"So, what form of birth control are you using?" the nurse asked as she made a few notes on a clipboard for my doctor. I was in for a long-overdue physical, and this was the opening act.
"Um, I'm not," I stammered, my face growing a bit flush. "I'm not really sexually active." Now, if I'd had a physical exam sometime within the past decade like I should have, this question wouldn't have taken me by surprise. Instead it felt invasive and a tad too personal. The paper gown I was prepared for—this, not so much.
The nurse didn't flinch, bless her. But she did ask me once more before leaving the small office a few moments later if I was sure I didn't need to discuss birth control options today. "Yes, I'm sure," I answered politely. So sure you wouldn't believe it, I wanted to add.
Living Against the Grain
There are moments, like these, when being a Christian single feels so countercultural I could scream. Moments when it seems the world assumes I'm "doing it," when I stumble across a women's magazine article touting the benefits of a few-months-long sexual sabbatical, when the only messages about abstinence I hear are aimed at people fifteen years younger than me, when I watch Friends reruns in which Ross jokes that he's going through such a sexual dry spell he's worried about his health, when I recently read an article by a secular psychologist who suggested that adults not being sexually active could cause them to become overly aggressive or violent. At you maybe, I mentally replied to the author while reading her ridiculous assertions.1