Virginity : Reclaiming the Narrative

Let’s start here: the concept of virginity was created by men who thought so much of their penises, believing contact with it has the power who a woman is. "Virginity" is a loaded word with centuries of cultural baggage, tied to morality, virtue, and a woman’s worth. But I want to share a different perspective: "I didn’t lose my virginity. I made a decision as a teenage girl to have consensual sex with a boy my age. We made a choice and fumbled through it." Sex is not about "losing" something, but about sharing, exploring, and owning an experience. For young women, reframing this narrative is crucial for fostering confidence, agency, and empowerment in their sexual lives.

The phrase "losing one’s virginity" implies passivity—a sense of something taken or surrendered. For girls, this language often reinforces outdated notions that tie their worth to their sexual inexperience. Meanwhile, boys are taught to view sex as a conquest, a validation of their masculinity. This double standard perpetuates unhealthy dynamics: boys are encouraged to pursue sex for status, while girls are pressured to guard their "purity" until they choose to give it away.

Pop culture has long reinforced these narratives. Think of movies like Clueless (1995), where Cher’s virginity symbolizes her innocence until she "chooses" the right moment. While these films entertain, they also reflect society’s view of young women’s sexuality—something precious yet precarious, to be unlocked at the perfect time.

What if we teach young women that their sexual experiences—awkward or amazing—are theirs to define?

But what if we rewrite the script? What if we teach young women that their sexual experiences—awkward or amazing—are theirs to define? As I’ve found, "That choice empowered me to make decisions about my body that were for my pleasure and no one else’s."

There has been a decline is sexual education. As it stands comprehensive sexual or anatomical education doesn’t fully exist within the American education framework . Sadly, this results in many young people lacking the tools for these empowering conversations due to the failure of sex education in the U.S. Less than half of adolescents receive adequate sex education, and even fewer receive it before becoming sexually active. Instead of teaching agency, pleasure, and consent, many programs focus narrowly on anatomy or abstinence.

“I didn’t lose my virginity. I MADE A DECISION AS A TEENAGE GIRL TO haVE consensual sex with a boy my age” - LAUREN NAPIER

This educational gap leaves teens ill-prepared to navigate relationships or make informed choices about their bodies, and it begins with the very different messages boys and girls receive from an early age. Boys are often encouraged to view sex as an achievement, a sign of maturity or social status. This pressure can lead them to pursue sexual experiences before they’re emotionally or physically ready, causing confusion, anxiety, or even regret. Meanwhile, girls are taught that sex is something sacred—a part of themselves to guard until the "right" time or person comes along. This messaging fosters shame and guilt around natural curiosity and exploration, making it harder for them to advocate for their needs or understand their own desires. Both boys and girls, in this dynamic, miss out on critical education that positions sex as a mutual and respectful experience—one built on communication, consent, and care. Without this foundational understanding, teens are left to navigate complex emotional and physical experiences without the tools to do so safely or confidently.

What makes someone truly sexy isn’t sexual inexperience—it’s confidence. And I don’t mean the kind of bravado we often see performed in pop culture. I’m talking about deep, embodied self-knowing. Confidence that comes from understanding your body, being in tune with your pleasure, and communicating your desires without fear. That kind of confidence shouldn’t be intimidating or taboo—it should be celebrated, encouraged, and taught as a powerful form of agency. Confidence and sexual agency are not about dominance or performance—they’re about ownership. They’re about safety. When a young woman knows her body—what she likes, what she doesn’t, what feels good, and what feels off—she becomes her own compass in intimate spaces. And that self-exploration? It’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s a valuable, often overlooked process of learning, and it builds the sensory language needed to experience pleasure and share that pleasure with someone else.

“the concept of virginity was created by men who thought so much of their penises … that it has the power to change woman is.”

Because let’s be honest—most of our early sexual experiences are clumsy. They’re filled with nerves, uncertainty, and guesswork. So imagine how much healthier, safer, and more satisfying sex could be if young women felt empowered to say, “This is what I like,” or “Let’s slow down,” or even “I’m not ready.” That confidence becomes a guide—not just for them, but for their likely inexperienced, confused, nervous, and fumbling partner. But the truth is, self-confidence—especially sexual self-confidence—is not something young women are often encouraged to develop. Instead, we’re taught to shrink, to defer, to be desired rather than to desire. We’re told to wait for someone else to show us the way. But confidence is control. Confidence is protection. It creates a sense of safety in what might otherwise feel like an unfamiliar or overwhelming space. Sex isn’t something that just happens to us. It’s something we get to participate in—fully, actively, and on our own terms. And when we teach young women that self-confidence is not only allowed but necessary, we’re giving them the tools to navigate intimacy with clarity, courage, and care. Because there’s nothing more empowering—or more transformative—than knowing your body, trusting your instincts, and owning your pleasure.

This is one of the most important parts of the conversation: how we equip the next generation—both boys and girls—to approach sex with responsibility, curiosity, and without shame. The current silence around sex in many households is leaving teens to fill in the gaps with misinformation from peers, pop culture, or the internet. Parents play a critical role in shaping how young people think about sex, but fewer than half discuss even the basics, like birth control or STI prevention. And when they do, it’s often framed around fear—pregnancy, disease, regret—instead of around empowerment, communication, or joy. This silence doesn’t just create ignorance. It reinforces the taboo around sex and can lay the groundwork for harmful or even traumatic experiences. When teens are taught that sex is dirty, dangerous, or something to hide, they’re far less likely to ask questions, express boundaries, or report when something goes wrong. Worse, they may internalize shame that follows them into adulthood.

We need to shift our messaging—from risk and restriction to empowerment and education. That means talking to kids early and often, using age-appropriate language that evolves with them. It means normalizing conversations about consent, respect, mutual pleasure, and the emotional dimensions of sex. It means teaching boys that sex is not a conquest, and teaching girls that pleasure and agency are not dirty words. It means modeling curiosity and compassion instead of fear and judgment. When we do that, we don’t just raise informed teens—we raise confident, empathetic adults who know how to show up in their intimate relationships with care and clarity.

While conversations about sexual agency and empowerment are becoming more common, there’s still an overlooked truth: not every woman had the privilege of a positive or affirming first sexual experience.

For many women, the concept of a “first time” is laced with emotional complexity. While conversations about sexual agency and empowerment are becoming more common, there’s still an overlooked truth: not every woman had the privilege of a positive or affirming first sexual experience. For some, that moment was marked by pressure, misinformation, discomfort, or a lack of true consent. And in a culture that ties a woman’s worth to her perceived “purity” or her ability to navigate sexual experiences perfectly, those moments can leave lasting emotional scars.

But what if we told the truth—that the system, not the woman, failed? A culture that doesn't educate young people about consent, mutual pleasure, or emotional readiness sets everyone up for confusion at best and trauma at worst. When sex is framed solely in terms of risk and morality—especially for girls—it fosters silence, shame, and self-doubt. It teaches them that their value is conditional, that their boundaries are negotiable, and that their desires are secondary. So when a first-time experience doesn’t feel good, isn’t fully consensual, or leaves a woman feeling used or unseen, she often internalizes that failure as her own. But healing is possible. And it begins with reclaiming the narrative.

First and foremost, we must affirm that a woman's worth is not defined by how her first sexual experience happened. Whether it was awkward or traumatic, disappointing or confusing—it does not define her capacity for love, joy, or intimacy in the future. She didn’t fail. The failure lies in a society that didn’t teach her that her body is her own, that she has the right to say no—or yes—without shame, and that sex should be about mutual respect, not sacrifice.

But what if we told the truth—that the system, not the woman, failed?

To heal is to reclaim. And that reclamation looks different for every woman. It might begin with giving herself permission to redefine her story—not as a moment of loss or regret, but as a beginning. A beginning that she now gets to write with intention, clarity, and care. It might also look like engaging in self-exploration without guilt, allowing herself to discover what brings her pleasure, what feels safe, and what intimacy means to her, apart from anyone else’s expectations.

Empowerment also comes through knowledge and community—finding spaces and resources that affirm her experience and provide the language, tools, and support she was denied. And in future relationships, it may mean using her voice to set boundaries and communicate needs, even if it’s uncomfortable. Asking for gentleness. Taking things slow. Naming her limits and desires. These are not signs of weakness; they are expressions of strength. Some women may choose to speak about their experiences publicly or in intimate circles. Others may write, create art, or process through therapy. However it unfolds, that expression helps dismantle the silence that allowed harmful experiences to take root in the first place. It helps transform pain into purpose. Healing is not linear. It doesn’t come all at once. But every step a woman takes toward understanding her body, reclaiming her agency, and seeking pleasure on her own terms is a radical act. It’s a reminder that while her first time may not have been her choice, her next time—and every time after—is hers to own. And that ownership? That agency? That self-confidence? It’s not just healing. It’s powerful. It’s transformative. And it’s hers.

Empowering young women means creating a culture where everyone can explore sexuality freely, without fear or judgment. It’s about teaching respect and communication as essential parts of sex. I believe, "Sex is not a thing to be had but a human experience to be shared and enjoyed." Let’s equip young people with the tools—and language—to embrace this truth fully, because confidence isn’t just sexy; it’s transformative.

When we normalize conversations about pleasure, consent, and emotional readiness, we don't just prevent harm—we create agency, confidence, empowerment and for some - healing. We allow women to rewrite old stories, to move forward with intention rather than shame. And we create the kind of culture where a positive “first time” is not the exception but the expectation. One rooted in choice, mutuality, and care.

This is how we change the narrative—not just for the next generation, but for every woman who thought her power was something to be given away. It was never lost. It was always hers. Now, she gets to claim it.