For many today, the news of renowned Christian conservative Dr. James Dobson’s death was met with feelings of relief. Celebration, even. When I broke the news to an ex-evangelical friend, the first thing he said was, “Hallelujah.”
I feel for the right-wing media mogul’s loved ones at this time. I feel more for all the survivors left in his wake. This man’s teachings led to the physical abuse of countless children—but let’s not omit the part few want to acknowledge: that these teachings are first found in the Bible. Dr. Dobson pointed them out. A small sampling:
Whoever spares the rod hates their children, but the one who loves their children is careful to discipline them. — Proverbs 13:24
Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you punish them with the rod, they will not die. Punish them with the rod and save them from death. — Proverbs 23:13-14
No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. — Hebrews 12:11
Earnest parents desiring to raise God-loving and God-obeying kids turned to Dr. Dobson’s Focus on the Family ministry for guidance. I was spanked as a kid, and so was every other kid I knew. God himself chose to save humanity by torturing his son to death, and he called it love. So it was and is understandable that earnest Christian parents would hurt their children and call it love.
Dr. Dobson’s Focus on the Family ministry spanned far and wide, from TV appearances and radio shows in the late 1970s to advising multiple U.S. presidents until today, including Trump. The psychologist published over 70 books with titles like The Strong-Willed Child, Dare to Discipline, and Parenting Isn’t For Cowards.
It is because of Dr. Dobson’s book Preparing for Adolescence that I learned how to masturbate—and developed a guilt complex that used to haunt me after every orgasm. The paperback was given to me the week of my first menstrual period when I was twelve.
That Dr. Dobson’s death occurs in the same month that I may have a possible endometrial ablation—an end to my menses, via the sterilization of my uterus due to severe anemia—strikes me as a most writerly coincidence. I began my fertile years with Dr. Dobson’s teachings. I may end them with his death. Ugh. I don’t know how to feel about that but ugh.
In solidarity with the relief of my exvangelical friends, I’d like to share the following excerpt from my book Wayward: A Memoir of Spiritual Warfare & Sexual Purity. It shows a few of the many ways Dr. Dobson’s work would impact my life: my menstrual cycle, my sex education, and the war between my pursuits of pleasure and godliness.
I’m so grateful to my braver self that pleasure eventually won.
“I got my period,” I said into my pillow.
“What?” Mom asked.
I repeated myself more clearly keeping my voice at a whisper.
“Oh. Oh, sweetie, you must have cramps. I’ve never had cramps, but I hear they can be a major pain in the butt.” I nodded. What an understatement. “What are you using to control the blood?”
“Pads, but they hardly do anything. I have to change them every two hours.”
It was true. Every couple of hours, day and night, I had to go to the bathroom and swap out a soaked and leaking pad for a new one, and not before all the blood ruined my clothes. I was beginning to fear that I was bleeding too much. The box of Kotex said each pad should last me a whole day, yet my flow demanded more absorption.
“What kind of pads are you using?” Mom asked.
“The kind you have in the cabinet, the Lightdays.”
“Aw, chickie, no wonder they’re hardly doing anything. Those are for something else, not your period. You need thicker pads for your period.”
“Then what are the Lightdays for? The white stuff?”
Mom didn’t explain cervical mucus or female lubrication to me. I assumed the clearish-white stuff that had been secreting from my body for the past several months was like a pre-period of sorts. My friend Danika said she got it, too, so I thought whatever it was must be normal.
Instead of answering my question, Mom redirected our conversation. “I’m going to have Dad get you some ibuprofen,” she said, “and then I’m gonna show you where I keep the pads you should be using from now on.”
Later that day as I read on my bed, a much thicker pad adhered to my underwear, Mom came in my room extending a small paperback. Its title read Preparing for Adolescence by Dr. James Dobson. Dr. Dobson was the founder of Focus on the Family, a prominent Christian organization promoting conservative values through its publications and films.
“I figured you should read this now,” Mom said. She set the book on my bed avoiding my eyes. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
The book was sex-ed for Christians. Its pages informed preteens of all the physical and psychological changes they could expect in coming years as their bodies prepared for adulthood, filling out the gaps of my limited knowledge. Preparing for Adolescence had illustrations of the male and female reproductive systems, including a sketch of a couple engaged in the missionary position. I found the image inexplicably arousing.
Then I learned what I could do with that arousal: masturbate.
I had never heard of masturbation before. As I read Dr. Dobson’s description of self-stimulation, I realized it was what I’d been doing ever since I was little, when I sat cross-legged rocking on my heels while making my Barbie dolls kiss. Other things that made my private parts throb were bike riding, straddling pillows, and seeing images of men and women lying on top of each other. I didn’t know my excitement was normal. I certainly hadn’t known there was a way to release it, either, otherwise I would have been having climaxes since age five.
At first, I was relieved to see Dr. Dobson approved of masturbating. “It is my opinion that masturbation is not much of an issue with God,” he wrote. “It is a normal part of adolescence which involves no one else. It does not cause disease. It does not produce babies, and Jesus did not mention it in the Bible.”
Then Dr. Dobson seemed to contradict himself. “I’m not telling you to masturbate,” he continued, “and I hope you don’t feel the need for it. But if you do, it is my opinion that you should not struggle with guilt over it. The best I can do is suggest that you talk with God personally about this matter and decide what He wants you to do.”
As soon as I read that I shouldn’t feel guilt, I felt guilty. For someone to say that I shouldn’t feel something implied that I ought to, otherwise the reassurance wouldn’t be there. Dr. Dobson had also said that he hoped I wouldn’t feel the need to masturbate, further implying that, despite his other words, the esteemed Christian psychologist thought the act less than ideal. The moral ambiguity vexed me. Was masturbation sinful or not? Did the guilt I carried with me over touching myself, even before I knew what I was doing, signify that it was wrong? If God approved, wouldn’t He give me peace about it?
I had my first orgasm later that day. I could hardly believe such a pleasurable experience had been available to me my whole life.
Once the ecstasy wore off, I evaluated my emotions to discern whether I felt peaceful or guilty. Definitely guilty. Any peaceful feelings I had were probably from the sensation of release, and what was left in their wake could be described as nothing less than shame.
I masturbated again and again over the following days. My shame deepened, for my orgasms were accompanied by lustful thoughts. As the book I Kissed Dating Goodbye had informed me, lustful thoughts were Biblical taboo. I felt like I was personally nailing Jesus to the cross every time I climaxed. He’d died for all the sins He knew I’d commit, including that one. Tears sprang to my eyes when I imagined how grieved He must be over my lust, after all He’d done for me.
I justified my self-pleasure by telling myself that masturbation would be the thorn in my side, the act of deliberate transgression that would keep me humble before God. My prayers of repentance were enriched by the acknowledgment that I had become a conscious sinner in daily need of God’s forgiveness.
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