Let's Talk About Sex, Baby

Let’s talk about you and me... and what the church taught us about both.

I feel like there are certain conversations Christian women are allowed to have, and then there are the conversations where everybody suddenly gets very uncomfortable, clears their throat, and says, “Well... we shouldn't talk about that.” And one of those conversations is sex.

Specifically, the fact that women have sexual feelings too. Shocking, I know.

Somewhere along the way, a lot of us grew up learning that being a “good Christian girl” meant being pure, modest, innocent, and basically uninterested in anything remotely sexual until the exact moment we got married. We could want a husband. We could talk about marriage. We could dream about our wedding day. But wanting affection? Wanting to be kissed? Being attracted to somebody? Having sexual desire? Actually acknowledging that our bodies have feelings? Suddenly it was like, “Oh, we don't talk about that.”

But here's the thing: Christian women have bodies.

We have hormones. We experience attraction. We get butterflies. We want to be held. We want to kiss somebody we are attracted to. We can have sexual thoughts. We can experience desire. And none of that suddenly makes us less Christian.

I think one of the problems is that purity culture sometimes made women feel like the existence of sexual desire was evidence that something was wrong with us. We were taught what not to wear, what not to do, how far not to go, what thoughts we shouldn't have, and how to avoid “tempting” men. But somewhere in all of that, I think some of us learned to associate our own bodies with shame. And that can follow you into adulthood.

This is something I had to learn for myself: I love my body. I am not ashamed of it, and I'm not going to pretend I am. I've done boudoir photoshoots. I wear skimpy bikinis to the beach. I have skirts that come above my knees. I show a little cleavage. I've worn dresses to church that show off my body, and yes, I will continue to do so. Not because I'm trying to tempt anybody, make a statement, or prove some point about being a “modern Christian woman,” but because this is my body, and I don't believe loving it automatically means I'm dishonoring God. I can appreciate the bit of curves that I have, feel sexy, take a cute picture, put on a dress that makes me feel beautiful, and still love Jesus deeply. I refuse to believe that being a Christian woman means I have to make myself smaller, hide every curve, or dress in a way that makes other people comfortable just to prove that I'm modest. My body isn't something I need to apologize for, and I don't believe God is asking me to be ashamed of it. So yes, I'm going to wear the bikini. I'm going to take the picture. I'm going to wear the dress. I'm going to show a little cleavage. I might not wear a bra half the time (it's freeing). And I'm still going to church on Sunday.

You can be a grown woman who loves Jesus and still feel guilty for admitting that you want physical affection from someone you're dating. You can be attracted to someone and immediately start questioning whether you're being “too worldly.” You can have sexual desire and wonder if that somehow means you're not as spiritual as the woman sitting next to you in Bible study.

Breathe.

Having a body isn't a sin.

Having feelings isn't a sin.

Being attracted to somebody isn't a sin.

The question is what we do with those feelings.

I think that's an important distinction that sometimes gets lost in conversations about sex. We can acknowledge that sexual desire exists without automatically telling people to suppress, shame, or deny it. Self-control doesn't mean pretending you don't have desires. It means learning how to steward them.

Because let's be honest: sometimes the way we talk about sex in church makes it sound like women are supposed to become completely numb until marriage. And then somehow the wedding happens and we're expected to magically flip a switch and become comfortable with intimacy overnight. Make it make sense.

You spent your entire adolescence hearing, “Don't think about sex. Don't talk about sex. Don't want sex. Don't do anything sexual. Sex is dangerous. Sex is bad. Sex will ruin your life.” Honestly, sometimes the messaging felt like that scene in Mean Girls when Coach Carr is teaching the health class and basically says, “Don't have sex, because you will get pregnant and die.” And while obviously that scene is meant to be ridiculous, sometimes the way we were taught about sex didn't feel all that different. It was less about understanding our bodies, learning about healthy boundaries, or having honest conversations about desire and intimacy, and more about making sure we were absolutely terrified of sex. The message was basically: don't do it, don't think about it, don't talk about it, and definitely don't enjoy it.

Then you get married and everybody is like, “Okay! Have fun!”

Ma'am. There is clearly a gap in the conversation.

And I'm not saying we shouldn't teach young people about boundaries, wisdom, abstinence, or the biblical understanding of sex. We absolutely should. But teaching someone about sexual responsibility should not require teaching them to hate their own sexuality. There is a difference between “You don't have to act on every desire you have” and “You shouldn't have desires at all.” Those are not the same message.

And don't even get me started on lust. Apparently, lust is the gateway to destruction, and if you so much as acknowledge that somebody is attractive (not in those words, but I'm keeping it PG) you might as well start picking out your prison outfit.

Okay, I'm being dramatic, but sometimes that's genuinely how the conversation around sexual desire feels in Christian spaces. We're taught to be so afraid of our own desires that we don't always learn how to understand them, manage them, or talk about them in healthy ways. And yes, the Bible has plenty to say about lust, self-control, and the condition of our hearts. I'm not suggesting we throw all of that out the window. But I do think there's a difference between acknowledging that attraction and desire are part of being human and allowing those desires to control your decisions. Having a thought doesn't automatically make you a bad Christian, and feeling attraction doesn't mean you've abandoned your faith. We can talk about boundaries and accountability without making people feel like their bodies are inherently sinful.

And I really wish the more "seasoned" Christians understood that. Because here's another thing we don't talk about enough: sometimes Christians mess up sexually.

Sometimes we have sex before marriage.

Sometimes we cross boundaries we promised ourselves we wouldn't cross.

Sometimes we get into relationships that become more physical than we intended.

Sometimes we make decisions we regret.

And when that happens, I don't think the answer should be, “Well, you knew better.” Because yes. Maybe they did.

Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing.

Maybe she made a choice she wouldn't make again.

Maybe she ignored her own boundaries.

Maybe she genuinely regrets it. She still needs grace.

Not permission to pretend it didn't happen. Not a free pass from accountability. But grace.

Because one of the most dangerous things we can do as Christians is make people so afraid of shame that they become afraid to come back to God.

We say we believe in grace, but sometimes the way we talk to women after they've made sexual mistakes sounds like grace has an expiration date.

You messed up? Now you're damaged.

You had sex before marriage? Now you're “used.”

You crossed a boundary? Now you're less valuable.

You dated the wrong person? Now you're somehow less worthy of a good Christian marriage.

No.

Absolutely not.

Your sexual history does not determine your worth. And your worst decision is not your permanent identity.

I think some of us need to hear that because purity culture had a way of making sexual mistakes feel bigger than every other mistake a person could make. We understand that people can lie and change. We understand that people can steal and change. We understand that people can have anger issues and change. We understand that people can make terrible financial decisions and change.

But when it comes to sex, suddenly people act like you've permanently disqualified yourself from being loved, respected, or used by God. Where did we get that? Because that isn't grace.

We deserve to understand our bodies without being ashamed of them.

We deserve to learn about boundaries without being taught that desire itself is dirty.

We deserve to know that attraction is normal.

We deserve to know that wanting affection doesn't make us desperate.

We deserve to understand that consent and boundaries matter.

We deserve to know that self-control is a fruit of the Spirit, but self-hatred isn't.

And we deserve to know that if we make a mistake, God isn't sitting in heaven disgusted with us.

Conviction and condemnation are not the same thing. Conviction says, “This wasn't right. Come back." Condemnation says, “This is who you are now.”

And I don't believe God is interested in keeping women trapped in the second one.

Maybe you did something you regret.

Maybe you crossed a boundary.

Maybe you have a sexual past you're embarrassed to talk about.

Maybe you're currently struggling with desires that you don't know what to do with.

Maybe you're dating and realizing that physical affection is a bigger deal for you than you expected.

Maybe you're waiting for marriage and sometimes you're frustrated by the waiting.

None of those things make you a bad Christian woman. They make you human.

What I want the older generation to ask themselves is not just “How do we keep Christian women from having sex?”, but “How do we teach Christian women to understand their bodies, honor their boundaries, make wise decisions, experience desire without shame, and know that God's grace is still available when they get it wrong?”

I don't want a generation of women who are terrified of their own bodies. I want women who understand that holiness isn't the absence of desire. It's learning how to live faithfully in the middle of being human. It's time we stop acting shocked that Christian women have sexual feelings.