A few years ago, I wrote a series of posts that I titled, “tell me about love,” where I tried to think through what exactly this thing called “love” actually is. However, the more I’ve come to learn about love, the more I realize that love is this huge complex, amalgam that’s made up of all sorts of component parts. And in a way, for me to write a series of posts called “tell me about love…”
I vastly underestimated the task of what I was asking.
The analogy might be like me saying, “tell me about heart surgery” when I don’t know the basics of human anatomy.
I knew what I was asking when I asked about love, but what I didn’t realize was how many of the fundamentals I was missing in even asking the question. I was, in a way, asking a question that was much more advanced than I was ready to answer. And so what I want to do is to take it a bit slower, to try and breakdown love as I have come to understand it, into more of its component parts and deal with or investigate these bits more closely in the hopes of reintegrating it into a larger whole and reclaiming and learning what this larger concept, this huge concept of love, actually is.
All that to say, I’m thinking of staring a new series of posts – a subset of “tell me about love” – and I’m going to call it: Tell me about pleasure.1
Tell me about pleasure. Because I don’t… I don’t know.
And I think one of the reasons why I’m still so ill equipped to identify what brings me pleasure is because of the purity culture I was raised with in the church. In purity culture, not only was I taught to not pay attention to what brought pleasure into my life, I was also taught that pleasure was something to be avoided, something to be afraid of, something to deny, and to run from. And unfortunately, I took up that teaching wholeheartedly.
A key verse that I remember these early church leaders drilling into me was the verse about how Christ calls us to deny ourselves and to take up our cross and follow him. And the part that they definitely emphasized was the denying one’s self bit. They taught that the goal of the Christian life was to deny all of one’s self for the sake of living out the Christian life. And for them, the goal of the Christian life was simply to bring other people to Christ. So anything that got in the way of sharing the gospel3 was what needed to be denied and put away.
As an introvert, the thought of approaching people that I didn’t know (with theology I barely understood) horrified me. But that didn’t matter. Their basic message to me was,
Oh, you’re an introvert? Hey, fuck you! Don’t be an introvert. You need to deny that shit for the sake of taking up the cross and sharing the gospel with other people. Because if you don’t, then they’re going to go to hell, and that’s going to be on you, and you’re an asshole for being so selfish.”4
Their self-denial was meant to hollow me out, to rid me of any sense of self-awareness and/or agency. Basically, they were turning me into a sock puppet – an empty form that they could ram their fist up into and make me say what they wanted me to say. And the really insidious thing is that the more hollow and selfless and compliant I was, the better of a Christian I was in their eyes.
So all that to say, I was never taught to pay attention to my own desires, what brought me any kind of fulfillment or pleasure. I was only taught to listen to what they told me to do and believe and say.
Fast forward to today.
I’ve long since rejected the self-denying theology I was raised with and I’m well aware of the toxic nature of what I was taught. I now have a theology that’s vasty different and I’m not afraid to voice it.5 My theology is much more meaningful to me and closely tied to who I am, and my beliefs are finally my own. It provides some structure and meaning for my life and while I’m grateful for all of that, it’s very much an intellectual endeavor.
To return to the sock puppet metaphor, it’s like I’ve been able to fill my head with new, better ideas and theology, but the rest of me – my body – is still empty. The insensitivity to and the unawareness of myself and what makes me happy, what I want, what makes me feel good – I don’t have that awareness.
And thus this new series of posts.
Tell me about pleasure.
Tell me about what feels sensual and delicious.
Tell me about how to integrate mind and body.6
1 I don’t now exactly, right now, what other components of love that I’m going to be taking on, but for now, I’ll start with pleasure. And while I think desire is another characteristic that I’ll want to look into, I think the notion of pleasure comes before desire. The way I see it, we desire what brings us pleasure and so if we don’t know what brings us pleasure, we won’t know where/how to direct our desires.
2 This is a part of what’s caused so many of my relationship troubles – because it’s difficult for others to be in a relationship with me when I’m not in touch with my needs. Because what does that make me? I’m a phantom. I’m a ghost. And it’s no wonder they sometimes felt alone even when I was right there next to them.
3 Theirs was a very shallow sort of understanding of what it meant to share the gospel. Walk people through the Four Spiritual Laws and get them to pray the Sinner’s Prayer and your job was done.
4 Of course they didn’t use profanity. They used shame. And that’s unfortunate, because their shaming tactics were too subtle and subversive for my young mind to identify. So while shame was explicit, the implicit message was still a hearty, “fuck you – who you are doesn’t matter.”
5 I’m already working on posts that describe my current theology. Stay tuned!
6 And yes, there’s a kind of irony in writing a blog post about moving past thinking towards self/body awareness. But writing? Writing is pleasurable for me. I like the feel of the Mac chiclet keys under my fingers. And writing is what I know. And I don’t know where else to start.