The things we never said: Growing up, sex and silence in Appalachia
Demakus Staton (left) is Executive Director of Reflections of Inspiration and Kayla Brown is its Director of Operations. The pair were tabling at an outreach event.
File photo
In the part of southern Appalachia where I was raised, there were certain things you learned early: how to be polite, how to mind your elders, how to carry yourself in a way that didn’t invite trouble. And then there were the things no one quite said out loud, but you still somehow understood: good girls don’t talk about sex, don’t think about it and certainly don’t have it.
We were taught abstinence, not as one option among many, but as the only moral path. It was framed as protection, as purity, as worth. But what we weren’t given was language. There were no real conversations about our bodies, about consent, about desire, about safety. Silence filled in the gaps where education should have been.
And silence has a way of shaping how you see yourself.
I remember being called a “whore” before I had ever even had sex. The word came easily to others, heavy to me. It didn’t matter what I had or hadn’t done; just existing as a young woman in a small community meant walking a narrow line, one that could shift beneath your feet without warning. Reputation was everything, and it could be taken from you long before you understood what it meant.
When I did lose my virginity, it wasn’t with the confidence or clarity that comes from understanding your own body and boundaries. It came from curiosity, from pressure, from not fully knowing I had the right to say no, or how to say yes on my own terms. And when I became pregnant, the weight of that silence came crashing down all at once. There was no roadmap, no honest framework to fall back on. Just judgment, fear and a deep sense that I had somehow failed.
But looking back now, I don’t see failure the same way. I see a system of quiet, one that left too many of us unprepared and alone.
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April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month, and in communities like ours, awareness has to start with honesty. It has to start with breaking the silence that so many of us were raised in. Because the truth is, abstinence-only messaging doesn’t prevent harm; it often just makes it harder to recognize, name and respond to.
If we want something different for the next generation in Appalachia, we have to be willing to speak differently.
We have to teach our children that their bodies belong to them. That consent is not just the absence of “no,” but the presence of an informed, enthusiastic “yes.” That they deserve to understand their own anatomy, their emotions and their boundaries — without shame attached.
We have to tell them that being curious doesn’t make them bad. That making a mistake doesn’t make them unworthy. That if something happens to them, whether it’s coercion, assault or simply a situation they didn’t feel ready for, they can come to us and be met with support instead of judgment.
And, most importantly, we have to unlearn some of what we were taught.
That’s not easy work. It means questioning traditions that feel deeply rooted. It means having uncomfortable conversations at kitchen tables and in church parking lots. It means admitting that what we were given wasn’t enough, and choosing to do better anyway.
Appalachia is a place of strong values, deep ties and resilient people. Those strengths don’t have to be lost as we grow; they can be the very foundation for change. We can hold onto our sense of community while also expanding what care and protection look like.
Because protecting our children isn’t about keeping them in the dark. It’s about giving them the tools to walk in the light, fully informed, fully empowered and fully supported.
Our stories matter. Even the hard ones. Especially the hard ones.
When we speak them out loud, we don’t just unburden ourselves; we make space for someone else to feel less alone. And in that space, awareness turns into understanding, and understanding into change.
That’s where healing begins.
(Kayla Brown is Director of Operations for Reflections of Inspiration in Sylva.)
