Puzzling at premarital sex, and the ways I don’t regret it

Expect me to ask a lot of questions here. Questions because: on the one hand, who am I to give answers? And on the other hand, I legitimately have very many honest questions. I have them, and so I’ll ask. This kind of honesty is taxing on me so please, have patience with me.

Something I am wrestling with lately: premarital sex. It is not very pertinent to me anymore, I guess. I’m married now. And yet, there was a time when it was very relevant to me. I loved love, and I had a great many relationships. Poly girl in the big world— that was me.

And yet if it’s a sin that I’m meant to repent from— well, then regret for my past is hard for me to come by. Sometimes I try. Really, I do. And yet it ends in confusion and self-loathing. If I did what I was not supposed to do, then it caused me to have what I was not supposed to have.

And yet.

And yet such beauty and such pain was wrought from it. I suppose I’d be glad to have been spared the pain… but even that feels forced as I type it. Someone else’s words speaking through my mouth. Because my pains defined me, molded me, shaped me resilient and compassionate.

And the joy— should I wish to have been spared that? Talk about an arrow through the heart. Would it be best if I didn’t have the bittersweet memories, poignant and drenched in wistfulness and loss? I don’t know. I don’t think so.

Because the loves I had were beautiful to me. Those memories are steeped pink in my memory; they glow like the lights on the wall of my old bedroom, slink over my skin like the red satin sheets long since consigned to the trash. I don’t think I would be better off without them.

My sins won me loves and my shining protector, my wonderful one. I do not think those men would have glanced at me for more than a moment if I was committed to chastity, to God’s word and Jesus. Why does that feel like blasphemy to say?

And yet.

It’s still the truth as I know it. When I am feeling charitable and pious, I think to myself that maybe God would have had other plans for me: other loves, a different path. But this path has been drenched with so much light, and so much goodness, and I am loathe to give it up— even to pay homage to my Lord.

I love my husband, and I love my life. And I wonder if that is a crime? If I am falling short of true repentance.

Maybe God will change my heart yet. Only time will tell.


(Pssst. Hey you! Just a friendly reminder— you can find this blog post, along with other writing, art, and oddments at my website: hopezane.com)

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