Under the Covers: Why I became a sex columnist

If you told my 13-year-old self that I would grow up to become a sex columnist, I probably would have laughed in your face.

Or I would have cried. It would likely be both, if I’m being honest. Catholic guilt will do that to you.

But here I am, eight years older, wiser — and yes, a sex columnist.

So what’s changed between then and now? Well, since my tumultuous junior high and high school days, I’ve made strides to examine and understand my own thoughts on sex and sexuality, away from the opinions of others. I’ve come to an important conclusion: my sexuality belongs solely to me and is an integral part of who I am. I believe this principle applies to everyone, but we often struggle to reach it in today’s society — at least, I did. Nobody should face judgement for their sexual interests, and we need to start talking openly so those barriers can disappear.  That’s why I’m starting this column.

Growing up, I attended 12 years of Catholic schooling — sex was never on the discussion board.

Though in recent years, Pope Benedict XVI has sparked discourse about contraceptive use. Before his comments, the only form of birth control that the Catholic church supported was family planning.

My school had no sexual education class, because who needs a class on safe sex when you’re not allowed to have any? The only time the word “sex” came up was in conjunction with the words “after marriage.” In fact, a high school religion teacher once explicitly told me that having sex before marriage was a one-way ticket to hell. This came from a woman the Church kicked out of the convent for getting pregnant.

You can’t make this stuff up, kids.

At home, it was more of the same. Though my parents never threatened to curse me to eternal damnation, they also never gave me “the talk” or even alluded to sex in any context. For them, it was an unstated understanding that neither my siblings nor I would have sex out of wedlock. At least, that’s how it felt to me when I had nothing else to go off of.

Now, I’m not saying that abstinence is inherently wrong in any way. If waiting for marriage is what you want to do, that’s great. You truly have my full support. If sex isn’t your thing and you plan on staying celibate your whole life, more power to you.

But what I am saying is that “abstinence-only” teaching is not the way to go when educating hormone-crazed teenagers who are raring to go but have zero direction on safe sex. According to a 2011 study by the University of Georgia, abstinence-only programs are actually positively correlated with teenage pregnancy. I know, I know — shocking.

Beyond that, what if you’re one of the many people, like myself, who don’t want to wait to have sex?

I felt guilty for wanting to explore sex, but not necessarily because of my faith. I felt I was disappointing both my parents and, strangely enough, my younger self who swore she’d never be with anyone but her husband. I felt nervous because going on a birth control pill didn’t seem like an option unless I drove myself to Planned Parenthood, which, at the time, felt just as daunting as asking my mom to make my first gynocologist appointment.

And, on top of all this, I felt annoyed that everyone spent my entire life saying that men wanted sex more than women. I was living proof that they didn’t. When the details of my sex life came out, my parents grabbed their pitchforks and aimed them toward my then-boyfriend.

When I tried to explain that the whole “it takes two to tango” cliche is a cliche for a reason, I was met with sentences like, “but boys always want that more” and, “he must have been the one to start things.” Spoiler alert: he didn’t. I did. Which I told them, very loudly. It wasn’t pretty.

What it was, though, was the beginning of me standing up for myself when it came to my own thoughts, principles and feelings toward sex and sexuality — the starting point of a journey that led me to greater self-acceptance.

Since then, I’ve come to realize that I don’t want to be ashamed of myself, hide myself or bother with what others think. The way I live does not have to reflect the way I was brought up, and that’s OK. Most importantly, though, I want everyone to be able to feel this way, because let me tell you, it’s the only way to live.

To achieve this, there needs to be open and honest dialogue about sex, sexuality, sexual orientation, gender identity, social norms and more. Without it, we’re all just feeling around in the dark, trying to find the stupid doorknob, when really, we should be searching for the light switch. Corny, but true.

In essence, that’s what this column will aim to achieve, and that’s who this column is really for: people who feel confused, alone, ignored or ashamed while stumbling around in the dark.

And, of course, for those people who just like talking about everything good that happens there, too.

Write to Bridget at bpm36@pitt.edu.