Even though I’m a women’s and gender studies senior, I’d still consider myself to be fairly new to feminism. There is a lot to learn and so many perspectives to explore that the few short years I’ve spent truly studying feminism seem to have barely touched the surface. However, deep down, I have been a feminist since my childhood. I was never a huge tomboy–I loved riding bikes and getting dirty, but I also had a lot of fun with dresses and Barbies–and I was very passionate about proving that I, as a girl, could succeed. I seemed to be surrounded by little boys, as well as a few other girls, who insisted that girls were stupid, weak, and just all around inferior to boys. I always took these sorts of opinions as a chance to prove how brilliant, strong, and equal (and in some cases, just plain better at something) I truly was.

As I got older, I grew a bit more mellow, but I was always annoyed that I had to look pretty and that boys were always making stupid comments about girls. I struggled with my weight and wore unfashionable clothing. The boy whose locker was next to mine would tell me that I was ugly and that I had the fattest ass he’d ever seen. My middle school crush’s best friends loved to go on and on about how girls can’t do math and how they suck at science. I was offended by all these things, but I said little–I had become shy and reserved after moving to a new town and gaining a lot of weight. But this was also a time when I began learning about more political issues, social concerns such as gay marriage and abortion. Without much mental debate, I knew I was pro-gay marriage (it’s just two people who love each other) and pro-choice (it’s a woman’s body; she should be able to choose).

My return to feminism began in high school. I had been in two long-term relationships by the time I was a junior, and both of them were abusive–the first physically and emotionally, and the second emotionally. The second relationship lasted three and a half years, and the entire time, my boyfriend was cruel and angry. He loved calling me names and “punishing” me for things I did wrong (such as call him too much) by withholding affection or talking down to me. I began to wonder what the problem was–all I ever did was love him and care about him, and he returned my affection by pushing me away and insulting me. He was the type of guy who had something to say about every woman he came across, and he had nothing but contempt for his mother (a widow who doted everything on her one son) and sister (another young woman in a series of abusive relationships). I began to hypothesize that he hated me because I was a woman. Even if this was not entirely the case, I began to think about what it meant to be a woman, how women are devalued and despised for our femininity.

At the same time, my feminism leaned in a more positive direction: sex positive, to be precise. I loved sex. I loved talking about sex. And I loved sharing my knowledge about sex with others. I absorbed all I could about sexuality, learning about its “deviations” and about its “norms.” My friends came to me for sex advice and we shared our funny stories together. I felt good about my sexuality, whatever it was, and I had fun with it at all times. I wanted everyone around me to be able to do the same.

Before I went to community college, I had settled on becoming a web designer. But I had always really wanted to be a sex ed teacher as well. I finally settled on this goal when I took my first women’s studies class, Psychology of Women. Our textbook was the perfect overview of feminist theory, introducing me to dozens of new ideas. The best part was how they all made perfect sense to me. I discovered that one good way to get into the sexuality education field was to major in women’s studies as an undergrad. I took this opportunity eagerly.

Now I feel pretty good about my feminism. I’m getting better at articulating my ideas, and I even have some of my own that surprise people. I’m still as sex-positive as ever, and I’m in the school that says that men should be involved in feminism. As I go through my education and through life, I hope to use all that I’ve learned to really make a difference. Feminist perspectives are severely lacking in many spheres of life, but the fact that they are overlooked only exacerbates serious social problems.

My feminism has also helped me to be a more critical person–I question everything even more than usual! I am more outgoing and sure of myself. I have found it to be empowering and uplifting. And I love to share my ideas with other women and help them feel the same way.

Why do we want to protect our children from sex?

A couple weeks ago I finally finished reading Judith Levine’s Harmful to Minors: The Perils of Protecting Children from Sex. It was a fascinating read, and it paralleled many of my own personal beliefs on the subject of childhood sexual education. As an aspiring sexuality educator, this issue is significant. Am I going to have a job in the future? What sorts of things am I going to be able to teach these kids? How will I answer my students’ personal queries?

Of course, I shouldn’t be too worried about all that yet, since I’m not even in grad school yet. But on the level of my personal beliefs, I have indeed always wondered what people are so scared of when it comes to teaching young people about sex.

I never formally learned about sex. I only found out what it was by a (perhaps strategically placed) book that my friend and I found in her house when we were nine. It was a book full of cartoons of a mommy and a daddy “making love.” My parents never spoke to me—even though they are pretty liberal themselves—and I never heard a peep about the mechanics of sex in school. Most of what I learned about the important stuff—safety, communicating my needs to my partner, and so on—I learned from websites such as Scarleteen.

When it comes to young people and sexuality, though, I’ve always been in the boat that says “If it’s going to happen eventually, why try to pretend it won’t?” I always thought that trying to “protect” kids from sex—a.k.a. withholding important information—was kind of a delusional goal. Sure, some kids may wait until marriage to have sex. But is that really even a good thing? What makes marriage the safest and most relevant place for people to have sex with each other?

Marriage is actually the most dangerous place for women—both in terms of their emotional and physical health and safety, but also in terms of their sexual health and safety. The ultimate “private sphere,” marriage is also the place where impunity reigns. Husbands in most countries in the world can beat and rape their wives without any retaliation. Even in countries with established laws against such violence find the laws difficult to enforce.

However, if children were educated throughout their youth about sexual respect and communication, perhaps young girls would be able to apply these important skills in their marriages in the future. I don’t think it would solve all problems of domestic and partner violence, but it would certainly help women reclaim their sexual rights and have a sexual voice, within and without their marriages.

Preventing children from learning anything at all whatsoever about sexuality does not prepare them for adulthood or for marriage in any way. If marriage is the objective, then don’t we want children to have healthy sexuality in their marriages when they grow into adults?

Either way, I don’t particularly agree that marriage is the ultimate goal for life, nor do I agree that it is the only venue for sexual activity. But a lot of people throughout the world do believe that marriage has this kind of role in life. Working with cultural norms—such as marriage—rather than fighting against them is a good start to enacting change. And encouraging people to have healthy sexuality within their marriages—by teaching youth about sexual respect and communication before marriage occurs—would be a great place to begin.

Of course, the major worry is that if children learn about sex, then they will do it. Some people believe that this is always a bad thing. I happen to believe that if young people learn about sexual communication, respect, pleasure, and safety, then the risks involved in their sexual activity are greatly reduced. Nevertheless, it is up to parents to teach their children when it is appropriate to have sex. That does not mean hiding information from them. When parents want to explain to a child that the child should not do something, the parents need to be responsible and realistic and go on to explain why the child should not do that thing. “Because I said so” and its variations are cop-outs and childish—exactly what parents should strive not to be, especially when it comes to an important area of their kids’ lives: sexuality.

I hope to write more substantially on this issue in the future. For now, I am enjoying the opportunity to express some of my personal thoughts and concerns. In researching for my senior thesis about sexual pleasure as a human right, I have begun to see the importance of sexual education for all people of all ages and genders, and I hope that more people will begin to agree.