You met me at my lowest.

When I gave myself cheaply to you, know that I was at a bad place in my life, my faith, and my womanhood. Darkness was getting a hold of me, and I chose to succumb to my weak, brittle flesh, letting you in that easily. I was filled with self-loathing and wanted to self-harm. Promiscuity is often a response to inner feelings of worthlessness and ugliness, so if you count me as a notch on your bedpost, please don’t.  Please do not use that experience to validate whatever kind of manhood you think you had in that little while. In your heart of hearts, you're probably going through the same internal misery, and when a man sleeps with a woman, he is her equal in that moment. 

Know that I wept after we separated ways. I grieved. I mourned. I cried buckets of big tears and breathed heavy breaths—the kind that makes my chest hurt. I desperately gasped air for my lungs’ sake as my soul was consumed with regret, like an incinerated cigarette slowly burning to its ashes. It takes two to tango, and I compromised so much of my womanhood to level with your kind of manhood. I wasn't myself. I have defiled my body and the sanctity of sex, and that is enough for me to languish and be washed over with despair.

Know that I didn’t let you see the whole of me. I may have undressed in front of you, you may have touched my naked body, but know that you still haven’t seen all of me. I showed you my sensuality, but not my soul’s entirety. I am filled with remorse, because I’d like to think—despite the bruises and the wounds—my soul is still worth getting to know, too.

Know that I’m sorry for using you that way. I was hurting, and hurt people hurt people. I atone for it everyday. I know you’re more than just a body, but as much as I wanted to discover you beyond that, we both know what we came for, and I know you wouldn't let me anyway.

But please know this—I pray for the men I slept with. I really do.  

Know that your manhood is far beyond the number of women you can get to sleep with you. You were made to protect, not to prey. You were made to lead, not to consume. You have hope. This hope is not to be sought or found within yourself, but in the God that has called you towards good, pure, and empowering things. Your manhood is a gift, not a right to use our guilt and shame for your own pleasure. I speak the same about my womanhood. We're called to be allies, not enemies. We have become a generation so forbidding towards genuine intimacy, we think our bodies can play pretend without consequences. In the end, we crash and burn. I pray we both grow in our eternal identities found only in Christ. That's the only way we can lift each other up and complement one another in worthy, beautiful ways. 

As for me, I'm on the path towards healing. I know I can never turn back time nor undo my actions, but all I know is, it is my heart's desire to be made pure again, and I can be. My God has a knack for making things new. That is something I believe to be true.

A Psalm of David, when Nathan the prophet went to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba.

—D