My life looked perfect. I was admired at Church, respected at work, and loved at home. I was known as dependable, responsible, and faithful. But behind closed doors, I was hiding a secret that had gripped me since I was eleven: hardcore pornography.
At first, it started with curiosity after an older friend showed me a magazine. Before long, I was hungry for more. Then came the internet, and with it, a never-ending buffet of content I could not resist. I told myself I would stop. I even believed it, sometimes. But I never did.
In 2012, I got engaged to the most wonderful woman I have ever known. A devout Christian, she had helped lead me to Christ through study and example. As a new Christian, I was convicted to share this secret, so I confessed. She was devastated, but she forgave me. I promised her I’d never watch porn again. I wanted to believe that marriage would fix it. I wish I had been right.
For a while, I stayed clean. But the stress of two jobs and graduate school, life seemed overwhelming. I made the choice to give in again. No matter how I tried to hide it, my body could not lie. I avoided intimacy, and she knew something was wrong. My excuses grew more pathetic, my shame heavier. I lied to her; I told her everything was fine. I would resist for a time, but then give again when life became too much. I spent countless nights on the living room floor crying out to God to take this from me while she slept in the other room, never knowing of my struggle.
For years, I watched her happiness slowly fade. For nine years, we weight of my secret eroded our marriage. She carried it unknowingly. I carried it in silence. In 2022, it all broke loose. We were distant, miserable, and alone in the same house. One night, she asked me directly. I told the truth, that it had been pornography this whole time. She made the choice that she could no longer endure this, and leave the next morning. I never saw her again outside of court. I wanted to die.
We had a Church that loved us, my successful career, and a good name. My choice to watch porn destroyed them all. My wife, the one person who had always believed in me, was now shattered and alone. My life, as I knew it, was over.
The Beginning of Recovery
In the aftermath, I scrambled for anything to help. I started therapy, confessed everything to my friend and reached out to my Church leaders. But I knew that unless I put a wall between myself and pornography, none of it would help me stop.
That’s when I installed Covenant Eyes on my phone and computers. At first, I hated it. It felt invasive. I didn’t want someone to see what I saw. I wanted to keep my sin hidden in the dark. But that discomfort, the exposure, was exactly what I needed. Porn thrives in the dark. Covenant Eyes turned the lights on. I asked a close friend to be my Ally. Every week, he got a report of my screen activity. Knowing someone was watching wasn’t just accountability, it was a lifeline. It made me pause before I acted. And when I slipped, I had someone to call, someone to remind me I wasn’t the only one fighting this.
Giving up porn felt like losing a friend. It meant never having someone or something to turn to in my times of need. I would be isolated and alone forever. But Covenant Eyes gave me community. It reminded me that hiding was the real danger, not just the porn itself. The shame that convinced me I had to fight it alone slowly turned into the confidence to face it.
Over time, I started winning small battles. I told the truth faster. I reached out before slipping instead of after. I began noticing my triggers of loneliness, anger, and pressure, and chose discomfort over destruction. That’s what victory looks like now: not perfection, but presence. I’m no longer a man hiding in shame. I’m a man learning to fight, one honest day at a time.
I’m Not Just Surviving, I’m Becoming
After the divorce, I had a choice to make. Stay the old man, or become a new one. I chose to become a new one. Romans 12:2 says
“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
I walked away from a decade-long career in finance and began pursuing my Master of Science in Marriage and Family Therapy. I have always enjoyed helping others, perhaps because I intimately know how so many men quietly sit in their pain. I knew after my transformation, I could not keep what I had found to myself.
My clinical training is giving me the tools to help others with relational issues. I’m learning to apply systemic therapy, Solution-Focused Brief Therapy, and Internal Family Systems to help clients address the emotional roots of their behavior, not just the behavior itself. Porn addiction is rarely just about sex. It’s about escape, disconnection, and unspoken pain. I believe that by helping people understand what a healthy relationship is like, it will give them a deeper understanding of what God wants with His creation. By helping men understand the story behind their struggle, they rewrite it in Christ.
Therapy is not a career I chose for money; I chose it because I love God and His creation. This is more than a career for me. It’s a calling. I’ve seen firsthand how porn fractures men’s identities, destroys intimacy, and isolates people from God. But I also know how powerful it is to sit across from someone who gets it. That’s what I’m training to do. Through therapy, I want to walk with men and couples. Not just to stop a behavior, but to restore connection, rewrite narratives, and reawaken purpose.
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