We all had that horribly uncomfortable sex education section of our high school health class. We were supposed to learn about how our reproductive systems operated, how to keep them healthy, and of course, how to be safe when and if we should choose a sexual partner one day. As teenagers, it is supposed to be awkward to sit and listen to, but ultimately informative for any future sexual endeavors we may participate in.

My sex education experience was nothing like that.

I didn’t put a condom on a banana. I didn’t learn that there are many long term female birth control options to choose from. I didn’t learn that sex isn’t supposed to last hours, that it isn’t supposed to be uncomfortable, or that bleeding isn’t normal. I didn’t learn that sometimes people weren’t attracted to the opposite sex, and that there are a dozen or more different sexualities they may identify with. I didn’t learn about consent in sexual relationships, or how fuzzy and uncertain that line could be.

Instead, I got a 20-minute slideshow of horrifyingly diseased and disfigured genitalia partnered with a constant repetition of, “Careful; if you have sex you could look like this.” I had a woman stand before my class and talk about how every partner she had before being married was a mistake that took something away from her. I filled out a worksheet about how ineffective each piece of birth control was. And at the end of the course, they gave out necklaces with the word abstinence carved on them and said that if we took them, it was a promise to wait until marriage.

I left my necklace on my desk, in case you were wondering.

Twenty-two states and the District of Columbia require schools to teach sex education. These programs are federally funded to educate youth with accurate and unbiased sexual information in an effort to reduce teenage pregnancy and the spread of sexually transmitted infections (STIs). And yet, a disproportionate amount of schools fall to abstinence-heavy, or worse, abstinence-only education.

Studies have shown that abstinence-only education does not decrease the percentage of teenage pregnancy, does not minimize the spread of STIs, and leaves the youth unprepared with how to prevent such things, or what to do if they occur. Preaching to students not to have sex does not help them learn information about healthy sex, about realistic sex, about safe sex that most will inevitably use at some point in their lives. It does not teach that sex is a normal biological function, or that it is a component in many healthy relationships.

Abstinence-only education is not sex education. It does nothing but teach teenagers to associate sex with shame and fear. It terrorizes students, trying to scare them away from otherwise healthy and normal biological urges. It’s ineffective, inaccurate, and potentially even harmful to their future relationships.

Sex education is essential to our future generations, but only in so much as teaching our children to love and be comfortable with their bodies, their sexuality, and healthy sex. If the choice is between spreading harmful inaccuracies meant to keep teenagers scared and in the dark about their bodies, or no sexual education at all, I’d just as soon pick the latter option.