I went to Catholic school for 13 years before coming to Emerson. As a 12-year-old, I sat in front of my theology teacher as she explained why the sin of masturbation would send us all straight to hell. At 14, I had classes to teach me how a nuclear family should behave, why abstinence is great, and that, if necessary, a priest could pray over me if I thought I was gay. Despite this, I am sex-positive toward everyone who isn’t me. But I am sex-neutral––borderline sex-negative––to myself.

Now I am on a journey to become more comfortable with my own sexual experiences and the enjoyment I derive from them––a concept, I know. I just have to unlearn a few more things first.

In my growing years, there were two different occasions in which I had to publicly pledge my chastity: once before receiving the Sacrament of Confirmation, a ritual meant for Catholics to grow closer to the Church, and again at the culmination of my “Right Start” course in eighth grade. As a sophomore in high school, I sat in a school assembly as someone showed me slides of infected genitalia to teach my classmates and I about the dangers of STIs and sex outside of marriage. When I ruminate on my education, it is clear to me why I felt shame when I started masturbating in high school, came to terms with my bisexuality, and started having sex.

Since I’ve arrived here, I’ve been trying to unpack how my abstinence-only sex education has altered how I view my body and sexuality. For as long as I can remember, I have been taught that sex was only meant for marriage. The implication was always that having premarital sex was to undermine an act God created for procreation. This sentiment is not unique to Catholicism. The stigma around non-procreative sex is a reoccurring theme in conversations I had with Emerson students from various faith backgrounds.

Karthik Ramaswami, who grew up in a moderately religious Hindu household says he does not feel shameful about sex anymore. But he explains, there is still an “unspoken rule” in his family and religion that he “should not be involved in any sort of premarital, nonprocreative sex.”

Similarly, MaryCatherine Neal spoke of the same expectation to not have sex as a Christian Disciple of Christ. When she first started having sex, Neal felt some shame and embarrassment, but now she identifies as a sex-positive individual. She pointed out the hypocrisy of adults who claim sex is only for procreation.

“I know that these old people didn’t just have sex to procreate,” says Neal. “So I don’t know why they preach that.”

To be honest, I don’t understand why our parents and religious leaders teach us these ideas either. I know I have joked about being sex-negative, but the truth is that I was affected by the messaging I received throughout my childhood. I sometimes still am.

A few weeks ago, my mom and I landed in Boston for my move-in day. I dropped my luggage at her Airbnb and was about to leave to see my boyfriend for the first time in months. She stopped me to say, “Katie, I just want to say it. I don’t think you should be doing anything [sex] at this age.” I assured her I would not do anything, and then I left to sleep with my boyfriend. (Sorry, mom!)

But after conversations like that, I cannot help but feel anxious about how terrible I must be for having sex for pleasure’s sake and enjoying it. I sometimes switch back to the messaging that was ingrained in me in middle and high school. I cannot help but think how different my life would be if I had not grown up in a religious environment with a stigma around sex.

I asked Kate Cunningham about her experience of growing up in a non-religious, sex-positive family. She spoke highly of her mom’s approach to talking about sex, saying, “It was always something that wasn’t...shameful. It was more of just like, talk about it and be safe.” In a message of sex-positivity, Cunningham says she thinks “sex, in general, is something that doesn’t need to be so stigmatized.”

As someone who has had to deal with overcoming the stigma of sex, I could not agree more. Coming to a sex-positive college environment laid the groundwork for me to finally be comfortable exploring and learning about my sexuality--on my own and eventually, with my boyfriend. And for that, I am so grateful.

—

This article appears in the October 2019 print issue of Your Magazine.

Goodbye, Sexual Shame