Our body is amazing.

Even when we consciously don't get or don't want to accept the damage something is doing to us, our body knows. "The Body Keeps the Score" (this is a great book, by the way). "The body says no" (another excellent book) to the stress and restrictions being imposed on it. We develop illnesses and defence mechanisms without even realizing where they originate.

In my case?

My legs were always something to hide. Shirts had to cover the knees, and pants could not be too tight so that they didn't "mark my curves". What a horror (!) it would be if a guy looked at me and had "sinful thoughts"  - I would be the one responsible for it because "I provoked it". 

How horrible is that? Not only was I not allowed to date, watch any sex scenes on TV (or real kissing, for that matter), go to pop, street dance or other "indecent" dance classes, wear shorts or mini-skirts or bikinis, let alone have sex until I was married, or touch myself (which, honestly, I didn't even know was a thing). I had to worry about other people's thoughts around me. 

And it wasn't enough to talk about not objectifying women (which can be a good beginning of a dialogue) - I had to be made feel guilty about the way I dressed, moved, and behaved. And I had to be made responsible for something I actually could not control - other people - so that I would have to be even more diligent and vigilant in my "battle for purity".

That is messed up. More than that, sick and violent.

When I was five, and my mom dressed me in a skirt that was over my knees to go to church, I cried and couldn't be consoled because "I was indecent, and how could my mom take me to church indecent?". 

At the age of 8, I was asked at school to shorten my skirt because it did not conform to the uniform. I took my mom there to tell the director that a catholic school could not possibly be asking me to be (again) "indecent".

And indecency wasn't even the case in either of the times.

When I was 10, a classmate brought a book explaining sex to kids. When I got home and asked if that was what happened, my mom said, "Talk to your dad", and my dad said - "Yeah, that is right", and that was it.

At 15, when they found out I was dating, my mom cried hysterically because "I was going to get pregnant", and they basically kept me captive (carried me around with them) for a year, so I didn't have the opportunity to bring my boyfriend home and fuck him. (I did date him, though, and then two other guys.)

At 18, I joined Opus Dei as a celibate member and no more sex for me for 12 years. (To be fair, no more kissing and making out, as at that point I had had no experience with any sex yet).

Ironically, what might have saved me was that my parents' refusal to talk about sex kept me in the dark about everything that is between a kiss and actual sex. Which means, when I got a boyfriend and my first kiss, I started feeling things, and for a couple of months we made out without any guilt. Until a priest asked me what we were doing and clarified that if there was any "funny hand” moving around, I was in mortal sin and could not go to communion. From then on, the guilt was back; dating was a nightmare because I was incredibly horny but still wanted to "do the right thing" (and the boyfriend would not collaborate with "being pure"), and becoming a sort of nun was a relief because I didn't have to worry about not having sex anymore.

Why do I say this saved me? Because during those couple of guiltless months, at least I felt what it is like to have a sexuality. I found out that there is so much more to sex than to get pregnant. I felt the care and pleasure that can come from touch and knew it could connect you to someone on a deeper level, one I still couldn't understand.

After leaving Opus Dei, after 12 years without being in a relationship or being touched, I did something both predictable and kinda stupid - I went back to that first boyfriend. The one with whom I had a glimpse of my sexuality. And the result? It didn't last long. Because my hopes that now he would be more mature and hold his horses were in vain, and he was still as pushy as before. We ended up in quarantine together, and that was enough for him to abuse me and touch me in ways I didn't want to, even among my tears. "I thought you were just playing difficult", he said. Well, fuck you. I was fucking crying.

Although it was painful to realize that a person I trusted could be so violent to me, that was a major twist for me. Because my Christian raising would say, "You asked for it", "What were you doing quarantined with a guy? Of course that was going to happen", "Well, he is a man; you know that this is how men behave". And at that moment, I realized what major bullshit and manipulation that is. I refuse to be blamed for having been abused and, forever again, judging people like that. 

That trip back from Brazil to Latvia made me realize that there was something intrinsically wrong with the "war for purity" I had been taught to fight.

So I went off, I went off to discover my own sexuality, my body, my way of dressing. I tried on new clothes that highlighted the parts of me I liked and found my own way of expressing myself through my style. I watched YouTube videos on how to move my hips and practiced in the mirror when no one was watching. I went on multiple dates with different guys and defined my own limits and rules. I explored myself at my own pace and decided that no priest or religion had any say in it. I found a wonderful guy who could respect my own specificities and love me for who I am.

What stays from the purity culture in me?

My body still says no sometimes to everything I suffered and repressed before. 

Luckily, I didn't develop vaginism or other painful conditions (there is a higher risk of it when you come from a very religious family, and I know cases).

How does my body defend itself? Sounds stupid, but I am at times incredibly ticklish in my legs, to the point it hurts. Remember the forever-declared no-go zone? It still feels like it. Although I love showing my legs, especially when I want to mark my presence, they still feel like they should not be accepted or touched. 

It is a reminder of the violence I suffered. A calling not to let any violence be inflicted upon me again, physical, emotional, spiritual, intentional or not. And also a reminder to be kind and gentle to myself.

Yours,