Religion and shame

I have just finished reading one of the most promising things I have read in quite some time.  Not, sadly, that churches are going to be taxed or something like that, but a very wonderful story nonetheless.

http://ayoungmomsmusings.blogspot.com/2012/04/unwrapping-onion-part-one-secret.html

If you didn't go read that, do so.  Seriously.  It is well worth your time.

For those of you who don't read it, I'll summarize in a dry manner that doesn't begin to do it justice.  Man and woman grow up in freakishly Christian conservative homes.  To the extent that their marriage was more or less arranged.  She's gay, and has always known it, but buried it because, again, religion.  They have kids.  He comes out to her as transgender.  They are now a happy lesbian couple.

There's more to it than that, of course, and that pathetic summary doesn't touch on the struggles they went through, and what they are still struggling with (thankfully the continued struggle is more from conservative family members, rather than their own relationship).

This has motivated me to share a story of my own.

When I was about six years old, I went to after school babysitting at a very nice woman's home.  She had a huge ranch with dogs, horses, and tons of woods across the two lane, barely trafficked road.  She didn't charge much, and I still have fond memories of my afternoons there.

Before anyone freaks out, no, she didn't do anything to me, other than make sure I didn't hurt myself and make snacks.

One of the other boys she looked after did, however.  We were out in the woods playing, and he suggested that we take off our clothes.  He was perhaps two years older than me.  He suggested that we exchange oral sex.  Neither of us were old enough to actually get off, but we did it anyway.

We put our clothes on, and never talked about it again.

I will say that I never felt like I was violated.  He didn't hurt me, or threaten me, or really even try to convince me.  He suggested it, and after a bit of thinking about it, and some hesitation (I thought he was going to pull a prank and piss in my mouth, but he didn't), I agreed.  He honestly didn't even pressure me.

What did hurt me, was that as I grew older, and learned more about the world, I began to feel ashamed of it.  I didn't tell anyone, for fear of what they would think of me.  The feeling of shame persisted for years, and though I didn't often think about it, whenever I did, those feelings would come rushing back.  The first person I ever told was my first girlfriend.  Her response helped me immeasurably, because she simply didn't care, and didn't really understand why I stuttered in telling her.  I realized then that not everyone was going to think badly of me.

Thankfully it doesn't bother me anymore, because I stopped caring what most people think of me.  But the shame I lived with was generated by religion, and I can only imagine the pain that someone who is gay or transgender goes through.