Women Of Faith Are Quietly Skipping Their Cervical Screenings — Here's Why I Nearly Did Too

Refinery29

3 days ago

I had smear-test anxiety long before I got my first invitation letter from my GP asking me to come in for my first cervical screening. And when it arrived, just after my 25th birthday, I still couldn't bring myself to go and talked myself out of it. It wasn't just nerves; my feelings about smear tests — a preventative test to check the health of the cervix — were tangled up in some internalised shame about my body and chastity, all of which made the idea of going for a smear feel emotionally loaded.
I'm a single Christian woman who has chosen abstinence, and the thought of someone examining my cervix made me really anxious. The use of the speculum to allow access to the cervix felt exposing and scary for someone not having sex. I felt embarrassed for being so nervous, then ashamed for feeling that way, especially because it's a medical procedure meant to help prevent cancer. There are 2,500 new cases of cervical cancer in England every year, but research says that a quarter of those could be prevented. I'd quietly hoped that by now I'd be in a different stage of life, and a smear test wouldn't feel so intimidating. But the first invitation came and went. Then a second.
I am one of many who skipped their first invite. As of December 2023, the NHS revealed only 65.8% of eligible women aged 25 - 49 went for their smear on time, leaving a third of us not attending. When I heard that at-home smear tests were finally being rolled out in England, I felt genuinely hopeful for anyone who has felt anxious, unsure, or faces other barriers to getting a test. Under the government's upcoming 10-Year Health Plan, women and people with a cervix who haven't yet taken up routine screening will be offered the chance to self-sample at home. The government has promised it'll be discreet, simple, and easy to return and said it should benefit people facing cultural hurdles, people with a disability and LGBT+ communities. Looking back, I realise I would have been more likely to do my first smear if I'd had the option to do it at home (although I wondered how we would get all up in there ourselves?!). From speaking to other women, I know I'm not the only one. However, until a safe, self-administered test is made widely available, visiting your GP remains paramount.
Though it is ultimately just a health appointment (one I know we're so privileged to have access to), it felt like a personal marker of everything I hadn't yet experienced. Given that we're talking about cancer prevention, my unresolved feelings about being single and my body were so trivial, but they were strong enough to put me off attending my first smear. I wondered if my other Christian friends felt the same, but no one was really saying anything. Had they gotten their smears? How had they found it? It was only after I shared my own anxieties with two close friends that we began to talk openly and realised we were all carrying similar hang-ups.
Silence around sex and our bodies is, unfortunately, common in many Christian spaces. For many Christians, waiting until marriage is a faith-based decision, as we believe sex is something God invites us to experience within the context of a covenant. But within the church, that personal conviction can often turn into a strong moral expectation. What starts as a choice can turn into an unspoken standard, and with that standard comes silence; silence around sex, around our bodies, and even around medical procedures that involve them. The shame tied to anything seen as related to sex can spill over, making it harder to talk openly and creating real barriers to making informed, responsible decisions about our health
Cervical screening is still one of the most reliable ways for preventing cervical cancer, but worryingly, uptake is disproportionately low among Black women and women from other ethnic minority backgrounds. Black women are at higher risk, with research showing that we're more likely to be diagnosed with and die from cervical cancer than any other ethnic group in the UK. Sadly, nine women a day are diagnosed with cervical cancer in the UK, and two women lose their lives to it every day.
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'Modesty was very much part of how I was raised. That doesn't mean I'm uncomfortable with my body, but the idea of exposing intimate parts to strangers, even in a medical setting, comes with emotional weight.'
Shelley dar, mental health therapist
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A long history of medical mistrust continues to affect some Black and brown women's smear test attendance. For others, cultural and religious myths and misconceptions are fueling their fears about the procedure. Reddit posts among young Christians debate whether smear tests affect virginity, and even a quick TikTok search of 'Pap smear as a Christian" shows a confusing and alarming range of perspectives. Some people claim that God has told them not to attend a screening, or that Christian women shouldn't be attending at all. Setting aside what this shows about purity culture in some Christian spaces, misinformation and fearmongering are clearly at play within certain faith communities, and it could be holding people back from attending their smears.
It's really important to stress that a smear test is not a sexual act. It checks for HPV, a virus responsible for nearly all cases of cervical cancer and for abnormal cells that, if left untreated, could become cancerous. Many people carry HPV without knowing, as most of the time, it doesn't have any symptoms. That's why smears are so important.
This tension between faith, modesty, and medical care isn't just in Christian communities. A 2022 study exploring a faith-based intervention for Muslim women in the UK found that religious and cultural beliefs around modesty and bodily privacy often created barriers to cancer screening.
Shelley Dar, a British-born Muslim and UK-based mental health therapist who specialises in the deeper psychology of fear, anxiety, and body-based shame, says the smear test setting can also be emotionally difficult for women in her community. 'Modesty was very much part of how I was raised', she explains. 'That doesn't mean I'm uncomfortable with my body, but the idea of exposing intimate parts to strangers, even in a medical setting, comes with emotional weight.'
For many women in South Asian and Muslim communities, dignity and privacy are deeply important. Dar describes being taught to cover and protect her body. 'Being asked to lie back and open up in a brightly lit room to someone you've never met can feel degrading, especially when you're not in control of the tone or pace.'
This echoes findings from several other studies specifically looking at Muslim women's cervical screening attendance. In the US, fewer than 60% of Muslim American women were up-to-date with their smear tests, citing modesty, stigma, and a lack of culturally sensitive care as the biggest barriers. Similar issues are also seen here in the UK, where some Muslim women have shared feelings left out of public health campaigns or are unsure how their religious beliefs fit into the mainstream advice around smear tests.
'It would be such a relief,' Dar tells me, reflecting on the idea of at-home tests. 'I'd feel calmer, more in control. I could do it in my own time, in my own space, without the pressure of a clinical setting.'
From my own hang-ups and conversations with others, it's clear that the barriers around smear tests aren't just practical. For many, it's also emotional, psychological, shaped by personal history, chronic illness, disability, or difficult past experiences. All of this can make going for a smear feel overwhelming.
I decided to go for my smear test after getting my second invite letter. I knew I was at lower risk, but I wanted to go, ultimately to stop being afraid of the procedure and stop being embarrassed. That year, I'd also worked for Young Lives Vs Cancer, a UK cancer charity focusing on children, young people and families affected by cancer, which made me really aware of how life-saving these appointments are.
My mentality going in was I'm really lucky to have access to this procedure, it's literally free, and it's a good thing to do. I know this isn't always everyone's experience, but I'm really happy to say I had a positive one.
I booked it first thing in the morning, which I'd definitely recommend; there's just less time for nerves to build up throughout the day, and you can get it out of the way early. When I arrived, I told the nurse I was scared — which I recommend doing! My nurse was kind and reassuring, and kept checking in and reminding me she'd stop if it was too painful. My mum kept telling me it wouldn't hurt, I think she lied to encourage me to go. Truthfully, it did hurt a bit, but it was so quick, and once it was over, I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders. Most importantly for me, it's made the idea of going again much less daunting or significant because I now know what to expect.
Fear can sometimes hold us back from doing what's best for our bodies. I've learned that taking control of your health sometimes means facing fears head-on. For me, my faith in God was a source of strength in getting through it. I didn't feel alone on the day, and it has given me a sense of responsibility to look after the body I've been given as best as I can.