I was raised as a Christian in a non-denominational church—the kind with rock music, the “modern” ones. I spent almost all of my free time there. To me, my life and the church were one and the same. I learned about God’s great love for me and fell deeply in love with Him. I joined, led, and volunteered. And at one point, I fell in love. Of course, it was with a Christian boy.

I was raised with the belief that sex was only meant for marriage—that was God’s design. Any other way made you impure. I promised God I would remain abstinent until marriage. Some call this “purity culture.” The girls’ church groups frequently talked about saving ourselves for marriage, about dressing modestly. I remember being corrected a few times for wearing a bikini or a low-cut tank top. This made me hyper-aware of my body and how it related to my boyfriend every time we were together.

Being with him was the first time I experienced my biology and my mind in conflict. I loved his touch, but I simultaneously feared it. I wasn’t prepared for how difficult purity would be. Nearly a year into our relationship, we had sex. And I was the one who initiated it. There was no fear or shame in the moment—just love, closeness, understanding, and exploration. But the guilt, shame, and devastation came a few hours later. I cried and prayed. I hated myself. I thought I was the most disgusting person on Earth. That was purity culture speaking.

The sex we had was protected, understanding, and full of love. But I didn’t know that then. All I “knew” was that my body was evil and I had been unfaithful to God. I shared this with no one. I felt like a used car—one that everyone had already driven, no longer worth much.

Fast forward to marriage. I had such a complicated relationship with sex. I hated it, yet I loved it. I felt disgusting for even wanting it. But I’ve learned a lot since then. I’ve learned to trust, love, and listen to my body. She protects me. I’ve learned that no one knows who’s a virgin and who isn’t. I’ve learned that my body hasn’t been “used”—it has been loved.

And I’ve learned that all safe sex is good sex.