There is approximately a week each month where every girl hates being female. And it's not just because of the physical pain, the physical sickness, the physical mess. Oh no. As if that all weren't enough, our emotions get completely fucked with. Some girls cry at the drop of a hat. Some get angry. Me, I get depressed. Moody, gloomy, and sorry for myself.

Today it is raining outside and I feel rainy. Rainy is a state of mind this afternoon.

Last night I had a really good conversation about some things I'm trying to deal with. Things that I did, that I regret, that I can't take back, that I wish I could. It's hard to come to terms with something like that.

When I was seventeen, my youth group did a unit on sex before marriage. At the end we had a commitment service. Each of us signed a card vowing to remain chaste until our wedding night. Each of us received a ring to wear on the fourth finger of our left hand, until the day we exchanged it for a wedding band.

One girl lost her ring, but it was soon replaced by an engagement ring. Her commitment is so great that she didn't need a ring in order to keep it. It's a part of her.

Two of the girls chose to take their rings off.

One is still wearing hers, as far as I know.

Ryan and I both received rings. At the time I thought it was incredible. We had both made this commitment, and we could both see each other through it. Someday, if we married, we could incorporate the rings into our wedding ceremony, replacing them with wedding bands. I had a perfect picture in my head. Everyone would look at us and say "Wow. Those two really made it."

Ryan lost his ring during our freshman year at college. He always said it was his commitment to me, that ring. Not to God, because he doesn't believe in God. Not to his future bride. We thought I was his future bride, and he was committing to me, not to get me pregnant before we were married. I bought him a replacement that Christmas, but he hardly ever wore it. Last fall, when I broke up with him, he put it on again, but only for a couple of weeks.

I am still wearing mine. I never stopped wearing it. I probably should have. I broke that commitment I signed my name to. I don't have the right to continue wearing a symbol of a commitment that I broke. Yet I do. I think it's something I've clung to over the years. A piece of the life that I used to have. A reminder of something that I used to believe in. I don't think I ever really stopped believing in it. Things just get away from you sometimes.

I did stop wearing my other cross, my True Love Waits necklace that I got for my sixteenth birthday. I stopped wearing that when I got my ring, because I guess I thought the ring took its place. I still wore it every so often, but not constantly. Not much at all. And I don't think that the ring took the place of it. When I took off the necklace, I took away the words "True Love Waits". The ring is beautiful, but it doesn't say that. Without having the words right there I could convince myself that it was true love. And that we were waiting. And I did love him... but we weren't waiting, no matter what we were telling ourselves. What I was telling myself. I felt funny wearing the cross after that, which is probably why I didn't.

Funny how much importance we place in things.

I started wearing my cross again around Valentine's Day. I lost it this past weekend, but I think I know where it is. I miss having it around my neck, but it's not everything. Putting that cross back on after four years reaffirmed that commitment I let go of. I don't need the cross right now, to know what I believe in. I don't need it to remember what I will and won't do. It helps, and I like having it there, and if it's gone forever I will probably replace it. But it's just a thing. The ring on my finger is just a thing. The card I signed is also just a thing. Things can help you get through hard times and temptations, but only if they serve their purpose of reminding you what you really put your faith in. Only if you remember from looking at them that God is who you're committed to and he's the one who's really helping you get by. I lost that in my commitment ring, although I am starting to find it again. I have it in my cross.

Meanwhile I am still accepting the fact that I broke that commitment. I am still trying to forgive myself for doing things that I said I wouldn't do. If I had stayed with Ryan, and eventually married him, it would have been justified in my mind. We did things that I said I would only do with the man I was married to, but if I married him then I never really cheated, did I? And besides, we never REALLY had sex. I don't know how I kept fooling myself about that one. But up until seven weeks ago I would have told you I was a virgin. I can't say that now. I can't live in denial anymore. I am owning up to what I did.

Do you know hard it is to say that? To type that, to think it, to know it about myself. I am not a virgin. The very idea of it is something I'm deeply ashamed of. I used to look down on other people for not waiting, and now here I am. It's very humbling.

I think the hardest part now is forgiving myself. I'm dating an incredible guy at the moment. Marriage is something we've talked about quite a bit. If we get married, well, obviously certain things will happen. We have made the decision not to have sex unless/until we get married. This time I know I can follow through on it, because it's something that I want and that he wants, and that God wants; and together, we can get there. I have no doubts about that, and that's an awesome feeling.

But there's still that nagging voice in the back of my head. "You already gave away everything you had," it says. "He can give you all of himself, but you can never quite give him everything. You gave it to someone else." I have to live with that for the rest of my life. Even if I manage to find closure, to forgive myself and work past it, it will never really be gone. When I have children, and I talk to them about sex, I will have to say, "You should wait until you get married. I didn't wait, and I will always regret it. It's better if you wait. But if you decide not to, I will still love you."

My parents told me, "You should wait until you get married." They never said, "But we didn't wait." They never said, "We'll still love you if you don't." They love me anyway.

Joe told me, "What happens between you and me is between you and me. Everything else is between you and God." He will love me, even though I didn't wait.

I told myself, "I will wait." I didn't wait. Can I still love me in spite of that?