Was reading through old posts today (and I have a lot of thoughts about writing all the lessons I’ve learned only to ignore them and seek advice/inspiration elsewhere, but that’s a story for another post) and came across this goodie about my evolving relationship with religion.
Maybe I’ll make this a weekly thing? We’ll see.
Curiosity. Empathy. Kindness.
Originally published December 27, 2017 on The Skinny Black Girl Blog.
This summer, I went back to church.
Spirituality and religion were big questions in the early days of Skinny Black Girl. I was 24, a not-baptized, but regular service-attending Christian, coming to grips with not desiring marriage or children. Nor did I plan to stop fornicating. I didn’t just like sex. Sex was heady, powerful, an art form. I never felt more womanly than when losing myself in giving and receiving pleasure. I could channel aspects of my personality that otherwise lie dormant. Praise and worship were one thing, but nothing moved me in the spirit like the mind-body union of sex. When friends asked “So, what? You’re never gonna get married and just keep sleeping with people?” it haunted me every Sunday I refused to ask for deliverance from the flesh.