I have never cried so much during the writing of a story as I have this one. I don’t like to cry, and you can be sure that I would not be writing this unless I felt a vice-grip on my gut telling me to do this.

I’ve heard a lot of debate over the porn segment of last week’s paper. However, the size and nature of the pictures accompanying the stories are not the issue. They are nothing more than you would see on the beach, in a movie or an advertisement. Honestly, that’s trivial compared to what Bianca said about her career in the adult entertainment industry: “It’s hard physically and emotionally. You pretty much have to have no soul and it’s pretty much impossible to have a relationship, but I’m no different of a person.”

I’m sorry.

It could just be me, but I don’t know how one can shut down emotionally and physically and say that he or she has not changed as a person.

How Bianca described herself is consistent with women who have been abused, manipulated, used, and pushed into sexual situations they weren’t ready or willing to have.

Bianca’s feelings are also consistent with those of women who have voluntarily engaged in physical, sexual activity and been torn between how empty their hearts feel and how dependent their bodies are after the situation.

I wouldn’t be writing about this if I didn’t know several young women, including myself, who have experienced the emotional and physical numbness that follows after a young woman gives part of her heart and/or her body away to a guy.

I dread check-in at the beginning of every school year. I start asking myself who it’s going to be this year. Which girl is going to meet someone who says he is going to marry her, and then find out he decided to change his mind and is now leaving with her heart in his back pocket? Which girl is going to find out when her boyfriend says “I love you” he expects a physical favor in return?

The numbness that comes after this can be worse than being thrown in the middle of the ocean and not knowing which direction to swim to the surface. It’s soul deep, and recovering from these wounds doesn’t happen overnight. There is no easy way and it will take time. Some women don’t fight the numbness and instead, they vengefully take out their anger on other people or themselves. Some start the vicious cycle of empty sexual activity that only leads to a broken-backed, joyless, soul-deprived life. They give more of their delicate, strong, courageous, and captivating heart away for what…to have an adrenaline rush and pleasure for a moment? Soon, even the rushes aren’t thrilling anymore.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

I hate feeling weak. Only when I let myself calm down and stopped listening to the lies in my head did I understand and re-realize my heart is something gorgeous to be held tenderly as a babe and fought for like the Queen’s crown jewels. I’ve come to realize there’s something beautiful in being vulnerable and completely loved, adored, honored and precious. And when my wall of anger fell down, I finally saw the man before me who bled to be my husband: his name is Jesus.