Good Thoughts

I want to come out in support of sexual fantasy as a tool for promoting chastity and integrity.

If that sounds weird to you, I agree wholeheartedly. It still sounds weird to me.

When I was a kid, I definitely got the opposite message loud and clear. I got a lot of good advice from my parents, my leaders, and my church about not rushing into sexual behavior. And I also picked up a lot of anxiety about sex in general, and about sexual thoughts in particular. One pamphlet said the following: “Do not do anything … that arouses sexual feelings.”

I took that to heart. It was difficult, because I had a pretty strong natural interest in sex. But I also had one really clear goal: I wanted to get married and have a stable, happy family.

It seemed obvious that my sexual thoughts were not going to help me achieve that goal. They rarely featured a faithful, committed relationship!

I gathered that there were two ways of dealing with my sexual thoughts. Hypersexualized media told me that I should not only indulge them, but also try acting them out. The church told me that I should shut them down.

I wasn’t interested in acting them out. I believed that lasting pleasure came from doing things that made you proud of yourself, not from having a lot of orgasms. And part of me was hoping to get both! That same pamphlet also said that “physical intimacy between husband and wife is beautiful and sacred.”

So I shut things down. I learned how to block out my sexual thoughts. Do you know that trick where someone says, “Don’t think of pink elephants,” and then all you can think of is pink elephants? Someone tried it on me in high school. I was singing “I am a child of God” in my head before a single rose-colored pachyderm had time to cross from one side of my mind to the other. I had a lot of practice not thinking about things.

I was extremely anxious about anything that triggered sexual thoughts. A sex scene in a PG-13 movie could make me feel guilty for years afterwards. I told my mission president that I felt guilty reading Shakespeare because the sexual references were titillating. I doubt I said “titillating” though. That word made me uncomfortable!

There are worse ways to grow up. I didn’t get anyone pregnant, spend time or money on pornography, or even get my heart broken. And eventually I met a wonderful woman who loved me, and we got married and started a family.

I had achieved my goal, and it brought me a lot of happiness. But marriage did not cure my sexual thoughts. During the act of sex, I could relax. But that still constituted a tiny fraction of my waking time. And my sexual thoughts were always there.

At first, my wife and I earnestly tried to keep up with my constant interest in sex. It eventually became clear that no amount of sex would ever be “enough”. So we put the responsibility for initiating sex almost entirely on my wife, and things settled down. We had sex regularly, but we also spent time watching Netflix and playing board games. It was exactly what I had always hoped my home life would look like.

But, to my deep confusion and frustration, I found that I was never really at peace. I struggled with insomnia. I would lay awake, stare at the ceiling, sing “I am a child of God” in my head, and hate myself.

I started to pray for my interest in sex to just go away. Did you know that graham crackers were originally marketed as a cure for lust? The Victorians thought bland food might depress people enough to inhibit their sex drive.

I figured it was worth a shot. I spent a month eating a lot of graham crackers. It didn’t help.

I prayed more. I also looked for mormon experts on sexuality. I read books, and listened to podcasts, and did a little therapy. One message about the nature of God gave me some hope.

One of the core tenets of my faith is a belief in an embodied God. I believe that God has a physical body. I believe that God consists of both a Heavenly Father and a Heavenly Mother, and that they are married. I further believe that our destiny is to become like them.

And it was pointed out to me that this implies that I believe that God is a sexual being, and that my sexuality is something I will carry with me into eternity. So that means it must be both an integral part of me, and a good part of me.

It was a nice sentiment. I still couldn’t square it with my sexual thoughts, though. They were just as bad as ever. And the logic seemed clear: thoughts lead to actions, actions lead to habits, and habits become character. And nothing in my sexual thoughts seemed worthy of integrating into my character.

I took it to God. “Did you give me this part of myself on purpose? If I try opening up to my sexual self, will you keep me safe? Will you stop me before I go too far?”

In response, I felt peace. I didn’t trust it completely, but it gave me a little hope. I decided to face my fears, open the door to the basement, and see what my sexual thoughts had to say.

That was about three years ago. Since then, I’ve found out some really helpful things.

First, my fantasies are not meant to be taken at face value. My fantasies have more in common with my dreams than with my other thoughts. They kind of bubble up from my subconscious, and my subconscious is a land of symbols. The situations in my fantasy are not things I actually want to do. They are symbols of who I actually am.

Second, who I actually am isn’t all that scary. As I’ve learned to decode the symbols of my fantasy, I’ve found that almost all of them are organized by one central truth: I want someone I admire, and who knows me accurately, to want me.

Last, my sexuality is not a source of darkness. My fantasies do turn dark at times, but it’s because of different truths about me, like this one: part of me believes that no one who knows me accurately could ever want me.

In other words, the problematic thing isn’t my sexuality: it’s my shame.

The most ingenious, diabolical thing my shame ever did was convince me that my sexuality was evil. Then the very fact that I wanted sex was proof that I was unworthy of it! No one who knew me well enough to see my sexuality could ever really want me.

Overturning that idea took more than just acknowledging that it was self-defeating. I had to convince myself that my sexuality really was good, and that I believed it was good. Engaging more with my sexual thoughts has helped me to do that.

I have shifted from thinking about my fantasies as a hedonistic “to-do” list and started understanding them as a window into myself, my childhood, and my internalized cultural messages. Sometimes the view disturbs me, but I don’t blame the window. Instead, I’ve learned to appreciate the insight. 

My sexuality is a messenger, and all good messengers deliver bad news sometimes. Blaming my sexuality for my immaturity would be as wrong as blaming Charles Dickens for 19th century poverty or blaming Harper Lee for racism.

For almost two decades, my sexuality troubled me almost every day. Now, my sexuality is more often a source of peace and strength. Because of it, I feel closer to God.

Arousal is ok. Sexuality is good. Sexual thoughts are symbolic messages that teach me about myself. And that gives me a chance to be a better person.

I recognize that this contradicts a lot of my culture. And it also comes into conflict with some specific advice from leaders who I think are both well-meaning and inspired. But I think it’s in good alignment with my core beliefs about the nature of God and the nature of man. 

And it also happens to be based on a true story. It’s my story. I hope it helps.

PS: Everything I’ve written here is my own, and I don’t claim to be speaking as an expert. If you are interested in experts (who may not agree with me!), then some of the ones I have found most helpful are Dr. Jennifer Finlayson-Fife, an LDS marriage and sex therapist who has a great library of podcasts on her website, and Dr. David Schnarch, whose book Passionate Marriage has had a revelatory impact on my life. 

For dealing with shame in general, I also recommend Brené Brown’s books and TED talks, especially Daring Greatly. 

For some sex- and body-positive scripture, see Genesis 1:26-28, Genesis 2:24-25, Moses 6:8-9, D&C 88:15-16, D&C 130:22, D&C 131:1-2, Joseph Smith - History 1:17, and Ether 3:6-16. 

For an uplifting essay on the miracle of the body, see the "Physical Gifts" section of this 2012 talk from President Russell M. Nelson.