OK. It’s time we talk about virginity.
*Takes a shot of whisky.*
It’s time we talk about my virginity.
*Takes another shot. Slams down the glass.*
Ok. Now I feel prepared to take on this topic.
Allow me to set the stage:
Saturday night. 4 am. The sun is just starting to rise and the sky is that dusty heather gray color. NYC looks just like they try to portray it in the movies – a sleeping giant with steep buildings, daring the sun to challenge its dominance.
And I’m bleary eyed, mascara stained, just sobbing. I’m in my pjs. The beautiful, sparkly dress and heels I wore that evening, crumpled in a pile on the floor — along with my dignity.
Pause. NO I did not “do it.” Although, reading that back, it kinda sounds like the beginning of a cheap romance novel. 😛
No. This scene was the result of a very real, very raw, very — vulnerable — conversation.
About…my V card.
Now, before you get ready to B-Slap him with an attitude, it wasn’t like that. Nothing rude. Nothing invasive.
It was actually very respectful. And he wasn’t trying to pressure me either.
The convo went a little something like this:
“BBB. I don’t understand. Every weekend a different guy tries to take you home, but you never do. Why is that?”
And it wasn’t like I just blurted out…OH, I’M A VIRGIN! With three thumbs up emojis.
No, I’ve known him for 4 years, and it was a long, drawn out convo in the back of the bar, just us. He may have just kissed me. A lady never tells.
But I told him: I’m saving myself for my husband.
And it like, boggled his mind. He was so intrigued by this. So interested. So riveted in the why behind it.
And, as it was last call, we continued the convo into a cab he had hailed to drop me off.
Again, don’t read this through the filter of a serial killer — he’s a gentleman and wanted to drop me off, as it was 4am and a gal in a short dress shouldn’t be walking alone.
But he was literally so fascinated. He couldn’t believe that I was still a virgin.
So you’ve never had sex?
Don’t you want to?
Our conversation jumped around, between what it means to be in a relationship, what we think about marriage, vulnerabilities, what we believe in. It was all really great…ish.
But the whole time I just felt like crawling into a hole and never coming out.
It’s not like I’m ashamed of my decision to wait, I just felt really exposed. Like I was standing in front of a big crowd, unaware that my dress was tucked into my granny panties in the back. I felt stupid.
But he said, “I am just worried that your future husband isn’t going to appreciate what you’re doing. What if he’s not able to give you that back? What if you don’t get that?”
And this, is what sparked this post. This is what made me get up out of bed after crying myself to sleep and write about it.
I think there’s a grave misconception about relationships these days: what are you going to get out of it.
What’s in it for you? What are you going to get from the marriage or from the relationship?
And that‘s exactly where my decision to remain a virgin stems from.
Because relationships aren’t about what you’re going to get.
They’re about what you can give.
And that’s why I’m waiting. Because I love my future husband enough that I want to save my body and my whole self for him only. I want to give that to him. I’m not expecting to get anything. Would it be amazing if he was waiting too? Yes. But I don’t expect that. What I do expect is that God is preparing the heart of my future husband right this very minute, just as He’s preparing mine.
My parents have been married for 40+ years. And that’s one thing my mother always taught me: relationships are about giving. If you go into it thinking it’s the other way around, you’re going to end up disappointed and hurt.
So how did I end up with tear stains on my pillow after that open and honest communication in the cab?
Well, honestly, I just felt really alone. Not in an Enrique Iglesias Give Me Just One Night kind of way.
But alone in a misunderstood, foolish, exposed kind of way.
And in some ways I felt like a fraud.
Here’s the thing.
Let’s be honest…there’s a bit of a stereotype about virginity.
Thanks, Steve Carell.
Frankly, I don’t think I come off as this ankle-length-skirt-with-orthopedic-shoes-wearing-virgin-who-has-6-cats-at-home.
But after revealing my virginity, I felt like somebody stripped away that confident exterior, exposing this inner dweeb that shouldn’t be out socializing because of severe social anxiety and a highly spastic colon or something.
I feel like from now on, I’m forever going to be seen through the lens of “virgin.”
I felt dumb. I felt ugly. I felt alone.
And 6 hours later, I still do.
I’m going to get up. Make myself a nice breakfast. And open up God’s love letter to me: the bible.
And I’m going to remind myself that I am not any of those things.
I am not alone: Jesus endured everything we’ve ever gone through, times 100. He was literally stripped down and exposed during the Passion.
I am not ugly. But I am a handcrafted work of art, created lovingly by the Father.
My virginity is not dumb. It is an act of love to my future husband. One that I should celebrate. Jesus gave Himself fully and completely to His love — us — on the Cross, so I can do the same for my future love.
Anywho. Thanks for listening.
Gonna go eat pancakes and put on my orthopedic shoes and head gear.
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