You've probably heard of Elizabeth Smart. When Ms. Smart was just 14 years old, she was abducted from her family's home. As if this event wasn't traumatic enough, she was repeatedly raped on a daily basis. After nine brutal months, she was finally rescued.

Elizabeth acknowledges she probably had several escape opportunities. But she didn't take them. One of the reasons she cited is her abstinence only miseducation. She had been taught at a tender age that having premarital sex would render her worthless. As worthless as "an old piece of gum" she was told.

After being victimized by a sick child rapist, she thought her family wouldn't love her anymore. She feared her value was gone and she would be rejected.

"I'm that chewed-up piece of gum.' Nobody re-chews a piece of gum. You throw it away. And that's how easy it is to feel you no longer have worth. Your life no longer has value." ~Elizabeth Smart at a Johns Hopkins University panel in 2013

While my experiences were not as horrific as Ms. Smart's, I can relate more than I care to acknowledge. When I was 14 years old, my first boyfriend raped me. I, too, was a victim of my former religion's twisted abstinence only curriculum of falsehoods. In my case, my manipulators showed a room full of teenage girls a clean sheet of paper. Then they crumpled it up and opened it again showing us all the creases and how it could never get back to its original form.

As a teacher and somewhat sane individual, I can look back with clarity and say this is nothing short of emotional abuse. One doesn't have to wonder why it took years of therapy for me to stop blaming myself for what happened to me. Even if my nearest and dearest still did to varying degrees.

"You should have known what could have happened if you were alone with him," my mother scolded when I shared the incident with her 15 years later.

The unfortunate examples above illustrate how such archaic views keep women silent and empower perpetrators. Most people would agree that line of thinking is twisted and outdated, but the underlying sentiment still permeates popular culture. While it's clear how women's safety is impacted, there are negative implications for our sexuality too.

Of course, there is a huge distinction between sexual assault and sex, but this socially sanctioned view that a woman's worth is explicitly tied to how many men have penetrated her makes no distinction between the two. It is an equal opportunity oppressor.

This is where the body count conversation comes in.

Body Count- a slang reference to how many people someone (usually a woman) has had penis in vagina sex with

The body count conversation is nothing new even though the terminoloy might be. I remember whsipers in middle school and high school about how many guys various girls had been with. There was always a negative connotation, and I never heard these whispered judgments about the boys.

I also recall the common "joke" that when you ask a woman how many men she's slept with, multiply that number by three. When you ask a man, divide his answer by three. It's a very telling snapshot of the double standards that are still rampant today.

Recently, I've seen the body count conversation become popular again. Not surprisingly, it is usually geared toward judging women. And it's often led by other women. After all, regardless of gender, we've all been steeped in the patriarchy's tea.

The resurgence of the conversation makes me shudder. Make no mistake. It is not about protecting people from STIs or any other potential pitfalls. It has one goal and one goal only- sexual shaming. Having a high body count is a modern day scarlet letter. It's another attempt to control women through limiting our sexual autonomy.

Overhearing the body count conversation repeatedly had me wonder for a second..

What is my body count?

As a serial monogamist who's been dating off and on since I was 14, an accurate answer would require dusting some cobwebs off my memories and doing some mental calculations. Before I could even go down that waste-of-time path, I stopped myself. I realized I couldn't care less. I realized the cultural narrative had been successful at planting a seed of sexual repression in my mind. I decided not to water or nurture it any further.

My opposition to the nature of the typical body count conversation doesn't mean I take sex lightly. It's important to me to have conversations about STI status and getting tested. I take the time to make sure a potential lover and I are both on the same page about what we like and what our expectations are. Also, possibly because of my past, I do require a certain level of emotional intimacy to feel safe and comfortable in my sexual connections.

If my partner and I are aligned in these ways, that is what matters to me. I don't care how many people he's had sex with. I care what the experience will be like for us.

I hope more people can examine what it is they really want to know when they're hung up on someone's body count. Do you think a low body count means they'll be faithful? Do you think a high one means you'll get an STD?

Whatever it is you're trying to get at, a number probably won't reveal much. People's sexual experiences are nuanced and complicated. Let's not reduce each other to numbers.

I can't tell you what my body count is, but I can tell you this. I lose nothing when I have sex. I'm not giving anything away, and nothing is being taken from me. I gain something. I share an experience. I have fun. I connect with another human being.

I wish the same for all of us. Because liberating ourselves from harmful cultural narratives is so valuable that I can't put a number on that either.

Enjoying Medium? Consider becoming a member. For $5 a month, you'll get unlimited access, and I'll get a small commission if you use my link.