This article contains mentions of homophobia. All student source names have been changed in this article for their safety and privacy.
I grew up in Calgary, in a fairly fundamentalist religious household. I struggled to find balance between the ‘Western’ ideals of my friends and school, and the traditional teachings around purity and gender relations that were part and parcel of my family’s cultural belief system.
I remember sitting in the back of my mom’s car while she asked my fourth grade teacher exactly what I was going to be taught in sex education; whether I really needed to know about things like pregnancy and birth control; and if the classes would be co-ed (“Well, surely not!”).
When I went on hormonal contraceptives at age 14, my mother encouraged me to keep it to myself. No one in our social circle needed to speculate around why I was taking birth control (even if it was literally to keep a barely-pubescent girl’s hormones in check).
And of course, the sudden influx of side-eyes and pursed lips the second I hit puberty and started to fill out the clothes I was wearing, because God forbid I attract the attention of a man any sooner than the day I was to be married.
Sexual education in North America and beyond has been heavily influenced by religion. Generations grew up under the cloud of abstinence-only sex education and purity culture, both disproportionately affecting young women and Queer folk.
Many grow up in households that demonize sex and sexuality, creating subconscious associations between an arguably integral part of the human experience, and feelings of shame and fear.
When I moved away for university, that changed. Young adulthood is an opportunity for many to forge new relationships to sexuality, exploring distance from the values instilled by their families and the faiths. I talked to two UBC students about how they balanced their coming-of-age their religious backgrounds.
'My sexuality was a form of rebellion'
Chloe, a fourth-year arts student, grew up practicing Christianity in a Korean-American household. She-found that sex was something she was told she could talk about, but never really felt comfortable doing so.
“Any questions that were asked [about sex] were kind of met with the same answers that had already
been said before,” she said. “The conversation ended with ‘not before marriage or outside of a relationship’, ecetera.”
“There weren’t really any conversations about sexual orientation [either]. It was kind of just that anyone questioning their sexual orientation was wrong or confused, and that God made us a certain way for a certain reason.”
She recalled one of the first instances where she realized the rhetoric she grew up with was not universal. One year, the soap company Lush came out with a Pride-themed ad campaign, including a soap bar that sported the statement “Gay is OK.”
“I remember being confused that [it] was so broadly commercial [and] the general public believed that,”
she said. “I remember that soap bar [as] one of the first things where I saw gayness being celebrated or seen as something that was not just okay, but something to be proud of.”
Chloe said it was only after she “left religion” that she was able to further explore her sexuality. “I think that ... I had too much guilt associated with sex,” she said. “And it was only when I absolved myself of the idea that ‘someone’s watching’ [was I] able to do that.”
She said separating religion and sex was the only way she was able to make sex about herself, and no one else. “I wasn’t able to explore it before that because I didn’t allow myself to,” she said. “I feel like to truly be a sexually-curious individual you need to be in an environment that supports that.”
Sex can often be a form of empowerment or rebellion for individuals who grew up in or are coming out of traditionally conservative environments. Chloe said she has felt differently about her sexuality at different stages of her life.
“I think that when I was younger, my sexuality was more of a form of rebellion for me because I knew that it was something I wasn’t supposed to do. I knew it was something that my parents wouldn’t like,” she said. “And when I moved away and got my freedom and independence, I didn’t need to rebel as much anymore. It became more empowering to me.”
“[It became] kind of [a] symbol of my independence ... But then I also just think that sexuality and sex are super blown out of proportion in the way that they’re talked about in society, and that in the grand scheme of things, it is just a part of life.”
Integrating Queer religious identity
The 2SLBTQIA+ community has also been marginalized by some religious institutions, despite many religious texts supporting inclusion and tolerance.
Prabhangad, another fourth-year arts student, grew up in a Sikh family in northern India. He wasn’t raised to think about sex in conversation with religion until he began his own self-discovery, realizing the role that both have played in his family and development.
“When we did have conversations about sex [and] sexuality, they were not necessarily related to religion,
until I personally came out and my dad implied some-thing towards my religion not being able to fit into my idea of sexuality,” he said. “But it wasn’t really restrictive [for me] because it just wasn’t something that I saw go together.”
Growing up, he said that he didn’t realize his identity was considered “outside the norm” until he faced criticism for it. Most of the prejudice he faced was not from his immediate family, but from his extended
community.
“Your aunt brings up to your mom that she doesn’t think it’s ‘right’ that I’m looking at her heels or... I have
a flower in my hair [in my] pictures on Instagram,” he said. “That is how I was affected: because of other people, not necessarily my family.”
Prabhangad today is comfortable in both his spirituality and sexuality, and explained the importance of a thoughtful relationship between the two.
“Not everything in the religion ... is something I need to follow,” he said. “It’s just a way of life and not
your entire life.”
Self-discovery and liberation
Chloe and Prabhangad have differing attitudes toward religion and sexuality, and their stories are important because they reveal that there is no right answer. For some, exploring sexuality within the constructs of organized religion feels restrictive, or associated with too many negative feelings. For others, religion can be interpreted as a way to supplement their self-discovery, strengthening positive values and identity.
My own self-discovery didn’t flourish until I became agnostic. I rebelled against the constraints my religious upbringing had placed around me until very recently, a phase I think a lot of young people go through. Spirituality used to be something I curled my lip at, because I just couldn’t conceptualize a world where it would align with sexual liberation.
Meeting people at university who are able to reconcile spirituality and sexuality has shifted my perspective though. I can’t say I’m a revert by any means, but I have a newfound respect for the delicate balance I’ve witnessed between two things I never thought could be reclaimed as one.
This article is from Reclamation, The Ubyssey's 2023 sex and relationships issue. Read more personal essays and student stories from Reclamation here, and sexual health and education articles here.