Friday, March 30, 2018
Sex: Suppressed, Repressed, & Depressed
I grew up in a family culture that taught me that sex was.... well... it didn't exist. Somehow, it was bad. It was not talked about in any way, shape, or form. Add to that a sprinkling of trauma and you get a woman (me) with some really weird blank spots in her knowledge base and reactions where sex is concerned.
Surpressed? Oh yeah. As I child I wore nightgowns that covered every part of the body. Flannel flannel flannel, with a bathrobe on top. To not wear that bathrobe was as unacceptable as flashing a stadium of football fans. Even the word sex was a source of embarrassment or censure. The only thing I remember from Sex Ed in 6th grade was that weird squiggly sperm things fertilize eggs and make babies. Sperm came from boys and eggs came from girls. I don't recall the actual mechanics every being discussed.
We also learned that year that if you kiss a boy you can get pregnant (thank you Lisa Crossman)! That bit of knowledge made a bigger impression than those invisible squiggles and eggs that may or may not actually exist (adults lie!). And let's face it, Lisa new what she was talking about. She had a sister, or maybe it was her cousin, that this had happened to!!
Repressed? I married at 19 and endured sex as a wife should. Honestly, the poor man may as well have been trying to mate with bread for all the help he got from me. I didn't understand sex and thanks to a inappropriate dad, did not want to. There were also the dreams that most likely were repressed memories, that just made even the idea of sex unpalatable. However, in my 30s, after my divorce, I realized sex was.... not so horrible.
In my 40's I discovered sex could be (God and my mother forgive me) ... fun. But uncomfortable dreams and bad memories interfered. I even had a proud feminist moment in which I tried a one night stand. I was proud for all of two and a half seconds before the shame hit. Ok. No on the one night stands.
Depressed. Now I'm in my 50s and I've realized that sex is good. Like, GOOD good. But I'm old, a chunky monkey, and not so willing to share my space or daily life. Also, I'm apparently working on revirgination for my next stage of life. Argh. How depressing is that?
I'm left with the age old question: what would I do if I knew then what I do now? I'll tell you what.... And to hell with flannel night gowns and Catholic guilt! I'd be the world's biggest slut!