A Not So Virtuous Woman

Trigger Warning: this article contains adult content and references to sexual abuse and domestic violence

Her eyes are tired, her gaze locked on the gray tile below, and silence is stretched out between us while we stand there. It's Sunday morning and in the crowded space of our church's ladies restroom there's two other young girls quickly checking their hair in the only mirror in the building. One sixteen year old is raving over the pale pink nail polish she convinced her parents to allow her to paint her nails the day before. The other disappointingly remarking that she's not allowed to indulge in the luxury but is sporting a rich perfume that is not only turning my stomach, but also choking me to death. I recognize the scent since I have an aunt who wears it. Letting out a discrete cough, I rest the back of my head against the floral wallpaper behind me, my only thought on finishing up as soon as possible with my own primping once my turn comes before the worship hour starts. You never know, a young preacher boy or missionary with a large family passing through may have a son interested in me. We're all on the lookout for our future mate; it's a habit for me since I was just a child. I'm always wondering when God will see fit to reveal my future husband, to bring the man I have been saving myself for. At this point, I have my eye on someone, but keeping it to myself. Ever since I overheard a group of church girls complaining about my tendency to "flirt" with one of the two single boys in our small community, I keep any interests secret. After a few moments the room empties, leaving only myself and this recently married woman. I give a smile when she finally lifts her gaze to me, her expression causing me to pause. 

"Don't do it," she says so softly I request her to repeat her prior sentence as I watch her slightly slouch into the corner opposite of me. Momentarily I'm confused by what this young bride of merely two weeks is meaning until she elaborates just a bit more. "Getting married. Trust me, just don't do it." And just like that, after I give a sympathetic look in response, our conversation ends with her walking out of the room and me still standing there. 

                                     
I was a girl of sixteen then and yet I got what this newlywed wife was saying. I was behind the scenes of the day of her wedding, popping in to see if there was anything I could do to help and found her mother convincing her to go through with the ceremony while the daughter fought tears. Wasn't it only a couple of years ago that her parents gifted her with a purity ring? It was a milestone, reaching sixteen years of age sexually pure and that ring was a gift given by two proud parents. It's two years later and the ring is now replaced with a wedding band. 

Growing up, I thought brides were supposed to smile.  And although there were some who did, I witnessed many such second thoughts throughout my time in IFB. There were a total of three such conversations where each newlywed bride warned me to wait for or avoid marriage all together. These memories are deeply imprinted on my mind. They still cause me to be filled with anger and disgust for the system behind such filthy and utterly perverted teachings. 

Over the course of my time as a fundamentalist Christian, there were things that we just didn't talk about. That being the case, subjects like sex were unheard of to usually the day before your wedding day. A soon-to-be-bride had a crash course of sex ed from her mother, littered with misinformation and unrealistic expectations. Young girls were taught to be chaste virgins, guarding our purity, but then with a single vow, expected to transform into sexual fantasies on our wedding nights. 

As a motherless teen girl, on occasion it was common for one or two of the ladies to pull me aside and take it upon themselves to share advice. I was told tampons should never enter my body before my future husband did. That the clitoris was in fact the urethra and had no real purpose. Sex wasn't about sexual pleasure for the woman. That was one step from sinful, in all honesty, with rules against masturbation from the very beginning. This rule also applied to young men with lessons taught about "if thy hand offend thee, cut it off" in Sunday school. What were to be "facts" about female and even male anatomy were so misinformed it is now almost laughable to me. 

Sexual thoughts were dirty, shameful and frankly terrifying. 

It was common to even fear these thoughts were result of not really being a real Christian. After all, the natural flesh is vile and should be brought into submission at all times. If it's not, then it is a possible telltale sign you're in fact lost. 

There were no adults and no education to explain the true facts of life to young people going through puberty and we were left to feel disgust and guilt about our bodies and their natural changes and urges. I can't even imagine the difficulties LGBT young people faced.

                          
Science has no place in these fundamentalist communities. There are no choices to healthily and realistically talk to young people about safe sex. There's no equality and with imbalance of authority between status and gender, consent can't truly be practiced. Rape is equivalent to any other sexual sin, regardless of the victim's age. It's about purity and nothing more; sexual crimes are not seen as crimes at all. A bride's virginity is a gift from her father to her new husband. Her body nothing more than a dowry of sorts.

As a fundamentalist teen girl, along with a childhood sexual abuse victim, I dreaded marriage and decided early on I would find a way to manipulate the rules to ensure I would not come back from my honeymoon like most of the girls I grew up around did. I swore not to be the blushing bride at her bridal shower, unwrapping dainty silk nightgowns and cringing. I never wanted to experience the embarrassment of getting tips written on three by five note cards on how to satisfy my husband from the married women of my church at that same special occasion. My stomach turned every time I seen gift ribbons, knowing that every one cut was said to be the number of your future children. Marriage was supposed to be a fairytale come true; too many brides reacted as if it was a living nightmare. I can't say I fully allowed myself to dream of a fairytale I suspected didn't exist. I never witnessed one true happy marriage in fundamentalism. Women were to be meek and quiet, care for their children and homes, and then be a harlot in bed. 

                                       
I'm fourteen years old, curious and frustrated with unanswered questions and the admonishing that came from result of trying to ask those questions. I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor, a go-to guide for medical ailments from a family bookshelf I was told never to touch, balancing on my lap. It's the first time I've truly seen a diagram and drawing of the human body other than learning to label the basic musculosketetal system in my homeschooling. Flipping through the pages, I learn about menstrual cycles in more detail than I have ever heard of, birth control options, and the overall reproductive system. I'm in awe and convinced that this was nothing to be ashamed of, that this is just life facts and I don't feel guilty. In fact, I close the book, finished with reading about erectile dysfunction and midlife crisis and go on to read nursing school textbooks from the 1970s about appendicitis. I don't understand why things are considered sinful and am beyond confused on the rules, so instead, I just continue reading with my mind made up at least on basic sex ed. It's not sin. 

Some years later, there was a shop very popular with my former church. I remember waiting oddly outside in the parking lot, too young to enter, while some of the adults in my life would go inside. A thirty minute drive for most church members, it was recommended for soon to be brides and/or their fiances to visit. I always wondered what that must have looked like to the owner: a young girl of barely seventeen sometimes, diamond on her finger, and dressed in a long, floor length jean skirt, walking the aisles where adult toys, pornography and sex play items were sold. Mostly, I think of those young couples taught to never even look at shirtless or swimsuit clad models, read romances with conservative love scenes, and who for so long viewed their bodies as a spiritual liability, finding themselves confronted with this information. I imagine I would have been terrified. 

Women were expected to be Jessica Simpson sexy with their husbands, homemakers like their mothers, and a Christian like the pastor's wife. That was the ideal candidate for wives in my group I remember most; the supermodel's commercial quietly talked of in my group since it aired during sports on Sunday afternoons.

Fundamentalism, when practiced according to the rules, meant for its members to live in the world but not of it. And to guarantee this it was up to members to keep the outside world from entering their homes with the restrictions dictated by their leader. To enforce these rules, the home is supposed to be patterned after "Christ and His Church" with the husband the head of the wife. A wife cannot say 'no' to her husband. If she disagrees, she is to pray, seek God's face, than go to him and share her concerns. If the husband will not be swayed, it is her responsibility to follow his lead and go on with exactly what he says in the end. This pattern and process does not change if the man is abusive. The old rules still apply, always. There's no breaking them even if the rules are breaking you. There's no exceptions. We were taught in teen Sunday school classes and from the pulpit to submit to our husbands in all things, give our "due benevolence" and satisfy them to keep them from straying. Physical or emotional discomfort during sex was considered rebellion and the refusal to submit on the wife's part. Domestic violence was unheard of; rape never discussed. And yet, both are beyond the normal in IFB marriages. Divorce from an abuser is against the rules. You have made your bed, you are to literally sleep in it, regardless of the character of your spouse and if you are experiencing any form of mistreatment or abuse. If a wife was to reach out to her pastor or his wife, more often than not, the answer would be to submit in all things. Similar to child abuse, the IFB refuses to help those suffering from spousal abuse. 

I'm going to be honest for a moment: receiving a call from a young fundamentalist wife stuck in an abusive marriage is probably the most scariest thing I have ever experienced. Convincing them to get secular help, nearly impossible. Domestic violence in general is a complicated ordeal. But coupled with abusive religious teachings in isolated communities, it is that utter nightmare I was talking about. 

As a single, nearly twenty-six year old young woman, four years removed from the cult those toxic teachings still linger in my subconscious. There is guilt and insecurities surrounding healthy sexuality. Except for the few young men I was fortunate to have respect me as a female—gentlemen and gentle souls as they were—the mass majority of men I grew up around were the true meaning of a fundamentalist. Arrogant, misogynists, and those that viewed females as temptation to be resented for. In puberty, I experienced inappropriate remarks about my changing body and countless times then and thereafter had my personal space violated with forced embraces and such by older men, all while such behavior by males around my own age was banned. More than three times, by two married men more than twice my age in our small group, I experienced sexual harassment outside of the church in connected gatherings. The first time when I was simply fifteen, then when I was seventeen, and once as a young adult. Looking back and learning more, it's obvious now I was in the process of being groomed as a minor by one such male church member. I was also sexually abused by two family members for nearly a decade as a child and my church community failed to help me, along with many other victims. I share all of that not for sympathy or to bring attention to myself. I'm honest about all of it to try and describe the environment young women and men grow up in and how dangerous marriage can sometimes be in these fundamentalist settings. The outside world truly has no idea. If they did, Oceanias like the one I come from would not be given free passes. No one with a moral backbone would be able to. It's that simple.

And as I'm writing this, I'm forever grateful to all those young people who spoke up and shared their concerns with me, that followed every gut intuition and warning. I have no doubt by those conversations I was one of the fortunate few to avoid many additional traumatic experiences. My heart also grieves for those that can't say the same, those who are still to this day stuck with an abusive spouse, family member, or church member in the group I left. For the young boy or girl feeling disgusted by their bodies, struggling with self worth and are experiencing bullying or abuse, I get it. My plea would be for you to know that although it seems you are alone, there are people on the outside that care, who believe that no one should suffer because of their beliefs or by the hands of those that enforce them. There are also us walkways, people who have been right where you are, feeling like what's taught to be for our best is what is making us hurt the most. We understand. You are loved. You deserve better. Not every rule is for your benefit. Break some.♥


National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673, 24/7.

Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800 -799-7233.

If ever you want someone that gets it, feel free to reach out to a walkaway and I will listen: orwellianresister@gmail.com

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