I recently held a conversation with a friend who had just celebrated his 13th year of sobriety from sex addiction. What follows is a transcription of that conversation which he gave me the permission to share.
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I spent decades searching for companions in brokenness. Like a detective hunting for clues, I unconsciously sought out others who carried wounds similar to my own—not to heal, but to validate the distortions that had become my truth. My sexual addiction wasn't just about the acts themselves; it was about finding fellow travelers on a path of self-destruction, each of us carrying mirrors that reflected back our own damaged views of intimacy, worth, and connection.
The apostle Paul writes in Romans 7:15, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." These words echoed through my soul in those dark years, though I didn't yet have the courage to claim them. Instead, I wore masks of competence and control, all while my inner world crumbled beneath the weight of compulsion and shame.
The first crack in my carefully constructed facade came during a late-night conversation with my sponsor, Tom. "You're not looking for sex," he said, his eyes filled with understanding rather than judgment. "You're looking for people who are as lost as you are." The truth of his words struck me like lightning. For the first time, I saw my pattern of seeking out partners who carried their own deep wounds, creating a dance of mutual destruction we mistook for intimacy.
Discovery came in waves after that. In my recovery group, I watched men break down as they shared stories that could have been my own. The Scripture "Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed" (James 5:16) took on new meaning. Each confession, each tear shed, each moment of brutal honesty became a step toward healing not just for the speaker, but for all of us.
Admission was harder. Admitting that my addiction wasn't just about behavior but about a profound disconnection from myself, others, and God required a level of honesty I'd never known. The words of Psalm 139:23-24 became my daily prayer: "Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."
Acceptance came through the grace of others. My wife, who chose to walk the healing path with me despite her own deep wounds. My pastor, who reminded me that Jesus came not for the healthy but for the sick. My recovery brothers, who held space for my darkness while pointing me toward light. In their eyes, I began to see what God sees—a beloved child worth saving, worth healing, worth restoring.
Personal ownership emerged as I learned to sit with my pain rather than run from it. The fragments of my broken self began to come together, not in spite of the cracks but because of them. Like kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold, God used my brokenness to create something more beautiful than before. "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us" (2 Corinthians 4:7).
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To those still hiding in the shadows of addiction and trauma, we see you. Your fragmentation feels like safety, and finding others who share your distortions feels like home. But there is a truer home waiting for you, one built on authentic connection rather than mutual destruction. Your brokenness is not too much for God's grace, and your wounds are not too deep for His healing touch.
The community of recovery stands ready to welcome you, not with demands for instant perfection but with arms open to hold you in your process. As Isaiah 42:3 promises, "A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out." Your journey toward wholeness may begin in the acknowledgment of your brokenness, but it doesn't end there. In the words that have become my daily affirmation: You are not alone. You are not too far gone. And it is never too late to begin again.
The path of recovery isn't about becoming someone new—it's about becoming who you truly are, who you were always meant to be. In the words of C.S. Lewis, "You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." Your addiction and trauma are part of your story, but they are not your identity. Your fragmentation can be the very place where God's light shines through most brilliantly.
Take that first step. Reach out. Let yourself be seen, not by those who will reinforce your distortions, but by those who will love you toward truth. The journey of recovery is not easy, but I promise you this: it is worth every step.
If you are ready to come out of hiding contact us at contact@jesuslifts.com. We promise a non-judgmental and confidential ear to listen and help.
Prayer,
Lord I admit that I am broken and distorted. I have pursued things that have seemed to create community and intimacy while quietly destroying my soul. I recognize that my life is unmanageable and I am not in control. I have tried to change but I have been unable to do so. Surround me with people who can communicate your grace and love. Place me on a road to recover myself.
In Jesus' name,
Amen
