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If you’ve been following this newsletter for a while and you’re mad about that title, give me a minute! I promise I’m not going back on my commentary about how harmful the concept of virginity can be, especially for young women. (If you’re new, you can find some of that commentary here and here, or you can read The Purity Myth by Jessica Valenti about that very topic. I will likely never stop recommending that book.)
I spent most of October in the desert, on a road trip through national parks I’ve never seen before. I attended a wedding in California, spent two nights in Vegas, drove to Mt. Zion, Bryce Canyon, and Lake Powell, camped in Monument Valley, watched the solar eclipse in New Mexico, and ended up at the Grand Canyon before flying to Texas. It was a great trip, probably the best of my life.
I added a few thrift shops to the itinerary, partly out of necessity, but mostly because no great trip is complete without local, gently-used souvenirs. I was specifically in search of T-shirts. They were a natural go-to on the road, but I was also considering the size of the single suitcase I’d need to check on the last leg of the trip.
I found my favorite T-shirt in Houston, Texas: an oversized, black shirt with “VIRGINITY ROCKS” in orange and red lettering across the chest. For $2, the shirt was meant for me. (P.S. I’ve since learned that the shirt is most likely merch from YouTuber Danny Duncan, who now owns the Virginity Rocks trademark.)
Anyone who knows me knows I have vaginismus, and that I’m writing a book about vaginismus, and that it took me a really long time to have penetrative sex for the first time on account of my vaginismus. For these reasons, I found the shirt hilarious. My virginity certainly didn’t rock, but there came a point in my late twenties when for better or for worse, I had to embrace it.
While I might not wear the shirt on a grocery run, I thought absolutely nothing of wearing it on a run around my neighborhood. It’s a route I take almost every night, where I pass people of all ages who (mostly) don’t talk to me or make eye contact with me. As an introvert with social anxiety, I don’t mind this.
The evening I wore my new/old shirt was different. Every single person who passed me reacted to me, in front of me.
A man my age smirked.
A woman older than me scowled.
An man older than me laughed out loud.
A couple pointed at me while whispering to each other.
Initially, I panicked. I thought about running home or ducking into the bushes to turn my shirt on inside out. The thought of my presence causing discomfort, disagreement, or controversy of any kind was almost too much for me to handle. Cue the intrusive thoughts!
Do I look like a loser?
Do they realize I’m being ironic?
Do they think I’m promoting abstinence?
There were more reactions, there was more anxiety, but I just kept running.
I must have accepted that there wasn’t much I could do about my shirt until I finished my run because halfway through, I started to feel differently. The looks genuinely made me laugh. It was like there was a joke, and I was the only one who was in on it. It was exhilarating. It made me run faster, not out of embarrassment but out of sheer thrill.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had anxiety. I was struggling with anxiety before adults in my life (or people on the internet) were calling it anxiety. Social perfectionism has been a common theme in sessions with my therapist for years. I do not call attention to myself in public. I do not misbehave. I do not ruffle feathers. I follow rules. I float the mainstream. I blend in.
When I got home from my run, I got a shower as usual. Nothing had changed about my life, but my perspective was entirely different. The two seconds of judgement I experienced from those strangers was just that — two seconds of judgement. Their opinions, approving or disapproving, had no lasting impact on my life whatsoever. It was a lesson in main character energy, in incessant people-pleasing, in performance.
How many times have I bitten my tongue as to not offend anyone?
How many times have I pretended to be neutral on topics that are actually really important to me?
How many times have I stifled my vibrancy so that I might be more palatable in public?
Answer to all: Too many times. I’ve done these things my entire life.
It might seem silly. After all, it’s a T-shirt with a message that’s deliberately provocative. For me though, it was exposure therapy.
Anxiety has called the shots in my life for so long that I’ve lived in fear about what might happen if perhaps I did offend someone or if someone did view me unfavorably.
I can now confirm that nothing bad happened. In fact, nothing happened at all.