Emotion/logic, sex/purity

I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but girls are emotional. Like so emotional, they’re not supposed to be politicians or CEOs because their hormones might cause them to become irrational and then they’d accidentally kill and/or fire someone.

I actually recited this litany to someone in my early college years, embarrassingly — although it was actually about why females weren’t allowed to be pastors. I recited it in spite of the fact that I was way more even-keeled and responsible than most men I knew. While my male newsroom colleagues were prone to throwing things across the room in frustration over a misplaced modifier or a missed deadline, I stayed in the corner, calmly fixing similar errors, filling the gaps when the cartoonist, photographer or writer didn’t show up. While my male friends spent their money on treats for themselves, I managed mine like an ascetic. While many of my male classmates were out partying and making excuses for their late assignments, I studied and then got a good night’s sleep, beating them at biology, law, statistics, German, Anglo-Saxon, history, pagination, advertising, and, of course, French and ballet. I never pulled an all-nighter; I never broke down crying or froze up over the workload. I never called up my parents asking them for money because I had spent all of mine. Intellectualism, consistency and studiousness were in large part the definition of who I was. That was my personality, and it was also what I had fostered in myself.

Because, as you know, emotional girls might accidentally kill someone. Or they might accidentally date a jerk or something. Just in case, I dated nobody — not really — until Scott. As a teen, I had written in my journal: “I’ve kissed dating goodbye, even though I never made out with it in the first place.” I was committed to the ideals of purity that are often prominent in the homeschooling community, whether or not a family is actively pursuing a specific model of courtship. I was a sanctimonious young woman, determined to remain un-duped by something as shifty as romantic feeling.

In my journals I kept a rather extensive record the time Scott and I dated, and I remember when I was engaged telling two of my male friends, rather smugly: you know, it’s not like I’m under the delusion that he’s perfect. It’s just a matter of what faults you’re willing to live with. I was 26 years old, and the main thing was, nobody else had come along and acted interested. Well, not for awhile — well, not anyone who I found to be any more attractive, and/or who would have been approved by my parents and community. Actually, at 26, I was just beginning to realize that romantically, I could be reasonably popular. But it was a moot point if the person didn’t fit the criteria I’d set out:

  1. Christian, of the correct persuasion
  2. Intelligent enough to win a debate with me
  3. Not too annoying
  4. Wants kids and a good marriage
  5. Responsible
  6. Gets along well with my family and community
  7. Can beat me in a foot race
  8. Has decent genetics

This was more than the bare minimum I’d been assured by my pastor: that any two Christians could get married and make it work as long as they followed the Bible. My ex-husband fit all of my own, added, basic requirements. He was tall, had all his hair, went to the gym and claimed he wanted to go more often, read a ton — none of it stuff I was particularly into, but to each his own — went semi-regularly for pastoral counseling, and he had a law degree. He wanted to marry me and he had all the right answers to just about every question I asked him. His pastoral counseling sessions were directing him towards marriage, and when I told his pastor that I wasn’t sure if Scott was God’s will for me — at the time, I wasn’t convinced — the pastor chucked: “I married a woman like that.” Hmm, I thought, maybe I’m wrong. I assumed, as everyone had insinuated, that if we were to become intimate and come together with the goal of marriage and a family, that I would feel myself swimming in the heady bliss that was missing from my previous interactions with him. Girls fall in love if they have sex. Girls fall in love if they’re safe and provided for. Girls don’t fall in love over physical beauty. And keeping your emotions in check until the time is right, until you’re past the point of commitment, until you’re past the point where you’re going to get your heart broken, that’s all quite commendable. That’s what I had absorbed from 26 years in the homeschooling/purity/courtship community. So why not marry him, if you’re 26 and you want to start a family?

Only, in sort order, I found myself in what felt like a very weird and very uncomfortable roommate situation. Pastoral counseling didn’t help; traveling together to exotic locations didn’t help; time didn’t help. No attitude, attire or attribute I attempted seemed to help either. I hadn’t known him as well as I had thought; no amount of interview-style questions can make up for intuition and emotional intelligence about someone. And without intuition, without chemistry, without the wordless connection of two aligning souls, how well do you really know someone you’re going to spend the rest of your life with?

My point here is not that if you’re not stupid in love with your spouse every day of your marriage that you should get divorced, it’s that if you’re not in love and in tune to begin with, it’s probably a serious warning sign. They say something like 90 percent of communication is non-verbal, or at least non-literal. When we first started dating, I described Scott as having shoulders that swaggered and feet that shuffled, and this duality seemed quite weird to me. There were a lot of things like that. It’s just that after a certain point, I made the choice to ignore virtually all but the 7 to 10 percent of his communication that said “I believe with my mouth all the creeds and the prophecies, and in everything you want.”

Here’s why: I had absorbed the idea that you aren’t supposed to “follow your heart” because you’re supposed to do what God says instead. Your heart, your “intuition,” that’s a deceitful, dubious trap making you second-guess important commandments just because you feel like it. Women are the “weaker vessels” in part because they rely so much on their hearts, on the wayward feelings that fluctuate with their passing fancies and hormonal cycle. I would not be weak, and thus, I would not be emotional. I would be rational. All the time. I would be so literal that eventually I would begin to wonder if I was borderline autistic or something.

At this point, as you may have guessed, I have come to the realization that using your emotion and intuition is an extremely useful tool that can help you profoundly connect with people. I know — shocking. Another shocking realization: this may be where many women’s strengths lie, but it is by no means limited to women. Or, more accurately, it’s only limited to women in cultures where it’s supposed to be limited to women. There are plenty of men who are more emotionally insightful than I am. Not just the ones who sit around playing guitar in their skinny jeans, either. In my experience, the stronger a man is, then the deeper his passions and insight run — and the more capable he is, the more fearless and eloquent he is about those passions and insight. The heroes of folklore wept and howled with the best of them; they pouted over women, sang, laughed, and did a whole lot of talking. The puritans, maybe, not so much. But who would you rather be: Achilles or Roger Chillingworth?

The point of being Roger Chillingworth, or at least to pursue the chilling effects of pure logic in courtship or dating, is to supposedly protect the hearts of women. However, the pain of dating a good man and then breaking up with him, wholesomely and cleanly (or even not wholesomely and cleanly), is far less serious to women than marrying a guy you’re not in love with. You can learn things from both situations, but the first tends to yield more positive lessons.

Another shocking realization: contrary to what I was told growing up about how women and men are innately different, several men have developed deep attachments to me or to a female friend more quickly than we did to them, and this is supposedly the norm across American society. If courtship is all about protecting the overly-quick hearts of your offspring, and insulating the fragile youth from those who naturally desire sex for its own sake, then perhaps it should reverse its policies and start requiring that the girls pass muster before they’re allowed to date to the boys.

Especially if the girls are hopelessly attractive. What possible chance does sheltered 18-year-old Jimmy from Arkansas have against the demure hotness of a Calvinist Sophia Loren? And why should it be Jimmy who is vetted by Sophia’s parents, when Jimmy is more likely to get his heart broken when Sophia sort of decides that he’s sort of ho-hum, after Jimmy has already spent six months of his time and money sweating out his chances with her father in nerve-wracking long-distance phone calls?

Weirdly to me, Christian courtship practice assumes by its very nature that females need more protection than males, that being born with one set of genitalia (regardless of personality or personal strength) versus another puts you in a position to wait and see, shielded from making too many tough decisions on your own recognizance, or to go and conquer, goaded into forcefully pursuing something you’re not all that familiar with even if you’re not totally sure it’s (or she’s) what you want or need. Christian courtship seems to be stuck with a specifically Victorian hangover that girls — all girls — are prone to hysterics and bad judgment when they’re faced by an attractive mustache; that men are both cads and infinitely more wise that the women-folk whose honor they’re battling over. But if you honestly believe that about your daughter and the males in her life, you’ve obviously failed her on many levels.

Now, none of this is to say that family and friends can’t be very handy in giving you perspective about a new prospect. But there’s a big difference between giving your perspective and being willing to accept whatever decision your fully-adult daughter or son comes up with, and expecting that what you say and think will be more important that what they say and think — which is essentially what courtship is. If you don’t believe me, ask yourself the question: what would you do if your daughter told you, “Mom and Dad, I honor you and your opinion, but respectfully, I disagree with your assessment, and I’m going to continue to get to know this man”? If your answer is anything short of: “I would continue to love and support her, and would not seek to punish her, implicitly or explicitly, or diminish my affection for her in any way,” then you just proved my point. You believe your opinion about her life is more important than hers.* You believe your daughter should never fully own her own adulthood.

Here’s one reason why that’s a problem: my family and larger community would have, at any point in my adulthood, had a hard time picking out an outfit that would have physically fit me and that I would also have found to be just my own taste — because, as an adult, I had different taste than most of the people around me. If you don’t know enough to pick out clothes for someone, inanimate objects that have handy measurements and come pre-sewn, you’re hardly going to be able to pick out a spouse who will fit them — I mean, unless you’re expecting that spouses are sort of one-size-fits-all, more generic than an off-the-rack dress from Macy’s.

And we know how well that turns out.

*The typical response to this is: it’s not my opinion I’m worried about, it’s God’s. Ok, but does your take on God’s opinion line up 100% with your own parents’ take on God’s opinion? If not, why do you expect your children’s take on God’s opinion to 100% line up with yours? Because you’ve, finally, miraculously, 100% figured it out? Must be nice…

18 thoughts on “Emotion/logic, sex/purity

  1. Your thoughts are very well written, direct, and insightful, Katie. Thank you for sharing this with us. Ingrid

  2. I love every word of this; it’s a little surprising how similar our thinking progression has been. I’m sorry for what you went through and best of luck in finding someone who is right for you.

  3. Wow, this is amazing. I definitely fall into the logical/rational type of female; It is so nice to read something with a perspective that finally matches what I’ve been thinking, but unable to articulate. Thank you for posting.

  4. Wow. Your story sounds so much like my own–except that I/we didn’t have the guts to risk our families’ disapproval by divorcing when we realized we’d married too soon and now, ten years down the road, we have two kids and a fairly functional marriage. I think on our own we’ve resigned ourselves to a romance-free marriage (yikes, just admitted that to myself as I write this). At least we’re no longer deeply unhappy as we have been in previous periods of our marriage, and the resentments and constant thought “I’ve made a mistake. I’ve made a mistake.” is no longer on constant rotation in my brain. I remind myself of Joseph Campbell’s statement about spending so much time wishing for what could have been that we miss the life we actually have. Because we do have so much to be thankful for–two amazing kids, careers we are moderately-to-very happy with, minimal arguments, similar philosophies about family/politics/life in general. Others think we’re happy (because ultimately that’s what’s most important, right?). Sometimes I suspect there are many more marriages like our own, but no one writes about them. We generally only read first-person accounts about the marriages that are (now) supremely happy. Not about the ones hanging on year after year because dissolution would just be too complicated and expensive.

    But today when I read your story I was so inspired by your honesty and vulnerability. It was very much like reading about my own twenty-something ideals and where they might have taken me if I’d had the courage and clarity you had. It didn’t seem fair to be so touched by your post without a little honesty of my own in return. I applaud your strength, your resolve, and your emotional intelligence!

    1. Thanks for sharing, K. And thanks so much for the compliments. I’m not sure that my emotional intelligence merits such praise, but writing helps sort through things.

    2. YES… though only 6 years and one kid. I don’t think I have reached the point you are K (the commenter)… I haven’t moved past the feeling like I made a mistake, and like I was duped by courtship teaching… And wondering how logic could have led me so wrong. Still not sure if we will end up staying together or not at this point… But I very much appreciated this article Katie.

      1. All my best to you, L. I/we didn’t get to this point of acceptance (or resignation, whichever) until just this year. And there’s nothing I can identify specifically as helping us turn that corner. And it may not last either so I’ll never be the person saying, “Just hang in there. It’ll get better.” It very well may not. Despite all my unhappiness, I never got to the point where I was sure I’d be better off divorced (and all the crap that comes with it) than staying together (since turning back time, unfortunately, wasn’t an option). Not everyone can say that.

        Two resources that might be inspirational are this book http://www.projecthappilyeverafter.com/the-book/ and http://www.amazon.com/Getting-Love-You-Want-Anniversary/dp/0805087001 The first book is by a woman who went from wishing her husband dead to reviving their marriage. The second book helped me re-frame those condemning Gothard narratives about “if you don’t learn to get along with your family, God will keep bringing along the same kinds of people until you do.” I find that it’s very hard to find marriage resources that aren’t either “if it isn’t effortlessly perfect, get out of it” or the opposite extreme “stay in it at all costs.” These books come close to avoiding those two extremes.

        Virtual (((hugs))) to you, L! I so wish we could chat over a cup of coffee.

      2. Thanks K. I’ll check into those resources. I know what you mean about both extremes in books… I feel like especially when I avoid christian stuff (because honestly it is very triggering to read)… it is “you should leave” and I can’t hardly get past the cover of christian stuff… and it is “you should stay at all costs, or at least if he isn’t beating you (which at least is an improvement on stay no matter what). But yeah not helpful.

        We are considering separating for a time, but… then there is the kid, and it isn’t very fair to him. I love my son… But how I wish I had not believed that having a kid was what we “needed” because of all the quiverful, be a wife and mommy stuff I believed (we were still very “into” it when we got married, we only have one kid because it was not easy for me to conceive… but we didn’t believe in birth control in our still stuck in fundyland beliefs when we married…. sooo yeah could have easily been having more if it wasn’t for that). We were dirt poor and trying to have a kid (what were we thinking?… right that kids don’t cost money, the “trust God” that the purpose of marriage as making babies… that we would be better if we could just have kids. And it breaks my heart… What was never taught is having a kid is making a life long commitment to a human being, to take care of and provide for them for (at least) 18ish years, to love them forever… The quiverfull movement actually… now that I see it, didn’t value children, not really. It was just adding another arrow, another notch on your belt… not the life long commitment to another human. They made having kids a light matter as if it was no big deal… I don’t regret my son. I just regret buying into all that crap. I wish I hadn’t felt pressured to have a kid (and being told God was punishing us since we weren’t pregnant right away).

        I feel like all these teachings only “worked” if you stayed in that culture… of submission, and popping out babies, and patriarchy… And yes I grew up with Gothard’s ATI teachings as did he. It worked if you never questioned it’s validity, or if it worked, or was healthy way to live.

        And I’d love to have a cup of coffee with you.

  5. Fascinating and perplexing as always.

    It’s easy to err on the other side too. I resisted my “gut,” attached myself to and married a Papist when my own (Protestant) Christian tradition was the most important thing in the world to me and pretty much abandoned all Biblical and man-made injunctions about dating and courtship. I’m still glad I married the man I passionately love but the church thing was foolish and I knew it. All in all God has given me better than I deserved and better, even, than I knew I was getting.

    My point is every parent/community/trend is deeply flawed (and I do believe some more than others). I actually have to say these kinds of things to myself. Out loud. All are sinners, and Christ can redeem all. He can redeem our childhoods, our character, our sex lives, our marriages, and our parenting, even the icky, tacky, regrettable para-Christian movements that we or our parents succumb to.

    PS: I like the insight from commenter “K.” There are so many nuanced marriages that get no air time. Damn. We should write a book.

  6. Thank you for sharing Katie. I’m here by way of Jen’s Gems (from a comment on her site) and have stayed reading many posts. I like your writing, and your life experience is very familiar to me. I’m glad you’re here and writing about these subjects. You are not the only one dealing with the fallout of having been steeped in these ideals. I can relate to having chucked so very much of what I used to hold as an unwavering standard. There are so many things you’ve written that ring true with me. Keep writing!

    And K and L, thank you for commenting and being real. Your sharing has given me more understanding of the ramifications of certain beliefs, many of which I have held at one time, too. I know others will also be helped by your realness.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: