Meet Rachelle Mee-Chapman! Rachelle and I got to know each other last summer when she invited the Universe to find a few more people who needed a soultribe and wanted to spend a weekend away together. The Universe found me. Or rather, I waved and yelled “Pick me! Pick me!” And wound up spending a beautiful few days on Hartsine Island with 9 other women who have indeed become soulsisters.
Prior to meeting Rachelle, I came across two of her blog posts that intrigued me greatly. You can find them here:
Why I’m not teaching my kids abstinence.
God Sticks and Shame Caves
Both of these made me nod my head in agreement so many times that I knew I’d found a kindred spirit from the get-go. So when Rachelle announced her 30Stories in 30 Days birthday present to herself and the world, I got my invitation to the soiree and asked Rachelle this question:
Q: How has your spirituality shaped your sexuality?
Rachelle: In short: Very negatively.
My spirituality was formed in the conservative evangelical church. Have you seen the movie Saved? That was pretty much a documentary of my high school. Unlike the kids in Glee, we didn’t have a Chastity Club. Having a club implies optional membership. In my school chastity was. not. optional. Kids were threatened with suspension if they got “caught” having sex. Girls were shunned for “losing” their virginity. No one talked about birth control, because why would you need it? Even holding hands was suspect, and a “six inch” rule between couples on campus was heavily enforced.
The message was clear: “Sex is a dirty, sinful, shameful thing you save for the one you love.”
The result was that in spite of being “a good girl” I grew up with a lot of shame. Not just around sex itself, but around my body in general. I felt ashamed about being sick, about my weight, about what I ate (or didn’t eat.) Shame was a pervasive companion through most of my adult life.
Not only were young people in general taught to feel ashamed of their natural sexual impulses and interests, but girls in particular were doubly doomed. It was commonly taught that women were temptresses, that we “led boys into sin.” Our bodies were dangerous creatures that should be covered up at all times. While the boys could rip their tops off and play soccer as Shirts vs Skins, girls were constantly patrolled for dress code violations. We were forbidden to wear jeans (too tight), required to wear nylons, tights, or socks at all times, and couldn’t come to school (in California) in sleeveless tops. I was once chastised for dressing “too provocatively” for wearing a baggy sweatshirt over leggings – in spite the fact that the shirt came down to my knees. Not wanting to be considered fundamentalists, the evangelical circles I came up in used soft terms like “modest dress” to explain the problem. But the message still came through on a subconscious level. Something about my body was dangerous.
Unlike many of my peers, my husband and I never carried our shame into the bedroom. Many couples who grew up in that environment never feel fully free to enjoy each other sexually, even within the confines of marriage. But there was still a sort of hemming-in feeling around my sexuality. Only recently, as my spirituality has stepped away from institutionalized religion, have I found increased freedom and less shame around sexuality and sensuality. Asking questions and exploring new ground around issues of doctrine and theology has established a pattern of freedom and curiosity that serves me well. That freedom and curiosity has extended beyond issues of faith into all aspects of my life – bringing wider and healthier ways of be-ing to my work, my art, my way of living in community, and to my sexuality.
As I come into my 40’s and watch many of my friend’s marriages come to an end, I can’t help but wonder how much our sexually conservative religious upbringing has impacted us. When there is only one way of be-ing, what happens when that way stops functioning? When life-long monogamy starts at 20, then what happens at 40 in a hyper-sexualized culture? If you’re never allowed a sexual awakening in puberty, what happens at mid-life when you are ready to re-invent yourself? Thankfully, both my husband and I have gone through a similar post-religious awakening; and I am hopeful that the pattern of asking questions and being curious we have established will serve us well as we continue our sensual life together.
I once saw an episode of Joan of Arcadia in which the main character, Joan, crushed her friend’s sculpture to keep him from leaving high-school to become a full time artist. Joan, who is frequently visited by God, is chastised by God for destroying her friend’s work. Joan is confused, as her “mission” from God that week had been to make sure her friend stayed in school. God tells Joan that she could have thought of another way. She says “Joan, you had a crisis of imagination.” This phrase resonates with me these days, especially as I travel with young people through their coming-of-age years. I find that I am re-parenting my younger self in the process. I am reshaping my thoughts on sexuality as we travel together. It has lead me to believe that regardless of our age or our brand of spirituality, we must continue to re-invent ourselves – and our sexuality – under the benevolent arms of freedom, creativity, and mutual respect. When it comes to spirituality and sexuality, we must not have a crisis of imagination.
What about you? How has your sexuality changed as your spirituality has shifted? (Or vice versa?) How have you avoided a crisis of imagination around your sexuality? Do tell! We need to share our stories with each other. “There ain’t nowhere to go but together.”
Rachelle Mee-Chapman, specializes in customized soulcare for spiritual misfits. She works with clients at Magpie Girl to help them find a spirituality that fits; and hosts Flock, an online soulcare community. You can learn more about her creative approach in her free ecourse, Magpie Speak: a new vocabulary for soulcare.
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