The day I let pornography in,
I didn’t even know what I was letting in.
I was just a curious boy, 11, maybe 12,
scrolling one evening.
One video.
One image.
One pop-up.
One “harmless” click.
Boom.
That was the beginning of the shadows.
They say curiosity killed the cat,
but they never said it could kill the conscience too.
It started small.
Late nights under blankets,
volume down, brightness low,
the glow of the screen like a secret candle.
But this wasn’t light.
This was darkness dressed in pixels.
Lust that looked like pleasure,
but left me empty every time.
It never satisfies. It only invites you deeper.
Every click, every scroll,
every “just one more,”
was digging a hole.
I hated it.
I hated what I became when no one was looking.
I’d cry after watching.
I’d pray and promise.
Swear I’d stop.
Then go back three days later.
I told myself I was still a Christian.
But how could I love God in public
and lust in private?
Guilt became my prison.
Shame, my guard.
And I served time.
Years.
One night, I was around 13 or 14,
just being “playful,”
a dumb game with a family friend.
Blindfolds. Taste tests.
And I did something I regret.
They say, "You didn’t go that far."
But when God is holy,
"not that far" is already too far.
I was spellbound by lust.
I booked a bus to sin
and paid the ticket,
but it drove me further than I ever meant to go.
It was with someone who trusted me.
Someone who may never know.
But I knew.
And God knew.
Since then, guilt became a shadow I couldn’t shake.
I tried to keep it far from my family,
but sin doesn't stay behind closed doors.
It grows.
And it all started
because I let porn in.
I let lust lead.
So when I speak on this,
I’m not guessing.
I’m not judging.
I know what it does.
It rips your heart.
Messes up your mind.
Twists how you see people,
how you see yourself.
It cages you.
Makes you smile in public
but cry in secret.
Makes you feel too dirty for grace,
too broken for mercy,
too far for forgiveness.
And the worst part?
It makes you think God’s done with you.
And truth is, He should be.
But He’s not.
Because Jesus didn’t die for the cleaned-up version of you.
He died for the broken one.
The ashamed one.
The addict.
The liar.
The boy with secrets.
The girl with regrets.
You can’t delete demons with a filter.
You can’t kill sin by willpower.
You can’t win this war by fighting flesh with flesh.
You need the Spirit.
You need God.
I tried everything.
Fasted. Blocked sites. Prayed.
Deleted apps. Made promises.
And still fell.
Until the Holy Spirit whispered:
"You don't get free by pretending you're not bound.
You get free by bringing it to the light."
So I did.
I confessed.
Not to impress,
but to survive.
To finally live.
And you know what?
God didn’t cancel me.
He covered me.
He didn’t shame me.
He saved me.
No lightning.
No thunder.
Just quiet conviction
and loud mercy.
Now, I don’t boast in my strength,
because it wasn’t me.
It was always God.
Every time I said, “I can’t,”
He whispered, “I can.”
Every time I fell,
His grace picked me up again.
I still fight,
but now I fight from victory, not for it.
I’m not perfect,
but I’m free.
And I write this for you.
Yes, you.
If you’re stuck in porn,
trapped in shame,
thinking it’s too late
It’s not.
Jesus didn’t just die to save you from hell.
He died to save you from this.
This secret sin.
This silent prison.
This hidden addiction.
So bring it to Him.
Say it out loud.
Let the light in.
Because when you confess,
He doesn’t walk away —
He walks in.
He breaks chains.
He still does.
And I am living proof.
So let the world hear this:
My little secret sin is now exposed,
not to shame me,
but to free someone else.
Because if He did it for me,
He can do it for you.
Let the world hear.
Let the broken repent.
Let the captives run free.
Let the light shine in the darkest room.
This is not weakness.
This is freedom.
This is Jesus.
And He is still breaking chains.
