it's not just about sex, girl Part 1
This isn’t going to be your average sex talk or birds-and-bees conversation; just a very honest testimony about my abstinence journey and what God has put on my heart to share.
When I decided to be abstinent, I wanted to wait for marriage. I believed this was the noble thing to do, and that having sex with my husband within that context would make sex holy and pure. In a way, I also believed it would make my desire to have sex the same — holy and pure.
In my before Christ (BC) era, I was very sexually active — in part because of my own insecurities and in part because I just liked having sex. To the traditionalist, this made me a hoe or a man-eater. To the modern feminist this made me a sexually liberated and sex positive woman. To myself and to God, this just meant I needed to understand how He intentionally created me and what was lingering in my heart that kept me going back to hollow places.
No matter the presence or lack of physical pleasure, no matter the presence or lack of a romantic commitment, having sex left me feeling more hollow than I did before. Now, don’t get me wrong. Sometimes the physical pleasure felt good but I just never left feeling good. And the thing is, I did like having sex. I liked the feeling of it. I liked the alleged intimacy of it, too — we’ll talk about this in Part 2. I liked the small bits of real intimacy I would experience here and there. Still, it was hollow.
What do I mean by hollow, exactly? Empty, fruitless, and lacking.
My relationship with sex was overcomplicated because I didn’t understand the depth of what that action meant to me. Prior to my first time, my mom never talked about it with me and my sister. If she did, it was only to make threats about us not being virgins anymore. She put so much value in virginity and it instilled fear in my heart. When I finally did have my first time, it was in secret and it was planned. I had a vision for what I wanted my first time to be like, and I’ll be honest and say it wasn’t that at all.
When I got to college, I explored. As I explored, my views on the value of sex became more warped and confused. Not only did I approach it with fear and calculation, but I learned that it could be transactional. I learned that it was something that often happened to me not with me. I also learned that intimacy wasn’t of value in most of my sexual encounters. This was where I also learned that I am a divinely sensual person. I learned that this part of me was a part that I loved and wanted to be loved. I, subsequently, learned that this part of me wasn’t acceptable to or loved by others.
As I navigated this space, I developed a weird relationship with sex and my sensuality. Once I started hanging out with Christian people, and I gave my life to God, it only got weirder. The words fornication and sexual impurity felt like daggers to my already pierced, cut, and wounded heart. Is this who I am? Does God think I’m impure and unholy? My desire makes me sinful? I felt a great deal of regret for ever having sex in the first place and an even greater sense shame and guilt knowing that I liked my sensuality.
My actions at the beginning of my after Christ (AC) era weren’t any different from my BC era to be honest. Maybe I did stop being involved with people who showed me they were no good for me, but I still had an idol for my appetite. BC was about feeling good, AC was about feeling holy. I learned that sex in the context of marriage was the only way the act could be honorable, good, and pure. So, that became my idol and intention. I had sex with people I liked romantically and fantasized about relationally if we weren’t already dating. This unhealthy behaviour broke my heart even more. If I was in a relationship, I justified myself by saying that we’d potentially get married one day. We, of course, didn’t. Even these pursuits were hollow.
As I continued to navigate my new walk as a Christian woman, my sexual desires didn’t just up and leave me. They also didn’t become more aggressive. Eventually, they just became a nuisance. I hated them. I hated them because I believed they made me unholy and impure, unrighteous and unloveable in the eyes of my Heavenly Father who I also believed loves me whole. I hated them because I couldn’t get rid of them; instead, I just kept feeding them here and there. My relationship with my sensuality became unloving and destructive. My relationship with sex became even more complicated if it wasn’t already.
It was from here and onward that I equated sexual desire and sex to being a thorn in my side. I carried that narrative with me for a really long time. As I struggled with choosing abstinence and wanting to have sex, the hate in my heart just grew. I hated myself for wanting sex. I hated that I was a sensual person. I hated the desire. I hated that God would even make me with those desires, and I hated that He wouldn’t just take them away.
I viewed what God called good as evil, clean as unclean, holy as unholy, pure as impure. This is how He viewed me and this is how He viewed sex in its divine origin — another thing we’ll cover in Part 2. He created both, and both are lovely. Since that is the case — and it is — why couldn’t I accept that? Better yet, why didn’t I believe it?
When I restarted my abstinence journey in 2017, I fumbled a bit — a few times actually, but I got up and kept going. I’m proud to say that I’ve been practicing abstinence for 4 years and some months now.
I was in a relationship at the time of deciding to be abstinent “once and for all.” We both held to the desire to wait for marriage, and this decision was easy to uphold. As the relationship went on, and sex wasn’t in the picture for me, God was finally able to unpack all of my baggage and walk with me through it. This was a painful and exposing process because even in this relationship and decision to abstain, I still viewed sex and my sensuality as evil.
Over the course of our relationship, God healed me of a lot of the hurt caused by my past exploits and experiences — from being mistreated to disrespected to misused to exploited to degraded and so on, He healed a lot of hurt I didn’t realize I was holding onto. I thought that this was going to be the end of my healing only to find out it was just the beginning. It wasn’t until 2020 that I could see God working on my heart to change my perception of my sensuality.
In the process, I learned so much about my heart and the way I give myself in intimacy. I lived a really long time rejecting this precious and special part of how God made me because of my complicated relationship with sex as a Christian and a woman. It wasn’t societally acceptable for me to be how I am, and it wasn’t religiously acceptable for me to be how I am either. For clarity’s sake, I’m not talking about the act of having sex. I’m just talking about the desire, the very natural part of my sensuality. I believed for a really long time that desiring sex made me unchaste and unholy. That year, God planted a seed — everything He makes and creates is good. My mind and heart were transformed. God’s design for me isn’t unholy, but good. We’re also going to dive deeper into this in Part 2.
2021 arrived, and the relationship I was in ended(?) — or hit pause. This transition was and still is a move of God, so I won’t say much about it. What I will say is that it hurt a lot, but as time passed I understood more and more why it was necessary. As I began to embrace the truth, I found myself dealing with temptation to give up abstinence. It was the first time in a long time I heard a voice clearly tell me “it’s not worth it anymore, give it up.” Of course, I said no, but I really had to contend with God about this. Why was I being tempted?
Remember when I said at the very beginning of this long entry that I believed having sex with my husband within the context of marriage would make sex holy and pure? And that, in a way, I also believed that it would make my desire to have sex the same? That’s why.
It felt like my expectations and hopes for marriage were thrown completely out the window. And, according to that belief and my flesh, “I had no real reason to continue because the very thing keeping me from having sex was no longer there.” Of course, I knew this wasn’t true, but I had to seek God and ask Him to search and reveal my intentions, my posture, and my convictions. In response, He showed me my beliefs and the result of them:
I believed that all of my past experiences would somehow be washed away and gone the moment my husband and I made love. I believed that at that point, the holiness God promised me would finally become mine, and I would become pure. I believed that marital sex was my salvation. I had an idol, and when I admitted that hard truth, my real healing began. God transformed my mind and my heart by showing me who He is, what He says about me, and what I truly need.
Waiting for marriage isn’t bad, it’s a dutiful and holy choice. But in my walk — and possibly all of our walks — it isn’t meant to be the source of and reason for abstinence. If we know that marital sex glorifies God, then the focus should be on God because He is ultimately the one who created such a powerful act of unification in the first place. After receiving and accepting this truth, the Holy Spirit told me there was more and ministered to me about my actual wants and needs.
Sex isn’t what I want, intimacy is. Divine, whole, deep intimacy that knows me, all of me, and chooses to remain. This intimacy isn’t steeped in the performative nature of seduction; rather, it’s deeply rooted in the art of romance and passionate pursuit. It’s about being understood and valued, chosen and committed to and reciprocating that. It wasn’t just about sex because at this point in my abstinence journey, I desired to be known intimately.
This type of intimacy has a prerequisite: security. This type of security makes it safe [for me] to remove the veil and let every guard down. It’s a space where I know that if I fall, I’ll be caught. If I reach out, I’ll be pulled in. If I pour, there’s room to hold me. I desire that kind of deep intimacy, the kind that surpasses any pleasure simply having sex could offer. This was a sign of my maturity in my journey; I no longer wanted or needed hollow things because God filled those spaces.
I need a connection that is full, solid, and whole, one where I’m enriched spiritually, emotionally, mentally, physically, creatively, energetically. This connection could only come from a relationship built over time and one that remains. The only relationship in my life that fit and continues to fit the bill is the one I have with Christ.
That is what He showed me about my needs and wants, and what He showed me about who I am was more beautiful.
“You are altogether lovely and without flaw, fearfully and wonderfully made. I love all of you, including this. Let me show you.”
He spoke to me tenderly and lovingly about my sensuality, and spoke life into me. I wasn’t shamed or belittled for desiring sex. I was reminded that the act of it is holy in the eyes of God when in the proper context. My desire is natural, and my energy isn’t my enemy. Rather, this passionate intensity and fire is a precious gift — one that He cherishes and protects more than I used to believe. He reminded me that everything He makes is good, so even that part of me is meant for good and not to harm me. And it was in speaking to me, I saw once again that God is righteous, just, faithful, and kind.
Suddenly, the object of my abstinence changed and all I wanted to do was glorify God with my body. I wanted to love Him through the way I treat, care for, and speak about this Temple.
I no longer believe marital sex is the source of my salvation and holiness. Another area of my heart received the perfect work of God’s perfect love — He alone is the bedrock of my salvation and holiness. I no longer believe that my sensuality is some unholy part of who I am. I accept it as a treasure worth being protected, cherished, and found. I no longer believed sex is a thorn or my enemy. It is a good thing that God created for each of us to enjoy in the context of a union that’s committed to past, present, and future love.
God did that. God transformed my views and perspective. He washed over me with His greater revelation of love and reminded me that He makes no mistakes. Everything counted for something because it ultimately brought me here, to my conviction and rest in Him.
Abstinence isn’t really about sex and getting ourselves under control. Abstinence isn’t about maintaining and upholding religious standards to prove our own righteousness. It isn’t really about becoming more chaste or pure by “reversing” the decisions of our pasts. It isn’t even about waiting for marriage.
Abstinence is about believing God is who He says He is. It’s choosing to honor and glorify Him in the way we treat our bodies by abstaining from hollow activities that we use to fill voids only God has the power and greatness to fill. Jesus is the answer, all ways always. So, you see, our abstinence was never really meant to be about sex y’all. All the other stuff was fluff. The abstinence journey was always meant to draw us nearer to the heart of God, an anchor for our desires to glorify God with this Temple in every way that it truly was meant to.
We’ll chat more about this conviction in Part 2 — thanks for reading.
