When I wrote The Good Girl’s Guide to Great Sex, one of the main reasons that I did so was because of my horrible wedding night. I had read some Christian books about how to make sex great right off the bat, and they left me a nervous wreck. I tried to write a book that would help people calm down and relax and just get to know each other, because there are so many changes all at once. And you have a lifetime to get it right!
And as I started talking to other women about what their own wedding nights were like, I found that I wasn’t alone. Many of us had difficult honeymoons. I think we need to talk about this more, dispel some myths, and tell ourselves that it’s okay not to be perfect. Through these conversations, I myself have learned some pretty helpful tips to make the wedding night and honeymoon more enjoyable
When Emily Weirenga sent me this guest post, I was so excited to run it because I know so many of you will relate. Here’s Emily:
We arrived late with a bottle of wine and I stepped on the back of my wedding dress as we crossed the threshold.
I didn’t see anything but the bed, with its nicely folded corners and my new husband already in his boxers and grabbing us glasses from the kitchen cupboard.
I leaned against the wall, drinking the white, in white, and we were 23-year-old virgins who’d never seen each other naked, had only felt each other’s skin and I couldn’t unzip my dress.
I stalled, pulling out my bobby pins and he helped me, and we made a nice little pile of pins and then he asked if he could help me with my zipper.
And I asked him if he wanted another glass of wine.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to make love with him.
It’s that I didn’t want him to see me. All of me.
Not because I didn’t trust him, but because I didn’t like myself.
I didn’t like my skin and I thought maybe if we got the room dark enough first and we could do that every night, till death do us part, and he’d never see my flat chest or my wide hips or my pear shaped body.
I ended up slipping the dress around my ankles and then quickly sliding beneath the sheet and it’s taken me 10 years to learn how to walk into the bedroom naked, with the lights on. To look my husband in the eye, standing there in all of my skin, my stomach stretched with marks from two sons and my chest even flatter than it was before.
I am not beautiful because of my skin, nor because of my husband, nor because of my children, but because of my heritage as Abba’s creation.
But even though I was raised in the church, as a pastor’s daughter, who was baptized by the age of eight and went to youth group and memorized Scripture, I didn’t know that womanhood was something to be embraced. I didn’t know there were two different kinds of pride—a hubris kind of pride, which is a lifting up of the soul in defiance of God—and then, the other. The good kind of pride. The kind that Isak Dinesen defines in her book, Out of Africa:
Pride is faith in the idea that God had when he made us. A proud man is conscious of the idea, and aspires to realize it. He does not strive towards a happiness, or comfort, which may be irrelevant to God’s idea of him. His success is the idea of God, successfully carried through, and he is in love with his destiny.
I thought I was supposed to feel ashamed of my female curves. Of my body.
My mum was insecure and my dad, emotionally absent, so as children, we all battled low self-esteem. We weren’t allowed to watch The Little Mermaid because she had a bare stomach and Mum would get embarrassed if Dad caught her changing. I would be mortified if Dad saw my bra hanging on the clothesline. We thought we needed to be hidden away. Fig leaves, and such.
But Jesus came to change all that.
Jesus came so that shame would go. Jesus came, so that we could know, again, the full idea God had for us when he created us.
I am learning what it means to be a woman —what it means to embrace all of my femininity and to see it as a loving calling. To know the difference between love of self, and loving myself, and to treat myself as tenderly as I would a friend.
My friend, Celeste Steele-Perez, puts it this way: “As I meditate on what it means to be a woman, I marvel. I feel strong… I celebrate every curvy nuance of the feminine mystique. The memory of birthing makes my blood rush with the knowledge that … I, too, am made in God’s image!”
I have partnered up with Dr. Dena Cabrera of Rosewood Institute to write a book which celebrates this very thing: our femininity, our calling as women, and how to learn to love ourselves fully so we can, in turn, love our husbands and our children. It’s called Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy.
Women? We are beautiful. Our bodies are temples. And it is good.
(For the book trailer, endorsements and sample chapters, please visit the official book website HERE)
(Originally posted at Prodigal Magazine: http://www.prodigalmagazine.com/my-wedding-night/#sthash.jcml8p9c.dpuf)
Emily Wierenga is a wife, mother, artist and the author of Chasing Silhouettes: How to help a Loved One Battling an Eating Disorder, and Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy. For more info, please visit www.emilywierenga.com. Find her on Twitter or Facebook.