I just lost the ever anticipated big V a few weeks ago and it wasn’t nearly as horrifying as I had envisioned in my mind. I had built it up to be hell, but it was pleasant to say the least.
Even admitting to this is no easy feat. At twenty-five, I thought I would die a virgin and the longer I waited to do the deed, the more terrified I became about the eventual event itself.
Pangs of guilt took me over whenever I would even consider having sexual relations with any prospective dates or romantic partners. This pattern of self-judgment and restraint continued throughout my college years and beyond.
Anytime desire, lust, or a craving for sexual expression showed up, I would get frazzled and run away from these self-imposed demons. Before long, I was twenty-five and totally tired of pretending to be someone I wasn’t in my most fundamental, core self.
I allowed a series of misconceptions and anxiety-ridden thoughts surrounding sex to prevent me from embracing my intrinsic sexuality.
Growing up in a conservative household with Islamic values being thrown at me, I learned to connect shame to sexuality and thereby repressed my own innate body’s needs. In the culture in which I was raised, sexual relations outside of marriage are a no-go and being sexual is synonymous with promiscuity and taintedness.
There is no in-between as you are either a slut or a saint. The longer you retain your virginity, the more valued and respected you are. When and if you decide to act upon your sexuality outside of the confines of marriage, there will be consequences that may wound you forever.
It is silly I know, but I worried that my mother would somehow know in her gut if I ever acted upon my sexuality. That fear held me back big time.
This was the illogical nonsense I deemed to be true up until just a short while ago.
Something rubbed me the wrong way about the whole hiding my sexuality notion as it didn’t resonate with my passionate, vital self.
It left me dried up on shore, thirsty and eager to swim in an ocean of ecstasy. My inner-guide didn’t agree with the path I was taking and it wanted out.
In other words, I stopped giving a fuck. I needed to take a stand and let go of my external environment’s attempts at keeping me in a box and dimming my right to self-exploration.
Thank goodness I escaped and took a dip in the sea. My current boyfriend is the lucky guy who took away my virginity. Actually, I take that back. He didn’t take anything away from me but actually helped me love my body and my sexuality and for that I am grateful.
I can’t tell you how it all played out because it was unplanned and spontaneous. My body, mind, and soul were all in harmonious agreement that having sex at that time and place was the right thing to do and I ignored the voices in my head that tried to dissuade me.
I chose to let go and let sex run its course in an organic fashion. Yes, there was associated discomfort and insecurity that took part when I decided to have sex for the first time, but it was equally liberating.
Finally, my assertive, badass self made an appearance and shut down the self-limiting, scared little girl role I had been taking on for far too long.
Sure, there are many of you who may argue for gripping virginity with all of your might no matter how contrived or damaging it may be to do so, but I beg to differ.
From my perspective, losing your virginity should take place when you personally feel it is right and to each their own.
Deep down in the depths of our being, we know precisely how to live our lives so I encourage each and every one of us to listen to our inner-voices when they are trying to guide us. I am so glad I did.
Losing your virginity doesn’t have to be feared and on that note, I wish you all a beautiful, sexually gratifying life.