Grieving God: My Journey with Religious Trauma (Part 3)... purity culture edition

Prom 2005- His Senior Prom

The Advice That Kept Me Stuck

In the winter of 2006, I moved into an apartment with my high school boyfriend. To most people, that wouldn't be unusual. However, in the evangelical world I was a part of, it was a scandal.

If you grew up evangelical in the early 2000s, you were inundated by purity culture. It was this dogma that taught us to remain sexually abstinent until marriage, avoid lust, never "cause a brother to stumble," and treat sexual purity as one of the highest indicators of spiritual maturity.

If you've read my previous posts, you may remember that I grew up in a family with little financial resources, my mother was abusive, and my dad struggled with addiction. I had to raise myself and I had nowhere else to go. I went to school full time and worked part-time. If I wanted to continue my education, break the poverty cycle, and have a place to live, it meant I needed to combine and share resources with someone else. I couldn't ask my parents (or any extended family) for money. Most of my friends lived at home, happily supported by their families.

I didn't have that option.

Yes, we were having sex. I was nineteen. Most of my peers were sexually active (and even some of them evangelical), though they weren't exactly advertising it.

I didn't move in with him to have sex... I moved in with him because I felt it was the only option that made sense. I learned quickly that the church doesn't really take nuance into account. When I moved in with my boyfriend, I got the side-eye... and eventually ignored. The church made a judgment based off a few small pieces of information and it being right or wrong. I'm so glad I don't see things that way anymore. People make the best decisions they can based on their experience and the resources they have.

A few months into my debaucherous lifestyle (insert eyeroll here), a lady from my high school church contacted me and asked if I would like to get lunch. I can't remember her name.. we'll call her Phyllis for the sake of storytelling. I obliged her offer- after all, I'm always down for free food. I penciled in the appointment and went to check the apartment mailbox.

As I shuffled through the stack of envelopes, I noticed a letter addressed to my then boyfriend, with a return address and female name I did not recognize. You bet your ass I opened that letter.

Shaking as I unfolded the wide ruled notebook paper, I opened the letter to find 4 selfie

photos of a young girl, looking about the age of fifteen. My adult boyfriend had been talking to this young girl behind my back, and had the audacity to give her the mailing address to the apartment that we lived in together.

My blood began to boil and my heart began to race as I started to consider what this all meant for my life as I knew it. I was devastated and terrified... I didn't know what I was going to do.

When he got home from class, I showed him the letter and confronted him about it. He played dumb and I honestly don't remember much after that. Our entire relationship was on thin ice for a couple of days while my thoughts obsessively went over what just happened.

While pondering my next steps, I opened up my motorola phone to find a reminder text from Phyllis. "Are you still available for lunch today at 12:30?"

"Sure," I said. I thought maybe she would have some wisdom. Maybe she could help me make sense of what had just happened.

Purity Culture's butterfly effect

We sat down the restaurant and Phyllis was smiling as she reviewed her menu. She was clearly looking forward to food... but even though I'm usually down for some grub, I hadn't had an appetite in 3 days, so I just ordered a salad (that I didn't eat).

She asked me how things have been in that typical church lady concern. And I was honest with her.

I told her the entire story... I told her how devastated and scared I was... I told her that I would probably break up with my boyfriend and that I felt like my life was falling apart.

She didn't ask how I was sleeping.

She didn't ask if I felt safe.

She didn't ask why an eighteen-year-old was receiving love letters from a fifteen-year-old.

Instead...

She started talking about marriage.

She started talking to me about the importance of keeping my body count low because sex is reserved for my husband. And then she started asking questions that made me second-guess what I saw in the mailbox.

"What if he's telling the truth? What if there's an evil force trying to break you up? You've been living together as if you are married... What would you do in this situation if you were actually married?"

I also want to add- that this was not the first time I caught this dude cheating on me. I had already gone through another situation with him a year prior... but always made excuses for him.

I wanted to be in a family so bad.

And I didn't think I could find what I now know I deserved.

I settled so much. If only that younger me knew how precious she was...

I was feeling so scared, so hurt, and that question stayed in my brain.

"What would you do if you were married?"

And I stayed with him.

Looking back, I don't think that lunch taught me to stay with him. I had already learned that lesson long before then. However, it did reinforce a belief I'd carried since childhood: preserving the relationship mattered more than protecting myself.

At nineteen, I thought staying made me "good wife" material. Now I understand that it mostly meant I hadn't yet learned that I was worthy of being chosen, protected, and loved well.