Don't Have Sex. You'll Get Chlamydia and Emotional Damage.

Most women were never taught how their bodies work.

Not really.

We were taught how to hide them, protect them, and apologize for them. We were taught about periods, pregnancy, and every possible thing that could go wrong if we even thought about sex for too long. For many of us, sex education felt less like education and more like a hostage negotiation. Recently, I heard someone make a reference to receiving a Mean Girls style education.

This is where we cue the scene from Mean Girls when Coach Carr is providing sex education:

"At your age, you're going to have a lot of urges. You're going to want to take off your clothes and touch each other. But if you do touch each other, you will get chlamydia... and die."

"Don't have sex. Because you will get pregnant and die. Don't have sex in the missionary position. Don't have sex standing up. Just... don't do it. Promise? Alright, everybody get some rubbers."

That was it. That was the curriculum.

As a matter of fact, in 2026 in the Conservative South, our schools in Arkansas are still teaching the “Abstinence Only” model. My 16-year-old daughter was given a slip of paper to sign stating she would remain abstinent. Not comprehensive sex education. No discussion of pleasure. No anatomy lesson beyond the reproductive basics. No conversation about desire, consent, arousal, communication, healthy relationships, or why the clitoris exists. Just a collective educational strategy of "Good luck, ladies. Try not to get chlamydia and die."

We laugh because it's absurd. But if we're honest, it's also a little heartbreaking. Because for generations, women have been given an education rooted in fear and then expected to somehow build confidence from it. We were taught how to avoid sex long before we were taught how to understand it. We were taught how to be desirable long before we were taught how to desire. We were taught how to protect everyone else from our bodies before we were taught that our bodies belonged to us.

And that matters.

Because when you teach a girl that her sexuality is dangerous, she doesn't magically become an empowered woman at eighteen. She becomes a woman who has spent years learning to disconnect from herself.

Many of us grew up hearing messages that weren't always spoken outright but were felt everywhere. Good girls don't think about sex. Nice girls don't touch themselves. Respectable girls don't have too many partners. Pure girls wait. Modest girls don't draw attention. Godly girls don't want too much.

And while those messages may have sounded like morality lessons, what many women absorbed was something much deeper:

My body is a problem to manage.

My desire is something to distrust.

My pleasure belongs to someone else.

Those beliefs don't just settle into the mind. They settle into the nervous system.

Years later, women sit in therapy offices wondering why intimacy feels difficult. Why they tense when someone touches them. Why they struggle to ask for what they want. Why they feel guilty after orgasm. Why they can't stay present during sex. Why pleasure feels complicated when everyone else makes it look effortless.

They wonder what's wrong with them. The answer is often nothing. Nothing is wrong with them. Something happened to them. They were handed shame before they were handed knowledge. And shame is a terrible teacher. Shame can teach silence. Shame can teach fear. Shame can teach self-surveillance.

But shame cannot teach embodiment. It cannot teach pleasure. It cannot teach connection. And it certainly cannot teach someone how to feel at home in their own skin.

The consequences of that educational failure are everywhere.

Women enter adulthood knowing more about how to prevent pregnancy than how arousal works. They know how to perform femininity but not how to identify their own desires. They know every warning label but none of the operating instructions.

Many have never been taught that the clitoris exists solely for pleasure.

Many have never learned how hormones impact desire.

Many believe pain during sex is simply something women are expected to tolerate.

Many feel embarrassed buying lubricants.

Many feel guilty owning a vibrator.

Many have spent decades believing they are broken when they were simply uninformed.

Imagine that. Imagine convincing half the population that needing education about their own bodies is somehow shameful. Then imagine blaming them when they struggle.

The conversation around sex toys is a perfect example.

Somehow, we've managed to convince women that spending hundreds of dollars on skincare, supplements, and wellness products is self-care, but purchasing a tool that helps them understand their own pleasure is controversial. A vibrator is not a moral issue. It's a learning tool. Lubricant is not a sign of failure. It's healthcare.

Bodies change. Hormones fluctuate. Stress impacts arousal. Medications affect lubrication. Trauma influences sensation. None of that is a character flaw.

It's biology.

Yet so many women have been taught to view perfectly normal bodily experiences as evidence that something is wrong with them. The tragedy is not that women don't know these things. The tragedy is that nobody taught them. And while there is humor in how absurd our sex education has often been, there is also grief.

Grief for the years spent disconnected. Grief for the pleasure delayed. Grief for the questions never answered. Grief for the women who spent decades believing they were defective. Grief for the girls who learned to monitor every inch of their bodies but never learned how to inhabit them. Because every day I meet women carrying shame that was never theirs to carry. Women who believe they are too much. Too sexual. Too curious. Too needy. Too broken. Too late. Too damaged. And I wish I could introduce them to the truth.

The truth is that their bodies were never the problem. Their curiosity was never the problem. Their desire was never the problem. Their pleasure was never the problem. The problem was that an entire culture looked at women and decided fear would be a better teacher than knowledge.

It wasn't.

Fear creates compliance.

Education creates agency.

Fear creates silence.

Education creates choice.

Fear disconnects people from themselves.

Education brings them home.

And maybe that's what this work has always been about. Not teaching women how to be more sexual. Not convincing anyone to make different choices. Not telling people what they should do with their bodies.

Simply reminding them that their bodies belong to them. That knowledge is not dangerous. That pleasure is not a moral failure. That curiosity is not corruption. That understanding yourself is not selfish. And that every woman deserves the opportunity to know herself more deeply than she knows the rules that were placed upon her.

Because the greatest disservice we have given women was never teaching them too much about sex. It was teaching them so little about themselves.

And if there is a revolution worth fighting for, perhaps it begins there:

A woman learning the anatomy of her own body.

A woman buying the lubricant without embarrassment.

A woman asking for what she wants.

A woman rejecting shame she did not create.

A woman choosing curiosity over fear.

A woman coming home to herself.

Because when a woman understands her body, trusts her instincts, honors her desires, and no longer apologizes for taking up space within her own skin, something powerful happens.

She becomes harder to control.

And history has always been a little uncomfortable with women who know their own power.

So buy the damn vibrator. Get the fancy lube. Learn where your clitoris actually is. Unfollow anyone selling shame as virtue. Question the rules. Keep the ones that serve you. Throw the rest directly into the metaphorical dumpster fire.

Because the goal was never simply better sex. The goal was always freedom.

Freedom from shame. Freedom from silence. Freedom from the belief that your body exists for everyone except you.

The world has spent long enough teaching women to fear themselves.

It's time we taught them something else:

That their bodies are worthy of knowledge.

Their desires are worthy of respect.

Their pleasure is worthy of consideration.

Choosing to know your body, trust your desires, and inhabit yourself fully is more than self-care.

It's an act of rebellion.

And babe, rebellion looks really good on you.