I was lucky, like some others here were, that my bishops were never lascivious men asking too-personal questions. The self-hate and attempted self harm I blame firmly on my parents and on church doctrine.
My mom and dad had “the talk” with me at probably ten years old. They gave me the mechanics of it, and nothing else. Nothing about arousal, and their description of my anatomy was incomplete. They never told me about my clitoris. I became certain that because they hadn’t mentioned it, that it wasn’t supposed to be there. I thought it was a growth, and an ugly one at that. I was sometimes afraid that it could secretly be a cancerous tumor. So at about age 13 I found myself sitting in the bathroom, holding a pair of scissors, trying to decide if I could muscle through the pain in order to “fix” myself. Luckily, I knew I wouldn’t be able to, and didn’t harm myself. But that happened multiple times. And I dealt with hatred of my body.
At one point I was certain that God hated me because he had made me a woman. In my mind, women got the bad side of everything. Periods, menopause, childbirth, the humiliation and possibly pain of your first time having sex. I knew he couldn’t love me.
Appropriately enough, when I discovered the -actual- use of my clit at 18 was the first time I found I could actually love my body. Masturbation literally helped me realize that my body wasn’t a prison or a punishment.
And my parents still don’t know about any of this.