Here you are.
You've read the previous journals and yet you can't help but get in the boxing ring and wrestle with your thoughts. The ideas of purity or sexual boundaries are all great in theory. But in practice… you've practiced. In other words, you've had sex. Maybe it was with your prom date in senior year. Or maybe it was your participation in the recipe of drugs and/or alcohol + two humans. Or some heated situation got out go hand and you did something you later regretted. Yet, you have this confusing feeling deep inside you that you can't shake off and feel like you deserve something better or different.
Well, this journal is for you.
Firstly, let’s use a notion other than “purity”. I feel like we’ve been robbing generations of their opportunity to heal themselves by glorifying virginity and placing it upon a pedestal, particularly female virginity. I get frustrated that we judge people or ourselves by an act that can last less than three minutes. Three minutes of a person's life that can darken their thoughts for years. Therefore, let's not focus on whose skin touches whose, but does it disrupt your inner-peace or tranquility of soul. In other words, is your wholeness compromised or are you compromising another's wholeness?
Over a cup of coffee, my beautiful sassy friend said “I feel like I’ve given a piece of my heart to each man I slept with. When I finally meet the one, I will only have this tiny slice of my heart left to give him”. Meanwhile, many of my male friends have tried to convince me that they can have sex with no emotional connection. I do endeavor to believe them, but I still wonder whether they wake up the morning after and feel like a true champion? I also know sex works like super glue. Science can back me up. Oxytocin is a powerful chemical known as the “cuddle drug” and it is released when you orgasm, thereby an individual’s mind is bonding to a person or pornographic image. It is the drug of trust and partnership and attachment, commonly known by its street name: love. Fun Fact: Rats prefer it to cocaine. So, no wonder my friend’s heart hurt like hell, because two literally become one and you are having to rip your soul from theirs.
We need to stop believing that having sex once or twice or a thousand times means you’re never going to be whole again. After a forest is burnt down by a wildfire, do we leave it? No, forests are important ecosystems. The soil will be upturned, and seeds will germinate in the forest floor. Birds and other animals may also bring in seeds. Like a forest, with time and help from a few birdies (aka your friends or mentors) you can also begin to see yourself whole again and find restoration. I encourage you to bring you and all your beautiful baggage to God, watch Him wipe your slate clean and accept new beginnings. God takes all your baggage and throws it in the deepest lake in the world. Then He puts a sign up saying “no fishing”. Thereby, preventing you or anyone else from trawling up your past.
Your past doesn't define you. You have a choice to let your past sneak up like a thief in the night and whisper lies to you. Or you can choose to ignore the past and pick the beauty of the present which serves as a blank canvas waiting patiently for you to draw colourfully. You can also learn from your past and allow that wisdom to shape your future. Let me remind you that you are not what others call you. I’ve been called a slut, minx, ho and tramp. But I refuse to believe each name (or call myself these names). Rather, I call myself classy, whole, healthy and kind. Here’s a good measurement: Would you talk to your best friend the way you’re talking to yourself? And would she/he still be your best friend afterwards?
WARNING: the following story is graphic and is recommended for readers over the age of sixteen.
The story of Brenda
It was a Friday night around midnight and I was at my friend’s house dancing to Beyoncé in the kitchen. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the front door and I ran to see who it was (secretly hoping it was my crush who was a no-show all night). As I opened the door, I saw a young girl about the age of sixteen, she was covered in blood, her eyes were puffy and her clothes were ripped. She was mumbling incoherently, but the one word I could decipher (as if the sight of her wasn’t clear enough) was “help”. I started to tell her, “You are safe now. You are okay.”
I led her into the bathroom where she unexpectedly fell to the ground. I joined her on the ground and asked her name; “Brenda.” I got my friend to call the police and paramedics. Brenda slowly started to enunciate her words more clearly and told me her story. She was walking home from work through a park when suddenly a man grabbed her. He proceeded to rape and beat her until she was an inch away from death. At that point, he walked away.
Tears running down my face, I told her “Brenda you are strong. Brenda, you will heal. Brenda, this does not define you. Brenda, justice will be served. Brenda, you are beautiful.” I reached out my hand while repeating these words. She finally looked at me for the first time and put her bloodied hand in mine. This was the first human touch since she escaped an act so cruel that it almost killed her. Twenty minutes later, the police officers and paramedics arrived at the scene. The officers and medics compassionately helped Brenda into the ambulance and drove away.
Brenda and I are still in touch to this day, and she is one of the greatest testaments of courage. Brenda sought help, even if it meant knocking on the door of a stranger’s house. She didn’t keep the trauma locked up in the attic of her heart, but instead shouted out in the darkness and watch it turn to light. Brenda found not only wholeness in herself, but also wholeness in a community as she welcomed friends and family into her journey towards healing. She made a choice to select words of life, not death, to circulate in her pool of thoughts.
Brenda, these journals are dedicated to you.
I am excited to announce the next journal will feature Chad Masters on March 28! Chad, a full-time model, gets vulnerable about pornography and premarital sex .
Journal of a Virgin