Because it’s OK to be a virgin

I’m 33 years old, and I’m a virgin.

There, I said it.

I know that sounds like an old age to be that inexperienced, but it’s true, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. And the older I get, the more thankful I am that some of the relationships I wished had happened didn’t actually happen because I’m pretty sure they would have ended quickly, anyway, when the guys I had crushes on realized that I wasn’t going to have sex with them.

It’s kind of weird being a virgin today, especially as an adult. My purity is something I value and protect, and if I ever actually lasso in a husband, I hope he will appreciate it.

A few years ago, I had a gun pulled on me. In the months of fear that followed, I wasn’t frightened by the fact that someone could have killed me (he easily could have shot me but didn’t) but by the idea that what I think he really wanted to do was rape me.

And, to me, that was scarier than dying.

As you might know, I struggle with kidney stone issues and had to have three surgeries last year. When I experienced my first kidney stone trauma a few years ago (it was actually a month before the gun situation), before the doctor and nurses did the CT scan to know what it was, they thought that my pain had something to do with a possible pregnancy. I kept telling them that there was zero chance that I was pregnant and finally had to say (or probably yell) something along the lines of “unless another messiah is coming, there’s no chance that I’m pregnant!”

They all exchanged some uncomfortable looks and finally stopped doing painful tests that were unnecessary.

A little later, one of the nurses was giving me some pain meds in the IV, and this was our delightful conversation.

Nurse: So, you’re really a virgin?
Me (in too much pain to care about much of anything): Yes, I’m not a liar.
Nurse: It’s just hard to believe—that’s all.
Me: Why?
Nurse: We don’t see many women your age in here who are—or at least not ones who scream it out loud at male doctors.

So I guess I did yell it.

I know that not every girl or woman is going to make the same decision I’ve made, and I don’t judge anyone for living differently than I do, but I’m going to stick to the promise I made myself so many years ago to wait until I marry the man I was always meant to be with to have sex. And if I never fall in love and make those vows, then I guess I’ll die a virgin, as well.

The other night, I was at a swanky bar with a couple of friends, and some guy I had never seen before in my life came up from behind and hugged me. First of all, NO. Don’t touch me. Then he asked me if I’m a real redhead and told me that there’s only one way to find out. That was his cue to leave. It took a few minutes to get him away from us, but he finally left. If he had stayed any longer, I was probably going to punch him in the face. I’m sure there are still some good guys out there, but it’s moments like those that I’m thankful that I still have something that a guy like him hasn’t taken from me.

I know that we all have different beliefs, and as I said before, I’m not judging anyone for anything, nor do I think that I’m better than anyone for the choices I’ve made. But I do want people to know that it’s OK to wait. It’s OK to live your life differently than others. It’s OK to follow your own path, even if it seems to take you a lot longer to get somewhere.

I’m not sure if it’s my fate in life to be single forever, but I really do hope to fall in love with a man who loves me back and shows me that love as often as he can. I hope to create memories together and support each other’s dreams. I hope to hold hands and dance and laugh until our abs hurt. I hope to know in my heart that he’s the man I’ve been hoping for and is the reason why I had to go through broken hearts and crushed hopes—because he’s the one the Lord has been leading me to all along.

And he will be worth the wait.