Beyond Shame

Creating a Healthy Sex Life on Your Own Terms

Matthias Roberts

• Publisher: Fortress Press
• Year: 2020
• Print ISBN: 9781506455662
• eBook ISBN: 9781506455679
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Human Sexuality in Psychology

We all carry sexual shame. Whether we grew up in the repressive purity culture of American Evangelical Christianity or not, we've all been taught in subtle and not-so-subtle ways that sex (outside of very specific contexts) is immoral and taboo. Psychotherapist Matthias Roberts helps readers overcome their shame around sex by overcoming three unhealthy coping mechanisms we use to manage that shame.

Beyond Shame encourages each of us to determine our own definition of healthy sex, while avoiding the ditches of boundaryless sex positivity on the one hand and strict moralistic boundaries on the other. Define your sexual values on your own terms, overcome your shame, and start having great, healthy sex.

III

Moving beyond Shame: The Paradoxes of Sex

7

Paradox 1: Sex Is Healthy and Risky

Now that we’ve explored how we often respond to sexual shame and looked at some of the lies we’ve been told about sex and sexuality, we can turn to this question: How do we begin to recover? I’ve talked to countless people who want to take sex seriously—not in a restrictive, grave way, but in a way that holds some intentionality. These conversations often boil down to one main point: I want to feel confident and free in the way I express my sexuality. Since sex is usually a relational act, we want to hold concern and care for the people in our lives that we choose to have sex with, and we want to do so in a way that feels ethical and life-giving to all who are involved.

The struggle is about how we can be intentional around sexual ethics without falling back into the same pit that purity culture put us in—a pit of rules and regulations and morality and shame. Is there a way to approach our sex lives that allows us to engage in a way that not only avoids moral prescriptions but also fights the very shame we’re plagued with? I believe the best way to do that is to talk about what sex is instead of what sex isn’t. For so long, we’ve been told everything about what sex is not, what sex shouldn’t be. It’s much less common to have conversations about what sex is.

So much of our sex lives is personal and particular, based on each of our own contexts, and this fact makes having a single, universal, one-size-fits-all sexual ethic impossible to arrive at. Still, I believe sexuality contains four paradoxes that, when acknowledged, help us chart a path forward in our conversation on ethics and simultaneously help us understand our shame and thereby get free of it. By understanding these paradoxes, we become more equipped to handle our shame and figure out what our core values are in the process. Once we know our core values, we have ground from which to evaluate our decisions. We can look at the choices we’re making and ask, “Does this align with who I want to be?” Instead of using coping mechanisms to deal with our shame, we know our ground. We know where we stand.

And the beautiful thing about these paradoxes is that they allow for fluidity. As we continue to have new experiences—as we explore, as we enter relationships or exit marriages, or as we discover that we’re attracted to different sorts of people than we thought—of course what we believe about sex and sexuality will change. Our framework and ways of thinking need to be able to adjust, and these paradoxes help with that. We’ll explore the paradoxes in this chapter and the following three, starting with the first paradox: sex is healthy and risky.

Sex Is Healthy

There’s no question about it: sex is healthy—and not just a little bit healthy. From increasing levels of antibodies that help fight sickness, to reducing depression, to making us look younger, sex has been shown in study after study to have profound effects on our physical and emotional well-being. We are sexual beings, and having sex (with a partner or on our own through masturbation) is good for us. Sex is both healthy and positive. A sex-positive sexual ethic, built on the idea that sex is healthy, is a powerful antidote to shame.

Of course, not all sex is good sex, not all sex is healthy, and not all sexual experiences are positive. But our sex-positive sexual ethic must begin with this premise: good and healthy sex is possible in any number of scenarios.

Those of us who were taught restrictive and shame-filled rules about sex may find even this basic definition hard to grasp. If you’re feeling a bit uncomfortable just reading these words, try holding the premise as a question. What if sex is healthy? What if sex is a positive thing? If these assumptions are true, how might that change the ways you relate to your body and your sexuality? You don’t have to accept my word for it; changing beliefs we have grown up with takes time. Simply asking the questions is enough of a start.

For others, this may seem like a no-brainer. Obviously, sex is good for us. We might not have any trouble exploring our bodies, enjoying our partners’ bodies, and experiencing pleasure. We might know the goodness that having sex can bring, and it doesn’t take any convincing for us to believe that sex has profoundly good and positive effects on our lives. If that’s you, great! This chapter is for you, too.

Many of us grew up hearing that sex is dangerous. We saw graphic illustrations about what happens to us when we have sex and about how having sex would change us forever. We imagined ourselves as chewed-up pieces of gum, trampled roses, and mangled bits of paper. We were told sex has the potential to ruin our lives, mar us beyond recognition, make us undesirable to future partners, give us any number of STIs, and possibly cause us to wind up pregnant in the process. We’re not going to say that here.

The truth is, sex is healthy, and it is risky. Acknowledging the inherent risks involved in sexual behavior doesn’t diminish its positive nature; it is recognition of reality. Despite all the goodness that sex can bring us, like most things in life, it involves the potential for harm. And because sex carries the potential for such health, for such flourishing, it also contains all the elements to do the opposite of those things, too.

Due to residual trauma, and I’m not throwing that word around lightly, those of us who have come out of conservative and restrictive backgrounds will often react very strongly to anyone suggesting that sex might be dangerous. Our antennas go up when we hear language and messages similar to those we heard growing up. We bristle. And you may be feeling that bristly feeling as you read this. Don’t push those feelings away. Pay attention to what comes up as I discuss the idea that sex is risky.

Note my choice of language. I imagine that we can all agree that sex can certainly be used in dangerous ways, as a means of exerting power and control. But, there’s nothing about sex that is inherently dangerous. Some of our work to overcome shame will be learning how to undo the voice inside of us that tells us to stay away from sex, to keep our distance, to calm the warning alarms that go off any time we begin feeling arousal.

But, sex is risky. “Risky” simply means that it carries risk. The distinction here between dangerous and risky is crucial. Saying something is “dangerous” implies a certain level of certainty that it will lead to destruction or harm, but saying something is “risky” implies that we need to be careful. Danger may be in the picture, but it’s not a sure thing.

I go hiking with a group of friends about once a month. Here in the Pacific Northwest, we are surrounded by trail systems that range from easy to risky to downright dangerous. While several people in the group are experienced hikers, I’m not one of them. I refuse to buy hiking boots on principle, because I would rather not be one of those people. You know the ones—they always carry Costco packs of snack bars in their North Face backpacks and are continually searching for their expensive eco-friendly water bottles, which they left at brunch again. “No, these Toms shoes are fine,” I say, pulling on my favorite shoes that are more like slippers.

And for that exact reason, I only get invited on the hikes for new people—the easy hikes. Even on these reasonably simple hikes, we spend time before we begin double-checking our gear, making sure everyone has enough water, checking that we have enough food with us to survive for a bit in case something goes wrong. There’s nothing particularly dangerous about most of the hikes, but we approach them with the understanding that they are risky. Any time we venture out, we understand that there’s the potential that something could go wrong. Someone could get hurt, someone could get lost, we could run into bears or mountain lions—and we prepare accordingly.

Fortunately, nothing has gone wrong in all my years on the trail, but even routine and easy ventures out into the wild can turn into a survival situation at a moment’s notice. This is because we are interacting with forces of nature that are so much bigger than our individual selves. Does this mean we shouldn’t go hiking? Does this mean we should save hiking until we have a commitment from the trail that it’s here for us through thick and through thin? No. But it does mean that we have to be aware of the risks, and by taking these risks seriously, we can enjoy our hikes much more.

Similarly, to truly have a grounded sexual ethic, we have to be aware of the risks inherent in sexual activity. Knowing these risks will help us prepare, anticipate, and choose how we will respond to these risks instead of living from a place of just reacting.

Neuroscientists and psychologists are only just beginning to understand the incredible forces within and around us that affect our sexuality and sex lives. An understanding of these forces and the ways they affect us for good and open us to potential for hurt, will help us decide how we want to navigate the complex terrain of sexuality.

Sex and Connection

Sex is both healthy and risky because sex connects us. This is an inescapable truth built into the very act of sex: physical connection. Even if we’re in it just for the physicality, only to fulfill an urge, we’re still connecting with another person. Purity culture has weaponized this truth to say that if we connect with someone sexually and then decide to move on from that person, we will be irreparably harmed. That’s not true; having sex doesn’t automatically mean harm is in our future, and even if harm occurs, we have tools to heal. But the fact remains that having sex is one of the most powerful ways we can connect with a person.

Helen Fisher, senior research fellow at the Kinsey Institute, denies that “casual” sex is really possible. “When you have an orgasm, you get a real flood of oxytocin and vasopressin. And these are the basic bodily and brain systems for attachment. Don’t have sex with somebody you don’t want to feel something for.”^[1] Fisher has never been a part of any form of organized religion, so these statements are based on her scientific research. She’s not assigning a moral value to her conclusions, and we’re not going to either.

Fisher’s research (alongside that of many other scientists) shows that there’s no such thing as casual sex. To understand this, we have to examine the biological processes that take place within our bodies when we have sex. First, please note that the processes happen in roughly the same way, regardless of your gender or orientation. Some hormonal and chemical reactions are determined by our biological sex, but those chemicals are not inherently gendered, at least when it comes to what happens during sexual activity. I’ll be sure to tell you when biological sex differences are worth noting, but otherwise, don’t worry about it.

Let me introduce to you two of my friends, Alex and Frankie, who conveniently have gender-neutral names and who also don’t actually exist. Alex could be you. Or Frankie. Take your pick.

Alex and Frankie are both single but don’t want to stay that way. One day, Alex is flipping through a dating app and runs across Frankie’s photo. Alex feels that little rush of desire, a slight flutter, and exclaims, “Cuuuuute!” Alex quickly flips through all of Frankie’s photos. That little flutter of attraction is testosterone—yes, the same hormone that we usually associate with masculinity. Turns out, testosterone is what Fisher calls “the hormone of sexual desire,”^[2] and it’s at the core of our feelings of sexual attraction and sexual desire, regardless of our biological sex. The more testosterone we have, the more strongly and more often we experience desire. The less we have, the fewer sexual feelings we experience. And in case you’re wondering—no, low testosterone doesn’t correlate with asexuality; that’s a whole different thing.

Alex swipes right. It’s a match! The excitement Alex feels is dopamine, the chemical of pleasure, and its primary purpose is to activate the reward system in our brain. Nearly everything that feels good activates dopamine—not just sexual pleasure, but any pleasure. Eating cake, seeing that we’ve gotten a text message, hugging our dogs—that warm, fuzzy, feel-good feeling is dopamine, and it’s great. Whenever we feel dopamine, our brains immediately want more. Dopamine signals goodness to our brains, and we will do whatever we can to feel it over and over and over again.

As Alex and Frankie start chatting and get to know each other, they’re each experiencing the complex interplay between dopamine and testosterone, which function as a feedback loop: dopamine produces more testosterone, and vice versa. As both increase, so does sexual desire.

Eventually, Alex and Frankie meet up for a date. Their attraction holds up in real life, and they move closer to each other as the evening goes on, with Frankie brushing Alex’s arm every once in a while, and Alex moving close enough so their knees touch.

These touches produce oxytocin, the chemical responsible for providing calming feelings. Oxytocin suppresses our stress hormones, which are called cortisol and adrenaline. When oxytocin is flowing, we feel less stressed and more at ease. It’s the chemical that makes us feel close to someone, producing feelings of trust and calm. Alex and Frankie’s little touches begi...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Table Of Contents
• Foreword
• Introduction: Don’t Look! Sex, Shame, and Faith
• How We Cope with Sex and Shame
• Lies We Tell about Sex and Shame
• Moving beyond Shame: The Paradoxes of Sex
• Conclusion: The Final Paradox: Embracing Shame
• Resources and Further Reading
• Acknowledgments