entertainment!

Click the photo of each show to see a short description/review of it so you can make your decisions (apart from the last section, which is full of shows that were suggested to me but that I haven’t seen). Of course, this is in no way comprehensive…I’m already realizing I left The West Wing and Sex and the City and Fargo off the list - face: palm. Start your engines!

The good:

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The Crown (Netflix)

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Big Little Lies (HBO)

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The Sopranos (HBO)

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Dead to Me (Netflix)

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Parks and Recreation (Netflix)

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Game of Thrones (HBO)

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Mad Men (Netflix)

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Fleabag (Amazon Prime)

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The Office (Netflix)

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Watchmen (HBO)

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Modern Love (Amazon Prime)

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Breaking Bad (Netflix)

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The Handmaid's Tale (Hulu)

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30 Rock (Hulu)

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The Good Place (Netflix)

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Veep (HBO)

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Barry (HBO)

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Westworld (HBO)

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Arrested Development (Netflix)

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Curb Your Enthusiasm (HBO)

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McMillions (HBO)

The feel-good:

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This Is Us (Hulu)

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Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown (Netflix)

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Friends (Netflix)

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Grey's Anatomy (Hulu)

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The Great British Baking Show (Netflix)

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Parenthood (Hulu)

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Top Chef (Hulu)

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Downton Abbey (Amazon Prime)

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Making It (Hulu)

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The Mindy Project

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Master of None (Netflix)

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Gilmore Girls (Netflix)

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Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee

The garbage:

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Vanderpump Rules (Hulu)

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Southern Charm (Hulu)

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Real Housewives of Anywhere (Hulu)

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Love is Blind (Netflix)

The shows I haven’t seen, but that everyone loves!

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Sex Education (Netflix)

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Outlander (Netflix)

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Good Girls (Hulu)

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Schitt's Creek (Netflix)

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True Detective (HBO)

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The Young Pope (HBO)

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The Knick (Hulu)

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Mrs. Fletcher (HBO)

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Broad City (HBO)

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90 Day Fiancé (Hulu)

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The Tudors (Netflix)

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Succession (HBO)

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Temptation Island (Netflix)

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Jane the Virgin (Netflix)

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Killing Eve (Hulu)

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The Outsider (HBO)

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Morning Show (Apple TV+)

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Better Call Saul (Netflix)

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Atlanta (Hulu)

Purity Culture, Part I: The Object of My Affection

As usual, I want to write a little disclaimer before you start reading. When I tackle subjects like this for my blog, it’s because I’m genuinely fascinated with them. Despite the fact that I, of course, have opinions of my own, it’s always really important to me to try and present information in as unbiased a way as possible. I believe that everyone’s story should be listened to and respected. In this series of essays, you’ll hear from a lot of people about a lot of things - some I agree with, some I don’t. Through conducting an anonymous survey and talking to people by phone, I’ve collected a lot of research on this topic. Ultimately, my goal is to answer the question: “What lasting effects does growing up in purity culture have on young people?”  

Working hard on this very post!

When I was 16, I visited another church’s youth group. I grew up in a United Methodist congregation in Decatur, Alabama, but I often hopped around to various Wednesday night services because I had friends who attended churches all over town (and in Decatur there are a lot of churches). 

The youth minister, a cool, tall guy in his 40’s, gathered the group of 50 or so male and female 9-12 graders together to start his lesson. Some of us were seated on the floor or on folding chairs, others draped over the very loved, donated overstuffed armchairs and squeezed next to friends on couches. He held up a pristine sheet of white printer paper for us all to take a good look, then passed it to the student to his right. 

“Pass this around the circle while we talk. When it gets back to me, I want to show you something,” he said. 

While the sheet of paper made its rounds around the circle, the youth minister began his lesson on sexual purity. I don’t remember exactly what he said, so I won’t attempt to quote it, but I do remember, vividly, what happened when the sheet of paper got back to him. 

“Okay,” he said, as the last student passed him the paper. “Take a look at the difference between these two sheets.” 

He reached into his bag and extracted yet another perfectly untouched piece of printer paper, then held it up next to the sheet we’d all been passing around. The one we’d all handled was smudged, bent, dented, even crumpled in some places. Some rebel had torn off a corner to deposit their used chewing gum into. 

“This is the difference between a virgin and someone who’s had sex before marriage. One is untouched, and the other has already been used. Which do you think is more desirable to a future partner?” 

—-

It is with great surprise and delight that I report: this essay series was inspired by The Bachelorette. 

I am rarely presented with the opportunity to discuss all the issues at the nexus of my interests (religion and God, television, pop culture, and feminism), but these last few months have given me just that. If you added food to the list, I’d be in hog heaven. 

Last summer, Hannah Brown, an Alabama girl with a twang to boot, was cast as the lead of The Bachelorette. She entered the season guns blazing and unapologetic for whatever decision she was making in any given moment, causing her to become a quick fan favorite and hero for outspoken women everywhere. But her real breakout was on the episode devotees will recognize as “Fantasy Suites;” an entire television block dedicated to letting viewers watch our protagonist sexually explore their relationships with the (typically three, but this season, four) remaining contestants. 

As a viewership, the typical response is to turn a blind eye to the rather sordid and, in any other case, maybe even promiscuous dealings of our hero or heroine. We see them go into beautiful hotel suites and the cameras allow us to see the lights turning off as our various couples lie down and start making out. We smash-cut to the next morning, where couples are usually cozied up in bed, drinking coffee and basking in the afterglow. It’s just part of the show. We accept it as a necessary part of the “journey,” as do the contestants, who aren’t sure if they’re first or last in the lineup of one-night encounters.

But this year, Hannah had a suitor who wouldn’t leave well enough alone. A born-again virgin and hyper-evangelical Christian, Luke Parker, the villain of this season, demanded to know whether Hannah had had sex or planned to have sex  with any of the other contestants. When she bristled at the invasiveness of this question, he hit back with a plea about thinking they were both on the same religious page; that he couldn’t imagine she’d do anything like that if she truly believed what she said she believed. After weeks of being hot and cold about him, she finally came down on a side, putting Luke in a limo and closing what was to be the most click-baity moment of the season with the now famous line: “I f-cked in a windmill. Twice. ...I’ve had sex, and Jesus still loves me.” 

Image courtesy of Bustle.com

When I covered this on my (embarrassing to type this out) Instagram recap show (oh, God), I got more responses than I’d ever received. Dozens of direct messages poured in from women expressing horror in Luke’s approach, defensiveness of Hannah, and sharing stories and experiences dealing with controlling men who shamed them for their sex lives. 

The kind of support for Hannah’s sexual autonomy that my mostly-Southern Instagram audience was communicating to me represented a marked shift in the narrative within which we all grew up. In the South, sex is not openly discussed. Sure, part of that is because of a focus on decency. But mostly, the topic is avoided because the topic, by nature, is scandalous. Sex, especially sex before or outside of marriage, is believed by the general Southern consciousness to be not only conversationally indecent, but sinful. 

Having been raised in Alabama my whole life up to my 25th year, I am deeply familiar with the culture of religious purity and the idea of saving your virginity for your future spouse (an idea that I’ve always respected). It’s a second language to me. But seeing it represented on a national stage, even listening to Hannah go on NPR to discuss it, caused me to realize that for thousands of other non-Southern folks, these ideas about sexual purity and religious code seemed incredibly old-fashioned. The show brought these two spheres of my life into crystal clear focus. It was a Venn diagram: in one circle, the world both Hannah Brown and I grew up in; in the other, the #metoo movement; in the center, national consciousness and conversation. 

These issues began to fascinate me, so I decided to conduct a little research. I wanted to hear from people who were raised in the South (or, more broadly, raised in the church) about how the culture, specifically “purity culture,” or the idea that your sexual purity is tantamount to your spiritual worthiness, had affected them as adults - and, if something needs to change about how we discuss it, how do we change it? 

—-

Of the 240 people (most of whom were straight, white, Southern women) who responded to an anonymous survey I wrote about purity culture, 191 answered “Yes” to this question: 

“Have you ever been taught a lesson, at church or school, that compared a person who’s had sex to an object that’s been used?” 

Here are some of the things that their leaders at school and in their youth groups used as tools for comparison: 

• Broken tile (school sex ed)

• A rose or flower with the petals picked off (cotillion)

• A piece of Scotch tape that had been stuck to every student’s skin and showed hair, oil, dirt (public school sex ed) 

• A used car

• Stained clothing

• A licked lollipop

• Toothpaste that had been pushed out of the tube 

• An already-opened gift

Here are some anecdotes from the survey that particularly stuck out to me. I found it interesting to note the ways in which many of these lessons were geared toward young women specifically. Each paragraph is from a different survey participant: 

“A teacher brought in an empty suitcase and filled it with heavy items to symbolize each act of sexual immorality and then had each of us pick it up. ...She said we would stand there on our wedding day with a metaphorical suitcase full of heavy feelings and that we would have to share that weight with our husband and hope that he would be willing to carry it (and whatever came with it, i.e. a child, STD, emotional baggage) with us.”

“My 7th grade abstinence-only sex education class in PUBLIC SCHOOL had us all pass around a piece of red construction paper in the shape of a heart. As we passed, we tore a little piece off. When it got back to the teacher, she said, “And that’s what it’s like to have sex. You leave little pieces of your heart with everyone you have sex with and it leaves you torn and broken and not whole.” And then she had us all sign our abstinence cards. This was the final lesson.”

“Yes; we were told we (girls specifically) were like old running shoes. That we all had nice, new, pure white shoes for our weddings, but if we let one person go running in them first, they’re going to get a little dirty. If we let several people run in them first, they’ll become disgusting. And then when our wedding rolls around, everyone will talk about how our shoes are filthy because everyone got a chance to run in them, and our husbands will feel cheated because he thought he was going to to receive a spotless pair of wedding shoes, but we’re giving him disgusting, worn out wedding shoes.”

“Was...taught that if I had sex before I was married, then on my wedding day my husband would be seeing all of the men I'd had sex with beside me instead of my bridesmaids. That it would be like bringing all of those men into our marriage with us because my husband wouldn't be able to get over it.”

“My church used to have purity nights, and one year (the event’s agenda was that the girls in our youth group)...listened to videos (recorded by) the guys in our grade about why they valued a pure partner.” 

—-

Asking people in the South to discuss purity culture is a little like asking a fish to describe the water it’s swimming around in. 

What is it? Where did it come from? What are its effects? 

We’ve already talked a little about what purity culture is - the idea that your sexual purity and your salvation/worthiness as a person or Christian are inextricably linked - but to paint a richer picture of the messages people get and choices people make as a result of being raised in this sort of culture, I think it might be helpful to go to the data I collected in my survey results. We get a little anatomical here, so strap in! 

(I mentioned that 240 people participated in the survey, but participants were able to choose which questions they answered - you won’t see 240 participants in each question, as many of them were write-in and not multiple choice.) 

• Of the 205 people who answered, 190 reported lying about their level of sexual activity as a young person for fear of sullying their reputation, whether it was their own idea or their partner’s. 

• Of 214 responses, almost 30% of people report having been taught in church that they should “deliver sex to their husbands whenever they requested or demanded it, whether or not they were personally in the mood.”

• Out of 240 answers, 47% of people reported having been in an “everything but” relationship where some sex acts were on the table, but vaginal/penetrative sex was forbidden, in order to preserve the technical idea of virginity.

• Out of 236 responses, 67% reported having been taught that women should be “virginal before marriage, but able to satisfy their husband’s every sexual need after marriage.” 

• Out of 201 responses, 149 women reported having “irrational fears about getting pregnant” because of the damage it would do to their reputations. Some of the women who answered this question were virgins who still took pregnancy tests to ensure they weren’t pregnant. 

Okay, so where did modern purity culture come from? Time to get historical!

Linda Kay Klein, the author of Pure, puts forward that the purity movement pushed its way into the mainstream largely in response to the AIDS epidemic. As a response to the sexual revolution and as thousands of Americans were dying of AIDS, the federal government began funding abstinence-only education - “first under Reagan, then more under Clinton, then still more under Bush” (22). 

“According to the Sexuality Information and Education Council of the United States,” Klein writes, “over $2 billion in federal funding has been allocated for abstinence-only programs in the United States since 1981” (22, 23). 

And that lines up with the data I saw. Of 212 responders, almost 40% answered that if they did have sex education in their schools, it was strictly abstinence-only (including in public schools). We’ll talk about whether it was effective and why later in this series (spoiler alert: it was not). 

“...With money like that just waiting to be spent, purity purveyors previously focused on small religious audiences moved into the mainstream marketplace. ...This is when we began to see purity-themed rings, bracelets, ...books, journals, devotional, magazines, Bible studies...Within the evangelical Christian subculture, the purity industry gave many adolescents the impression that sexual abstinence before marriage was the way for them to live out their faith” (22, 23). 

It makes sense, then, that growing up in the church (especially the church in the South, especially especially the evangelical South) meant that sexual purity and abstinence until marriage were hallmarks of what made up a person’s identity as a young Christian, rivaled only by choices around drugs and drinking alcohol. But because young people are also extremely eager to talk about or hear about sex, it also tracks that young Christians would become deeply invested in abstinence constituting a major, and very visible, tenet of their faith. 

The third question - what are the effects of purity culture? That’s what these essays are meant to explore. 

——

I remember attending a True Love Waits rally with my youth group when I was in either late middle school or early high school. It was a multi-denominational event featuring a speaker and a praise band comprised of cool, floppy-haired guys. The speaker, a man in his thirties, focused on how treating sex casually in his younger years had contributed to his life derailing (drugs, children outside of marriage, etc.), and he encouraged all the youth at the event to “guard their hearts” and save themselves for marriage.

At the end of the event, there was an altar call as the praise band played emotionally evocative music in minor keys and dozens of kids went down front to hug, cry, and pray. Toward the back of the dimly lit room, there was a giant banner that each of us was encouraged to sign pledging that we would remain abstinent until marriage. As I looked around at the kids my age weeping around me, I remember feeling anger bubble up inside me. I didn’t feel contempt toward my peers, who were experiencing normal emotions under the circumstances. Instead, I felt suspicion and indignance toward the adults in the room. 

It wasn’t the idea of saving yourself for marriage, which I’ve always admired. It was the expectation - insistence, really - that a group of young teenagers could conceivably make that kind of lifelong commitment after a one-hour event (or at all). Even at that age, it seemed to me like the leaders of the rally were just trying to rack up signatures to prove something. No one was talking about sexual activity in any kind of meaningful way, or offering to follow up to make sure we understood what was going on. I didn’t sign the banner and couldn’t wait to leave. 

In a phone conversation with Emily (not her real name), a 29-year-old Southern woman who grew up in a very evangelical church, we talked about this very thing. Here’s Emily in her own words: 

“Here’s the thing - looking back, I was so bought in. I was so bought in because I love rules and frameworks, and I love being told what is right and good. In retrospect, thinking about the conversations that I had with my small groups as a middle and high school student, and then reflecting years later with my guy friends who were in these same situations, we were just told, ‘Don’t be a stumbling block.’ I had to go home and change from youth group because I was wearing shorts and I couldn’t lead worship in shorts from the stage because I might cause some of the guys to stumble. ...and the guys, it was pretty much just, ‘Don’t be complete and total animals. Don’t masturbate.’” 

Lots of my friends did sign the banner, and understandably so - they were being told by the grown ups in the room that being abstinent, and making that decision RIGHT NOW in front of everyone, was the way to be good, acceptable, and desirable, both to God and to a future partner. 

The more I thought about this idea, the more I thought about the girls in that room who’d already had sex. What must they have been feeling? 

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Culturally speaking, no matter how progressive we think we are, we continue to be fascinated with virtue. 

As I was collecting data for this series of essays, I started to see purity culture everywhere, almost like you do when you’re thinking of buying a car and start to see it on every corner. As I listened to Jessica Simpson’s audiobook (like the hard-hitting journalist that I am), I was struck by just how affected her early career was by men telling her she was “too sexy” to sing in church. Before graduating high school, Jessica tells a story about singing at a church convention where she was angrily ripped off the stage by a male religious leader and told that her outfit (some biking shorts and an oversized top) was causing men in the crowd to lust. Cut to: years of speculation and questions about the status of her virginity until she married then-husband Nick Lachey. 

Image source: Getty Images

Virginity was a huge focus of pop culture in the 90’s. I remember magazines constantly asking Britney Spears whether she was also saving herself for marriage, like Jessica Simpson did. As an adult woman, it now strikes me as unbelievably invasive and frankly, creepy, that these young girls’ sex lives were considered completely acceptable topics of interviews. More recently, the Jonas Brothers brought the somewhat passe purity ring back into the forefront with their commitments not to have sex before marriage. 

And of course, returning to where it all began, The Bachelor and The Bachelorette have always brought sex into the national conversation because of the inclusion of Fantasy Suites, though the conversation has definitely evolved. 

In 2012, The Bachelorette lead Emily Maynard, a single mom, was lauded by viewers when she chose not to spend the night with any of her three remaining suitors. Sean Lowe, who appeared the following year on The Bachelor, was also famously a born-again virgin (AKA, decided at age 24 to stop having sex until marriage) and he took all three women to their overnight dates, but had sex with none of them. When he eventually married his now-wife Catherine on an ABC-streamed TV wedding, there was a thumbnail in the bottom of the screen live broadcasting the empty honeymoon suite where the couple would later spend the night. It was about as subtle as a punch in the face. 

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In the course of this research, so many different themes have jumped out. And frankly, it’s difficult to talk about some of this stuff without coming across like I have a judgment toward anyone who goes to a conservative or evangelical church. I promise you, that’s not the case. 

Though they’re a minority, some people who talked to me have had a beautiful experience within parameters of purity culture, have chosen to remain abstinent, and had positive, healthy sexual experiences as a result. I can report with no qualms that these people exist and are thriving. 

Many women - the majority who responded to my survey and reached out to talk to me - report the opposite. I’ve read through stories of shame. LGBTQ folks wrote in to tell me they left the church after feeling like what they were being taught about sex could never apply to them. Men talk about feeling trapped within a strict set of prescribed standards around gender expectations, and the pressure to fulfill them. Lots of women talked about feeling dirty or sinful during sex, even within the confines of marriage, because those early lessons were so hard to un-learn. Most disturbingly, I’ve read account after account of sexual abuse and rape (whether this has any correlation to purity culture itself will be explored in my third essay). 

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When I told my dad about this first essay and described to him the object lesson with the two sheets of paper, he was floored. He told me he had no idea that was going on that night, or that we were getting messages consistent with that at any point in ours or other church’s youth groups. We’d probably never talked about it - though that surprised me, because one of my parents’ biggest victories is stymying the idea that Southern parents don’t talk to their kids about sex. 

But his reaction made me wonder about all the moments that Mac, my son, and our new baby will have in rooms where the doors are closed to me. What messages will they be receiving? Sure, from our media - but also from leaders and role models in whom they’ve put their trust? 

If we talk about the damage that was done - the damage that no one talked about, maybe because we haven’t thought to ask about it - then we can get to the business of correcting our processes. There are so many healthy, productive ways to talk about sex with young people that emphasize its importance, significance, and (if this is your belief, as it is mine) holiness that have nothing to do with shame or fear. 

Overall, the biggest consistency I’ve seen is that young women are being taught that the state of their bodies, and what they choose to do with those bodies, are the most accurate indicators of whether or not they’re a good person. And they’re largely receiving this message in their churches, being given a set of hard and fast rules which, when broken, can never be erased. If that sounds dark (and it does get a little grizzly, especially in the third essay), then you’re reading it right. 

Next up: we tackle complementarianism (a new word to describe a very familiar concept), gender roles and expectations, and what happens when evangelical women are expected to make the split-second jump from virgin to vixen once there’s a ring involved. 

See you there.