sex.

I remember the very first time my mother & father told me about The Bird & The Bees.

I was about 10 years old, & my little sister & I were outside in our backyard building a snowman. I remember going up to my parent’s bedroom window, knocking on the glass, & showing them the immaculate snow creature I made. I had expected them to be filled with intrigue, & perhaps come outside so they could help name this snow creature. But instead, I was met with my father yelling at me to get away from the window, as he closed the blinds & told me to go back & play. Confused & hurt, I went back to playing in the snow. Several minutes later, my parents called me inside to give me… The Talk.

When I was inside, my father asked me, “What did you see when you were looking through the window? Did you see anything?” I had no idea what he was talking about. I never saw anything. Mostly, I was just hurt by my father’s reaction, & really confused as to why I was being talked to.

Thus, The Talk was given. While my sister was out frolicking in the snow, my parents sat me down in the living room, with books upon books, explaining the anatomy of a man & woman, where babies came from, & how sex was created by God for those who are married. During the conversation, I remember being really grossed out by men’s penises & pubic hair, & I remember having a hard time understanding what sex actually was. But mostly I remember being extremely preoccupied at the fact that my little sister was outside playing in the snow. I wanted to shout to my parents, “HELLO!!! The snow will be melting soon! & I need be out there playing!” But I sat there & listened intently, trying to soak it all in.

Remembering that story always makes me cringe. Not just because my parents should have just let me play in the damn snow, but because there was so much that they didn’t tell me. They didn’t tell me about orgasms, or masturbation, or what a healthy sexual relationship should look like, or how I should embrace MY sexuality because it is a gift from God. They barely scraped the surface. All I knew about sex was that it created babies, & having it before marriage was a sin. When I tried to find out more about sex from my mother, she would just blush & say quietly, “I just don’t feel comfortable having this conversation with my daughter.”

There is a big part of me that wishes that my parents had told me everything, without any sort of religious perspective, just to give me the wisdom I desperately needed & wanted. Perhaps if they had, my entire perspective on sex would be completely different today. Perhaps I wouldn’t be so baffled by it. Not to mention, I find it so very unfair that you’re all of a sudden supposed to just KNOW how to do things, & be okay with doing those things, after you’ve been told over & over that sex is bad, dirty, sinful, &, therefore, prohibited. (Unless, of course, you’re married, & then it’s all roses & chocolate covered strawberries.)

For instance: when I was little, I was taught that I had to wash in between my legs very, very well because it is dirty & smelly down there. I grew up feeling like my most precious parts were unclean & disgusting, & to touch them was inappropriate & gross. Yet, all of those messages are supposed to magically fall away when my husband would like to become intimate with me. I still find this so confusing.

My parents never taught me about the good kind of sex; the beautiful kind of love you make with your husband. The kind that isn’t sinful; the kind that is filled with love. I wish they would have; with every part of me I wish they would have. But I can’t entirely blame them; perhaps they didn’t know. Perhaps they were never taught the healthy way, either.

Unfortunately, though, the media has been that missing link for me; my most reliable, & unhealthy source of all information regarding sex, how it should be, & what it should look like.

I can’t glance at the cover of a women’s magazine without it boasting incessantly about the newest techniques to “make him go crazy in the sack!” Articles are consistently urging me to become a “Sex Goddess” in bed; if not for myself, then for my sex-starved husband. Companies will try just about anything to suggest sex to help their products sell. Billboards & advertisements are plastered everywhere with sexual innuendos & connotations blaring in my face. & every bloody song’s chorus seems to be “Do it to me, baby!” All of these things have done me more harm than good.

According to the media, those in healthy sexual relationships have sex several times a week; sometimes a few times per day. Since I’m not up to par with those stats — not even close — the media suggests that there could be something wrong with ME, & perhaps I need to seek medical attention. Rumor also has it that since I’m not giving it to my man “enough,” someone else will, if they aren’t already. & books specify that it’s not wise that I masturbate myself since I’m married. I should “save up” those sexual feelings & emotions for my husband when he comes home.

& then of course, there is pornography, which is an entirely different level of unhealthy expectations. The big boobs, the long hair, the mannerisms. It’s all so distorted. & while I shouldn’t be paying attention to such details — in porn, of all things — subliminally it makes me wonder if I should be that way.

All of this nonsense fills my head with such unrealistic ideas of what sex is & should be. & I feel that if I’m not doing those things, I am less of a woman, & ultimately, a horrible wife. I beat myself up so badly for not being that “Sex Kitten” & I blame myself for everything. Sometimes I think it really is all my fault. My husband doesn’t have any sexual hang-ups; he’s perfectly content & confident with his sexuality. I am the one with the problem.

Sometimes I think that if my parents — not my high school friends, or The Bible, or the internet, or my ex-boyfriend… but my parents — would have given me the information I so needed to know about sex, the intimate relationship I have with my husband today would be quite different. Maybe I would feel confident to make love to him. Maybe I would feel like sex is beautiful & sacred & wonderful. Maybe I would feel like I deserve to have sex & it’s okay to suffice those needs. Maybe I would want my husband to touch me & pleasure me, & I wouldn’t feel as though I were still sinning. My entire perspective would be changed, & I would be normal.

Sex is the hardest thing I’m trying to comprehend at this moment. I wish it were easier for me, for the sake of my marriage & my precious husband, who has been so very patient. Sex just doesn’t come naturally for me. For Jonathan & I, it is the source of many arguments & frustrations. There are tears, angry words, & broken promises. It’s such a heavy burden to carry, & because of all the drama surrounding it, I’m not sure I want it anymore. & then, of course, I think of how silly that sounds (to not want to have sex), & then it’s back to drawing board. It’s an ongoing cycle of aggravation, resentment, confusion, guilt, & hope.

I don’t know what it’s like to make love & to enjoy sex — truly enjoy it for what it is, with my husband, my very best friend. I don’t know what it’s like to feel sexy. I don’t know how to just let go, & view sex in a positive way. (With all of my might, I wish I did.) When I engage in intimate moments with my husband, I feel like a little girl all over again, & my thoughts keep repeating “This is wrong. This is sinful. This is disgusting. You shouldn’t enjoy this.”

I don’t know how to make those thoughts stop. But I’m trying my damnedest.

I’ve read sexually conscious books & erotica (Lonnie Barbach’s “For Yourself“; Shannon Ethridge’s “The Sexually Confident Wife“; Barbara Keesling’s “The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex“; Barbara Carrellas’ “Urban Tantra“; Nancy Friday’s “My Secret Garden“). I’ve done counseling — both with my husband & without. I’ve enriched my life with positive sexually explicit movies (Emmanuelle; Lust, Caution; Dangerous Beauty; Lie With Me; En La Cama; Vicky/Christina Barcelona; High Art).

All of things have been very enlightening, but it’s never enough. Obviously, or else I would not still have these issues.

Perhaps it’s my age; we all know that a woman’s sexuality doesn’t peak until she is in her 30s. Perhaps I’m what they call an asexual. Perhaps this is just a phase I’m going through. Or… perhaps there IS something wrong with me.

Regardless, I don’t think sex is supposed to be this complicated. & if it is, I want no part of it.