I’m officially at the age where you fall headfirst into wells of deep self-reflection, which means I’ve been examining the pillars that make up my identity. Specifically, I’ve been taking stock of long-held beliefs from childhood and examining how they don’t really fit anymore. I’ve been asking myself these questions:

Who benefits from me believing these things about myself?
If I’m not the one benefitting, who is? And can I live with that answer?

I spent much of my life in the church. Sunday mornings. Youth group. Church camp. Christian college. It made up much of my social circle. The church shielded me from some of the harsh realities lurking outside its doors. It also taught me to shrink myself, to downplay my own questions and desires. I became adept at shapeshifting – becoming whatever other people needed me to be for their own comfort.

There is still a place in my heart for church camp. If I’m being honest, I was never in it for the God stuff. The idea of a week in the woods with friends and unlimited crafts allured me even then. When you are a kid, adults use all that fun stuff as the gateway drug to the heavy, more serious stuff. In the afternoon, you’re playing Capture the Flag. After dinner you learn about salvation and eternal damnation.

Youth camp kicked it up a notch. We were teenagers with hormones and changing bodies. Suddenly there was a very clear line of division – boys and girls. A line you dare not cross. This is where I learned more explicitly about my role as a female in this faith.

At the end of the week they separated us – the boys were whisked off somewhere else and we were herded into the auditorium. It was hot and the tone was serious. They let us in on a long-held secret: The female body is a source of temptation and it is our responsibility to guard it, protect it, keep it pure.

The lake at camp, taken this summer while passing through.

There we were, a room full of 13-15-year-old girls trying to digest this news that our biology had betrayed us. That just by being born female, we now had an extra responsibility. We all signed a contract – the size of an index card – stating we would keep ourselves pure and clean until marriage. That until our wedding day, Jesus was our bridegroom. (Yes, they used that word – bridegroom.) Some of us were crying, most of us were confused, all of us wanted this awkward moment to end.

Soon we were back to s’mores and campfire songs alongside our Christian brothers, but with this new kernel of information tucked securely in our heads.

In college I went back to the same camp, this time as summer staff. There are moments from that summer that I cherish – afternoons on the trails, stargazing in the ballfield, just being away from home. Eventually Youth Camp came around and the grounds were inundated with teenagers.

I forgot about the purity portion of the week, so when that part of the programming arrived I was jolted back to ninth grade. As before, the boys and girls were separated, and it was my task that night to deliver snacks. I set up the Kool Aid and cookies in the auditorium to the familiar background noise of a lecture on purity.

Next I delivered snacks to the gymnasium. I don’t know what I was expecting. At the very least, the same amount of reverence here in the gym as across camp in the auditorium. I walked into a sea of boys running around playing kickball and basketball, laughing as if the weight of the world had not just been dropped on them – because it had not. I don’t know what kind of discourse the boys got, if any, but something in me switched that day.

I was angry – and still am – that across camp a whole room of girls was given bullshit instruction on how to live life as if the world is a minefield and they are the explosives, while a gym full of boys played on because life had not changed for them.

One of the trails I loved on my afternoons off. I still love this trail.

We know now that the purity movement is problematic. If you didn’t grow up in the church, Google “True Love Waits” and “purity rings” and brace yourself for some cult-level bullshit.

Not for one minute do I think that my parents and my friends’ parents knew that what we grew up hearing caused real, lasting damage. I’ve spent the last few years unpacking this part of me that felt lesser than, unworthy, responsible for the welfare of everyone but my own self. I simply did not believe I deserved to take up space. I was taught that to be female was to make concessions for others while still holding my own feet painfully to the fire. The purpose of my whole existence was reduced to the physical makeup of my body, of which I had no control.

I don’t believe that anymore – and I act accordingly. As my nieces near their teen years, I worry for them. I do not want them to have to unpack years of unfounded shame. I want them to jump over that hurdle with the aplomb of an Olympic runner and move straight into loving themselves.

I’d like to think that we’ve moved past much of this dated thinking. But the markers are still here. Brett Kavanaugh is on the Supreme Court. The President of the United States openly admitted to grabbing women by the pussy, and this admission came out before he was elected* (not by the popular vote*). With the passing of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, there is a fervor to fill her seat with someone eager and willing to roll back women’s rights. The fact that that someone is a woman is a hard pill to swallow.

I don’t believe Christianity (or any religion) is inherently bad. But why is that when humans get their hands on something good, they can be so quick to manipulate it for their own personal gain? Christianity in human hands is caustic and predatory. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t participate in a system that only sees me as lesser than, particularly a system that actively benefits from me believing that about myself.

This is heavier than what I’ve shared here before – and it’s my first time back in a long time. I’m emerging from the hermit phase of my ruminating. I intend to use this space more purposefully. I will still share the teas and books and projects, while also not shying away from the hard stuff. Glad to be back, dear ones.

I’m consuming a lot of media, especially now that we are in COVID times. I’ve watched and read a lot junk, but also a lot of really moving, thought-provoking works. Here’s my short list of the latter. If anything you just read resonates with you, you might like some of them. What have you been reading / watching / listening to?

What I’m Reading:

Pure: Inside the Evangelical Movement That Shamed a Generation of Young Women and How I Broke Free by Linda Kay Klein – A must-read if anything you just read sounds bizarre and impossible to you.
Untamed by Glennon Doyle – Read this so we can talk about it and then take over the world.
The Sun – Just an absolutely beautiful magazine. Essays, short stories, poetry, black and white photography. Ad free. https://www.thesunmagazine.org/
Devotions by Mary Oliver – The patron saint of paying attention. How is it that I still mourn the passing of someone I never met?

What I’m Watching:

Nanette by Hannah Gadsby (Netflix) – A truly important piece of work. Watch it. While you’re at it, watch her follow-up Netflix special, Douglas.
Dead to Me (Netflix) – A fun, albeit emotional distraction. Where are you, Season 3?
Fleabag by Phoebe Waller-Bridge (Amazon Prime) – Zoomed through the 2 seasons in a timeframe I don’t care to share. Just brilliant.

What I’m Listening to:

What’s Her Name – Academic sisters Olivia Meikle and Katie Nelson tell stories of fascinating women you’ve never heard of (but should have); www.whatshernamepodcast.com – I’ve learned there’s a lot of interesting women that (surprise, surprise) never made it into the history books.
The Moth – True stories, told live and without notes, to standing-room-only crowds; www.themoth.org – Stories show our shared humanity. Stories can save the world.
Hidden Brain: Where Does Religion Come From? – https://www.npr.org/2019/05/06/720656274/where-does-religion-come-from-one-researcher-points-to-cultural-evolution