I remember the first time I became aware of the male gaze.

I was twelve.

It was at a Rite Aid with my mom getting some film developed (which definitely just dated me). I saw a pair of older guys talking about something, and laughing, but I didn’t know what was happening. My mom shot them a look and pulled me away quickly.

“Those creeps were looking at you,” she said.

I was twelve. Twelve. Like, all I cared about was Pokemon and my stuffed animals. But I didn’t look it.

If you follow literally anyone in the exvangelical community, you’ve probably heard of “Modest is Hottest,” the Matthew West track that’s been setting the Christian music scene ablaze. It’s a silly tongue-in-cheek song — I’m not too cool to admit that I laughed at “a sensible pair of slacks.” But after taking a moment to consider the culture that birthed this tune, it left a sour taste in my mouth. And judging by the backlash it’s received, I’m not alone in that sentiment.

My family never pushed purity culture onto me; rather, it was the churches I attended. The modesty talks were ubiquitous, at least among female leaders. Judging by the gendered sermons we sometimes had to endure, girls had two main problems — not feeling pretty enough, and not wearing enough. I never cared too much about the former as a kid, but as my own body made me painfully aware, I had to care about the latter, lest I get embarrassing lectures from youth leaders and mocking chants of “modest is hottest” from other girls. Yup, there’s that phrase again.

Here’s the thing — I never intentionally dressed to, as these talks put it, “cause my brothers to stumble.” I was just wearing what all of my friends were wearing. But because of the way I was built, my body was inherently dirty, inherently sexual. And people behaved differently because of this. I’d be groped by other students at my school because they thought my reactions were funny (which is doubly fucked up considering I was on the autism spectrum). When swimming with others, I’d be given the “t-shirt of shame” for exposing too much of my breasts, even though I was wearing the same kinds of bathing suits as other girls my age. And of course, I was made to feel like I was this filthy sinner for garnering looks from guys, because hey, it’s the girl’s job to keep guys from stumbling. Even when that girl is — let me reiterate — twelve.

It honestly messed me up for a while. At first, I tried to run away from my sexuality, playing the part of the innocent, virginal ingenue. When I inevitably couldn’t keep up that facade, I learned into my own sex appeal, feeling it was the only real thing I had to offer. No one cared about my intelligence or creativity. I was a walking pair of double D’s.

If you’re in a similar place to me, I’m here to tell you that there is nothing dirty or shameful about your body. Your body is a beautiful gift, every single bone and tendon and nerve and glob of fat! 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 says “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.” Conversely, should we not honor other people’s bodies by respecting them, no matter what shape or size they are, if they are indeed temples of the Holy Spirit?

I don’t think modesty is necessarily a bad thing. My philosophy had always been “if it brings you closer to God and hurts no one else, you do you.” My point is that someone’s inherent worth doesn’t come from how much skin is exposed. Forcing modesty on girls as if their worth depends on it isn’t healthy. Rather, we should be teaching young men to honor and respect women whether they’re cloaked in Amish garb or doing their best Cardi B.