When Innocence Fades: Navigating Early Exposure and Its Lasting Impact

rameriah
Feb 17
6 min read

Updated: Feb 18

Alright y’all, this one’s going to be a little different. If you’ve been rocking with me for a while, you know I usually share my faith journey—how I’ve been coping, struggling, or just trying to make sense of things mentally and spiritually. But today? We’re taking a detour.

Instead of my usual reflections, I want to tell a story—one that’s personal, real, and maybe even a little uncomfortable. But that’s exactly why it needs to be told.

We’re talking about experiencing sex or sexual conduct at a young age—before marriage, before we were truly ready, and before we fully understood what it all meant. Growing up, I had a plan. A clear one. I was going to wait. That’s what I had been taught, what I believed was right. But life doesn’t always go according to plan, does it?

What I Was Taught vs. What Really Happened

Growing up, I was taught that sex was meant for marriage. It was supposed to be something sacred, something you waited for. But by the time I was old enough to really grasp those teachings, I had already been exposed to it in ways that weren’t part of my choosing.

So when I got older and actually made the decision to engage in sex, it wasn’t just about breaking a promise I made to myself—it was layered with experiences I had already had, moments where I didn’t even know I was “participating.” And that made it complicated.

The First Encounters: Innocence Interrupted

For many of us, our first exposure to sex didn’t come from a deep, informed conversation with a trusted adult. It didn’t happen when we were emotionally or mentally ready. It came from our environments—playgrounds, cousins, best friends, things we overheard, things we didn’t fully understand but were curious about. My first experience with anything sexual wasn’t something I actively sought out.

It was with a female friend. We were best friends at the time, inseparable, always at each other’s house for playdates. It was innocent—until it wasn’t.

One day, she started telling me about sex. I remember listening, confused but interested, because she seemed to know things I didn’t. And then, before I even realized what was happening, she was demonstrating what she had seen. Fully clothed, we began mimicking an act we didn’t understand. That moment became my first exposure to sexual behavior, not through curiosity of my own, but through someone else’s experience being passed onto me.

At the time, I was completely clueless. I didn’t understand the weight of what we were doing. It wasn’t about desire or intention—it was curiosity, imitation, a young girl being “taught” something before she even knew what it meant. And this was only the beginning!

A Pattern of Exposure: More Than I Could Handle

As I got older, these experiences became more and more frequent—more than I was comfortable with. There were classmates and peers who would freely expose themselves, not in innocence, but in a way that made it clear they knew what they were doing. It was no longer just curiosity—it was intentional. Whether it was in the bathroom, during recess, or in private conversations, I started realizing that sex wasn’t just something people talked about—it was something people were showing each other.

And then, there were the men.

Men who would give compliments that felt wrong, sending chills down my spine. Words that sounded like admiration on the surface but carried something darker underneath. It was the way they looked, the way they lingered, the way their words felt like they were sexualizing a child. Me. A child.

At the time, I didn’t know how to process it. I just knew it made me uncomfortable. I knew that the way they spoke to me wasn’t the same as how they spoke to other adults. It was different, and it made me feel like something about me was being viewed in a way that I didn’t understand—but they did.

And that’s the part that sticks with you.

In my teenage years, it only got worse. Hormones raged, but not just mine—boys started making assumptions. Feeling entitled. Thinking it was okay to grab, to grope, to touch what was never theirs to begin with.

And the worst part? If I defended myself, I was the one punished.

Adults always told us, “If someone touches you, tell someone.” But what happens when the adult does nothing? When they say, Well, I didn’t see it happen? When their inaction teaches you that speaking up is pointless?

The Decision That Changed Everything

My mother was always worried that someone would take advantage of me. And thank God, no one did. But the way boys and men carried themselves around me made all the difference.

Then, I made a decision of my own.

When I finally had sex for the first time, it wasn’t about love. It wasn’t a fairy tale. It wasn’t this magical moment that people made it out to be. It was a science experiment. A way to understand my body, the male body, and the hold that sex had over people.

I am forever grateful to the person I shared that moment with. A close friend. Someone who, despite the circumstances, made sure I felt safe. Who talked to me before, during, and after to make sure I was still okay with my decision.

But when I got home, reality set in. I broke down.

I called my big brother and just cried, convinced that I had ruined my life. That I was going to hell. That I had destroyed everything I had promised myself.

And the guilt? It consumed me.

I scrubbed my skin raw, taking showers and baths four to five times a day. As if the more I cleaned myself, the less I would feel the weight of my own decision.

When Self-Worth Disappears

After that moment, my expectation of being good enough to be married shattered. In my mind, I was ruined. No longer worthy of commitment. No longer deserving of the love I once dreamed of. And somehow, it seemed like men knew. As if they could sense that I had stepped into womanhood. It was disturbing—how suddenly I was someone that men wanted. Needed. Desired. But what about me? What about what I wanted?

I wasn’t impressed by their attention. I wasn’t flattered.

I was disgusted.

People judged me—not based on my own actions, but based on the way boys and men reacted to me. It was as if their behavior defined who I was, rather than who I actually was. And so, I adapted. I detached. I stopped believing in love. I stopped seeing men as anything more than distractions.

Faith, Society, and the Pressure to Be “Pure”

Looking back, I realize how much of my early views on sex weren’t just shaped by personal conviction—they were shaped by culture, religion, and a whole lot of external pressure. There’s this idea that once you “mess up,” there’s no going back. That purity is something you either have or you don’t. And that’s a dangerous mindset. Because the truth is, our worth isn’t tied to one moment, one choice, or one experience. But when you’ve been raised to believe otherwise, it’s hard to shake the feeling that you’ve somehow failed.

As I reflect on my own experiences, I realize how common this is, yet how rarely we talk about it. When were you first introduced to sexual behavior? Was it a conversation, something you saw, something someone showed you?

I know for me, it wasn’t something I chose—it was something that happened. And for a long time, I didn’t even know how to process it. Maybe you can relate. Maybe you had a similar moment that shaped the way you saw yourself, your body, your choices.

Lessons I’ve Learned (and What I’d Tell My Younger Self):

If I could go back and talk to my younger self, I wouldn’t lecture her. I wouldn’t shame her. I’d tell her:

👉 Your worth is not measured by your mistakes. One moment doesn’t define your value.
👉 It’s okay to question what you were taught. Not everything we learn as kids serves us as adults.
👉 Sex is more than just a rule to follow—it’s an experience that should be understood. No matter when or how it happens, it’s important to know why it matters to you, not just what others say about it.
👉 Give yourself grace. We are all learning, growing, evolving. Be kind to yourself through it all.

Where Do We Go From Here?

This isn’t the end of the conversation. If anything, this is just the beginning.

Next week, I want to dive deeper into the emotional aftermath of it all. How experiences like these shape the way we view ourselves, our relationships, and the way we navigate love and trust.

Until Next Time...

With love,

Let’s Talk!

This isn’t just my story—it’s an experience many have faced, yet so few discuss. Let’s start the conversation. Let’s create a space for understanding, for healing, and for breaking the silence.