“Hey, wanna see something?” 

It was the question that would change my life for the next 16 years. This question seemed quite harmless to an innocent 12-year-old just hanging out with his best friend, wasting time on the computer. Little did I know that I was walking right into a pornographic trap. 

I wanted to learn everything about it. 

When that first image pulled up, I didn’t even know what I was looking at. But, as my friend continued to show me image after image, I realized two things: this was what a naked woman looked like, and she must be having sex. I was pretty convinced of the first one, but not having had “The Talk” at any point thus far with my parents, there was a curiosity to search for and find answers to know if the second one was true. If it was true, I wanted to learn everything about it, for it was all so new and mysterious. 

There was only one thing missing from this perfect diabolical concoction, but it wouldn’t be missing for long. As I viewed more images and began watching videos, I discovered that not only could I look and watch, but I could also masturbate and feel a pleasure that I had never experienced before. 

By age 13, I was lost in the throes of addiction to pornography and masturbation. 

I didn’t know it was wrong. 

Sure, I was raised Catholic and went to Mass every Sunday with my parents and younger brother. I also went to Religious Education classes every Wednesday night. Yet, despite all that, faith was not practiced in my home. After all, isn’t that the point of being a “practicing Catholic”? We didn’t pray the rosary. We didn’t pray before meals. We sometimes prayed a prayer before bed. Mostly, we took our meals and each went our separate ways to watch TV in four different rooms. So is it any wonder that sexuality was a topic that was avoided by my parents? In fact, when my mom did mention sex, she always spelled out the letters, as if it was something that was to remain hidden—something dirty and not a complete gift of self that was holy and Eucharistic. 

I wasn’t experiencing shame, guilt, or negative feelings because I didn’t know it was wrong, let alone sin. As far as I was concerned, this was a natural part of growing up and learning about nakedness and sex. This was further confirmed when I found pornography in my mother’s dresser drawer. Yet, it never crossed my mind to talk with my parents about what I was doing. 

I finally realized it was sin. 

The first moment of grace in this dark, hidden area entered my life while I was helping lead a Youth Rally for elementary students. We were having confessions, and it was the first time I could remember seeing an Examination of Conscience. As I looked through it half-heartedly, my eyes stopped on the Sixth and Ninth Commandments: “Thou shalt not commit adultery” and “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.” Under them, I read the questions: “Do I view pornographic material?” and “Did I commit the sin of masturbation?” My heart sank. I had been sinning. As quickly as possible, I went to confession, hoping that I would be free of these sinful actions for the rest of my life. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. Whether it was imperfect contrition or needing more help beyond confession and not having it, the addiction would continue. On top of this, now that I knew these actions were grave sins, each time I did them, my soul would be in danger. 

And so began the Fall to Shame to Confession cycle, over and over again. It got to the point where I would go to the same priest so many times that I began priest-hopping so it wouldn’t look like I was going to confession so many times; but in my heart, I knew the truth. 

I lost many relationships. 

Throughout high school and college, the cycle continued. I lost friends, a girlfriend, and the trust of many people along the way. As I lost each of these, the addiction only got worse, pushing me further into isolation. I was angry. I knew what I was doing was sinful, and I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. I prayed hard for God to take this cross from me. But it seemed like He wouldn’t. 

I would like to tell you that when I got married, I finally found freedom. I would like to tell you that my willingness to die for my wife as St. Paul talks about in Ephesians was the final straw that broke my dealings with these acts that had already done great damage in my life. I would like to tell you these things, but I can’t, because they wouldn’t be true. 

I brought addiction into my marriage 

My wife knew about my addiction. I came clean when she asked me right before I started courting her. Even through dating and engagement, I was honest and open about the times I would fall. I had to be. In some crazy way, she intuitively knew every time I would. She said I became more irritable in my interactions with her, which was a red flag as that wasn’t my normal response. 

I still remember the first time I told her that I fell, about a month after we were married. I might as well have dropped an entire truckload of bricks on her. She was crushed, to put it lightly. She felt confused, angry, and broken-hearted, wondering how I could have cheated on her, especially with how healthy and active our physical intimacy was. I couldn’t blame her for any of these thoughts and feelings. I just hung my head in shame, apologized profusely, and promised to get to confession as soon as possible. 

After more falls over the next couple of years and fighting nearly every day, my wife had had enough. She became cold and withdrawn and was deeply wounded. We were at a breaking point. If something didn’t change right then, our marriage might not have made it. Sure, we might have been married still, but as married singles, coming and going like two ships passing in the night. 

End of part I.

Read part II.

This post originally appeared on Covenant Eyes and is republished with permission.

If you or someone you know struggles with pornography, please visit our Help for Men and Women Struggling with Pornography Use for help and resources.