Can I tell you an embarrassing story?
Picture me and a guy I liked sitting together on some stairs on our college campus. We’re having a serious DTR. Since the first time I met this guy, I thought he was super-cute, and over the last year and a half, we’ve spent more and more time together. He’s genuinely nice, very serious about his faith, and craziest of all, he seems to like me too.
And in this conversation (this is the embarrassing part), I’m explaining very carefully why I cannot date him anymore. I’m not doing a very good job, either, because despite my sincere conviction that this DTR is necessary, I don’t really understand why I can’t date him, either.
As I go over my talking points again, his face ever more hurt and confused, my own stomach wrenched with dismay, I tell myself, this is what doing the right thing feels like. It’s hard.
I really wish I could go back and whap that girl upside the head.
Look—it doesn’t really matter that I didn’t date that guy; I like my husband, thank you very much. What chagrins me about that long-ago talk is not its effect on my dating life but the reasons I opened my mouth in the first place.
I did it because I thought that to have integrity, be pure, pursue virtue, I needed to cut my own heart out and serve it to God on a platter…
I was at The Mudroom earlier, talking about how purity culture led me away from finding God’s deep joy for my life. Join me there?
Houseplants Are Zombies of the Apocalypse: The Mudroom