So now it’s time to act on this. Bringing things to the light. My friend’s question about women and porn addiction really hit me. I mean, here is this really intelligent guy who has experienced a lot in his life and he’s never heard of a woman struggling with a pornography addiction. I know from experience that it’s because women don’t like talking about it. So here goes.
When I was a junior in high school, I overheard a conversation about some guys looking at naked pictures on the internet (keep in mind the internet was only a couple years old at this point.) Being raised in a sheltered, conservative home as a preacher’s kid, I don’t even think I knew what a real, live penis looked like… so my curiosity got the best of me. And that was the first time I saw internet pornography.
I didn’t start out as an addiction. I mean, it never does, right? I moved out the next year when I was 17 and had my own space with my own computer. All of the years of not knowing how things were done or what really happened when someone had sex got the best of me and I began exploring. It was a cycle that continued for the next three years…looking at stuff, feeling guilty, repenting as much as I could, and then getting caught up in it all again.
Why couldn’t I stop?
Of course I never told anyone about it. I mean, I was a woman. A girl. Was I gay? Bisexual? A pervert??? There were pictures of both guys and girls….Why did I enjoy this so much and hate myself so much for doing it?
One of my biggest fears became, “What if someone finds out?” So, I bought a new computer, trashed my old one and said, “No more porn. Not on this machine!” and mainly out of the fear someone would find out.
That’s when I realized it was more than just looking at pictures. Because when I abstained from it, I still felt like I needed to. Like I had to. That showed me I was addicted to it.
By some miracle though, I didn’t look again. My fear of being caught was finally greater than my desire to look at porn. That was five years ago, give or take.
The temptation still rears up. I hear voices trying to justify it…saying something like, “Well, I’m just going to look because I can’t believe the stuff that they put on the internet these days.” Like I have to prove to myself it’s as bad as it says it’s going to be. And my gosh, all the dating ads with scantily clad women with breasts hanging out of stringy lingerie (if you have a MySpace account, you know exactly what I mean.) I’m completely straight, don’t get me wrong, but there is something about a woman’s body that is beautiful and mysterious and even forbidden, and that toys with our psyche and I believe tempts us to look.
I’m happy to report that only by the grace of God, talking about it with other females who have been brave enough to share their struggle with me, I’ve never clicked through since the purchase that computer five years ago. Yes, inappropriate thoughts have crossed my mind when I see ads or sometimes even photography or art that is nude. That is never going to go away. It’s a matter of stopping that thinking as soon as I can. Do I always succeed at that? No. But I try. I really do try.
Why do women struggle with this? I think partially it is seeing something…visually, but at least for me, it fed a huge emotional need I had. I was able to put myself in the role of what I was seeing and it made me feel beautiful (by the world’s standard)…to have a perfect body, to be sexy, to be desired and wanted. Living vicariously through someone outwardly flawless. I could escape my own flawed physical appearance and be transformed in my mind to this perfect woman. I think that’s why I did it.
So..I know this has been a really scary thing to write about. Honestly, I’m still debating whether I should post this or not. But I don’t think I have a choice. This is a real problem and if we keep hiding it – like I did for so long – we will always be a slave to it.
II know not everyone is going to feel comfortable sharing publicly, but if you can, please do. I think it will help…no, I know it will help shine light and truth on this.