Libby Anne wrote a whatever-the-opposite-of-a-love-letter-is to her purity ring:
… Even when I left for college I kept you on my finger, broadcasting my purity to the world.
You set me apart as different, special, pure.
When I started dating my first boyfriend he told me that he didn’t care whether I was “pure” or not. He told me that what I’d chosen to do with my body before meeting him didn’t matter to him at all. And he was perfectly serious. I had thought when I put you on my finger that I was keeping myself pure as a gift for my future husband, but here was this young man and I thought the world of him, and he of me, but he didn’t see my purity as a gift in any sense. He didn’t care. He liked me for me, for my unique talents and quirks, and didn’t give a fig for my purity.
And it was at that moment that you betrayed me.
I had poured everything into you, and for what? It felt like a farce. It felt vain and pointless. I felt betrayed and confused. I realized that I had valued my purity more than my intelligence, or my creativity, or my love for others. I had elevated my purity above everything else. I had boasted of it, flaunted it, cherished it. And suddenly I found myself questioning the value of “purity.”
The end of the letter is fantastic. It shows that you can break free from the spell the ring puts you under, that “purity” isn’t necessarily a value worth cherishing, and that there are so many other qualities about a woman that matter more than whether or not she’s “saving herself” for her future husband.