Anne Marie Miller

Category: Sex

  • Parents Need to Talk to Their Kids About The Website “Omegle” NOW.

    Parents Need to Talk to Their Kids About The Website “Omegle” NOW.

    It’s been a while since I posted something about the book I have releasing next May (2016). It was first titled “10 Things Parents Need to Know About Their Kids and Sex” and it’s now “5 Things Parents Need to Know About Their Kids and Sex” – We didn’t take out five things; we just condensed a few similar topics to make it more cohesive for our conversation starters and resources.

    [Side note: If you want information about ordering this book when it’s available, just sign up here.]

    My friend Crystal helped me research apps and websites of which parents need to be aware, and today I started doing a little more in depth poking around. One website, Omegle.com, was first brought to my attention by a 14 year old girl who I knew used it to chat. It’s in the same arena as the old, Ben Folds famous “ChatRoulette” (he used ChatRoulette in a concert and while most strangers that appeared did so with their faces, as it cycled through, a penis filled the video screen at the concert venue).

    talk-to-strangers

    You go to the site, are told in the fine print to use it at “your own peril” and that it’s moderated (except for the adult/unmoderated section, which is only a click away from accessing). No login needed. Just a click saying you’re over the age of 13 (no verification process) and BOOM, you are met with a screen to live video chat a stranger. I did my click through and the first image I saw was of a male (I don’t know if he was an adult or not) masturbating.

    I logged off quickly and told Tim. I said maybe it was a freak incident, and I’d try again. Tim says, “I don’t want to see some guy’s penis,” and I said, “we shouldn’t. It’s moderated.”

    Click. Boom. Penis. Again.

    I probably hit refresh (quickly) about five times and of those times, all strangers were male. Only once was I met with a face. The other four times I was greeted by a penis, which is not a very gentlemanly way to greet a stranger.

    If this was in the “general” chat section of Omegle, Lord knows what shows up under the Adult/Unmoderated section. I did click on the “Adult” link to see what process it used and it just asked if I was over 18. When I clicked out, a pop up ad for more pornographic webcams filled my screen.

    Parents, this is a very popular website (and app) for high schoolers. There’s no way to know who, or what, your child will see even if they click on the 13+ chat.

    You need to talk to your kids about this. I know the age-old question of, “What if I bring it up and I only create more curiosity?” You might. But don’t let this be the only conversation you have. Sit down, face to face, let them know the danger in visiting this site, and if you can, block it or filter it with parental controls. Help them understand how we are all created in the image of God and sex is an awesome thing meant to share a sacred love between two married people. Sex is never meant to be solo, or with a stranger.

    Here’s an article on Omegle if you want to read more.

    The screenshot below was captured in my own research. You can guess what I covered up with the black box.

    We CANNOT continue to sweep these awkward, important, necessary conversations under the rug. I am praying for each and every one of you who reads this and needs to have a chat with your kids.

    Much love,

    Anne Marie

    (The photo below is graphic in nature but has been censored. Still, please view at your own discretion. I am not trying to be gratuitous in showing it to you, but I don’t want you to have to look it up on your own or be able to dismiss the reality and severity of the situation. This. Is. Very. Real.)

     

     

    ****

     

    omegle-teen-parents-conversation

     

     

  • Why All The “Modesty Conversations” Miss The Point

    Last summer, the feeds in my various social media channels blew up with articles on modesty.

    How low is too low when it comes to necklines? One piece or two piece swimsuits (or, the generally-church-camp-approved tankini?) Spaghetti straps, tanks, or sleeveless? AND THE PLIGHT OF THE YOGA PANTS (oh, but it’s okay if your butt is covered!)

    And then articles followed on what Paul meant when he spoke of modesty (more of a financial context), how men (and women) are responsible for their thoughts and actions (pluck out your eye, sinner! it’s not my fault you can’t look at me without seeing me as an object!) and how culture plays into what we consider “modest” even means.

    The summer heat is upon us once again, as are all these conversations on modesty. In a mindless and brief skimming down my Facebook feed Sunday night, I’m fairly certain I saw more posts on modesty (and satirical ones at that) than I did the World Cup.

    (What has this country come to? Come on, y’all. It’s the World Cup!)

    The arguments were all the same, men and women pitted against the other team, one side crying “FREEDOM” and the other crying “RESPONSIBILITY!”

    …as if these two are mutually exclusive?

    This is not a post on whether or not your bikini will make Jesus mad or cause a man to lust after you. This is not a cultural dissection of contextual modesty. I’ve been to almost every continent and have seen completely covered and completely bare, depending on the culture. I understand how it works.

    This is a post on why most of the conversations I’ve read on modesty – regardless of the point someone is trying to make – are, in fact, well…missing the point.

    There is something more at stake than your clothing choices. 

    And that thing is community.

    It is another person, another flesh-on-spirit, imago dei.

    It is your family, your brother or sister given with a Holy being, intertwined with your own.

    ***

    BUT FREEDOM!

    Paul talks about freedom in Christ. A death on a cross gives us freedom to live. I hear cries of “I am not responsible if someone sins because of the way I am dressed!” And you are not. To a point. You do have freedom. And I think the greatest freedom is to choose to say no to your freedom for the sake of another person.

    We hear “Don’t dress to make a man like you. Don’t dress to make a woman like you. Dress to make you like you.”

    That, my friend, is not freedom.

    Let’s call it for what it is: entitlement. Many of us feel entitled to do what we want, to wear what we want, and to behave how we want to behave. Loving another is not about how we feel or even embracing our freedom.

    True freedom is laying down your life for another.

    There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. (John 15:3)

    ***

     

    BUT REALLY, PEOPLE ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THEIR OWN THOUGHTS! I COULD WEAR A MUMU AND BE A “STUMBLING BLOCK!”

    Yes. People are accountable for their own actions. You could wear a mumu and someone may undress that mumu right off you. I am not minimizing the responsibility we all have for our decisions to act against what we know is true and right and lovely.

    “Well, if I walked into a McDonald’s and ate 70 Big Macs, I’m responsible for that, not McDonald’s.”

    You’re right. But McDonald’s was not created in the image of God.

    You were. And so is your neighbor.

    We say someone else should take responsibility to not sin & we have freedom to do as we please. True. But let’s take this a step further. 

    Maybe we should take responsibility for another so they can have freedom instead of struggle.

    The truth is we are responsible for one another. We are not to judge or criticize people for thinking or acting differently than we do where there is freedom, but we are also to encourage others to be holy, not condemn them to it.

    There is not love in telling a man or woman to suck it up and deal with their lust problem so we can dress how we please.

    ***

    There is a picture here larger than the conversation of modesty. We are believers warring against each other under the name of freedom and waving the flags of entitlement. This idea can be copied and pasted over so many areas – alcohol, food, fill-in-the-blank.

    My fear is we get so wrapped up in our freedom that we can’t show love – true, sacrificial love – for each other.

    And when the world reads our passionate war words, they don’t see the love of Christ we are to love each other with, which is what our ultimate charge is.

    “Owe nothing to anyone—except for your obligation to love one another. If you love your neighbor, you will fulfill the requirements of God’s law” (Romans 13:8)

  • Sex and Pornography Are Not the Enemies

    Sex and pornography are not the enemies, but we are in a fight.

    A quick timeline, for those of you who might be new here.

    1996: A youth pastor I trust sexually violates me. Also my first introduction to online pornography, which later becomes a compulsive behavior. (Compulsive sexual behaviors are not classified by the DSM as addictions – at best, they’re hypersexual disorders, which still doesn’t define what I would consider pornography addiction to be. Anyway, carry on.)

    2001: A friend opens up to me about her pornography habits, masturbation, and lust. Her choosing to “go first” gave me permission to share with her the shame I carried. Over the course of a couple years, we take a holistic approach to recovery.

    2006: I write an article on how girls can be addicted to pornography for Relevant. 

    2007: I speak for the very first time to a youth group and on a radio station in Dallas on how porn’s not just a guy’s problem.

    2008: God finds my fear of public speaking humorous as more and more speaking requests come in. I’m now visiting churches, colleges, and conferences with this story while working full time at a church.

    2009: My first book comes out and my speaking schedule is enough to keep the bills paid. I’m now a full-time self-employed author and speaker. This continues for the next five years.

    2013: After speaking at youth camps over the summer, I write a letter to parents about what they don’t know about their kids and sex based on the experience. By the end of the week, 1.5 million people read the darn thing. I am asked to speak even more about pornography and freedom.

    2014: I’ve had six speaking engagements on this topic and five of them I’ve been sick for. I’ve gone to the ER three times the week before these talks. That’s how sick I was. One I was so sick for I had to cancel and reschedule it. The first time, I chalked it up to bad luck. But now…in 83% of my speaking engagements only on this topic I’ve been tempted to cancel because of illness or injury?  I am starting to feel like there’s a target on my back. (It should be noted that I rarely get sick. The last time I got really sick was in 2010.)

    Photo Credit: CNN
    Photo Credit: CNN

    I don’t write this blog post from a state of fear (okay, maybe a little bit…!) But instead, it has only clarified to me the need for discussions to happen. I spoke at a high school night at a church in town last night. I was handed about 10 index cards with questions from the students after I was done speaking and one girl was insightful enough to say, “Why are these conversations about lust generally directed toward guys when women struggle with it just as much?”

    Good, honest question. I responded with “Yes, girls are frequently left out of this conversation, but most churches don’t even touch this with their guys.” More churches are, and I’m thrilled. But most churches are not.

    Here is my challenge to you, my manifesto, the hill I will die on, and also what I instructed the girls to do last night.

    Make a ruckus. Make your leaders talk about this. 

    We are in a fight. We frequently point blame to the media and to pornography and to sex as the enemy. These things, especially sex, are NOT the enemy. Sex is a beautiful thing that we’ve been given to express love to our spouse. The media and pornography are simply tools the enemy uses to break us down, to addict us, to cause us to carry shame instead of strength and hopelessness instead of hope.

    Our enemy is Satan. Plain and simple.

    The reason I think we are in the heat of the fight is because I know I’m feeling the heat. And if I’m just one person out of many who are sharing this message that freedom and hope are both possible and necessary, I know there are others who are fighting to speak up, too.

    Here’s what you can do:

    1. Pray. Pray always. Pray for your family, your church leaders, and the people who are called and committed to sharing the message of God’s grace and hope to those broken by addictive behaviors and our children who are slammed with images and easy access.
    2. Know what your family’s doing. Have conversations that are uncomfortable. Set limits and boundaries on the internet and even how your child will respond to pressure when you’re not there. Have you made a plan with him or her when someone else brings over their phone at school that has an inappropriate image on it? Have that talk.
    3. Fight. Statistics tell me over half the people reading this are in a battle of their own. Please get help. Tell someone. Tell just one person. Do whatever is necessary, even if it’s extreme, to fight for freedom.
    4. Love your enemies. We can’t get angry at the media or the pornography industry. We also need to pray for the people trapped in there. Statistically, a lot of them don’t want to be there. Pray the love of God is so bright that darkness doesn’t exist anymore.
    5. Talk to your church leaders. Whoever is in charge of what is talked about at your church, ask them about this. Heck, relentlessly ask them about addressing this topic with adults, with students, and from a parenting point of view. Engage your church in a prayerful revival expectant on God to deliver those who are trapped and to use others who aren’t to heal. WE NEED EACH OTHER.
    6. Learn. I’ve created two resources pages for you with books I’ve read or trust enough to recommend. First, 20 Resources for Parents (you need to scroll down just a little) and I’m working on a new resource page with some nerdy brain books I love as well as some other books on pornography and women and talking to kids. You can get to that page here.

    Please join me in this fight. This is one where denomination doesn’t matter, socioeconomics don’t matter, your age doesn’t matter. We need to link arms as the body of Christ and fight the enemy from stealing so many precious and good things from us.

    We got this. And God’s got us.

  • Dear Sexual Abuse Survivor

    marydemuth-headshot-squareToday, I am so thrilled to share a guest post from my friend Mary DeMuth. Mary and I met when I worked at Lake Pointe Church in Rockwall, Texas. People knew I was writing and thought it’d be cool for me to meet a real author, so Mary came in and we chatted. She sent me a copy of her book and told me one day, maybe I’d have my book contract. Two years later, I did.

    Beyond writing, Mary and I share a common thread that’s a little more faded, a little thinner. We were both sexually abused. Though our stories differ, our hearts beat the same for helping others know there is hope beyond abuse. We have survived, and you can too.

    Here’s a letter from her to you. Or maybe to someone you know.

    Love, Anne

    (Get Mary’s Book Not Marked as an eBook here and a paperback here.).

    ***

    Dear Sexual Abuse Survivor,

    I don’t really like the word victim. Even survivor has a strange connotation. And I’m not too keen on victor. None of those words encapsulate what happened to you, the devastation sexual abuse enacted on your heart. But we’re strangled by language sometimes–even writers can’t adequately express horror.

    I much like the word BRAVE. Because it’s so darn brave to walk away from something like that. It’s brave to forgive. Brave to live your life in the wake of sexual trauma. Brave to hold your head high.

    First let me say I am sorry. I’m so terribly sad that sexual abuse is part of your story. It’s not right. Someone chose to take something from you–your volition and your body. That person (or people) violated you. They used their power and bully persuasion to overwhelm you with their sinful desires. And now you’re the one left feeling dirty and used–while so many perpetrators walk this earth free. 

    It’s not fair.

    Some of you feel shame and guilt in gigantic measure, heaped upon you. Some of you feel that you invited the abuse. The way you dressed. The hole in your heart that longed for attention. The equating of sex with love and affection. You feel you wooed the perpetrator somehow. Let me say this: A person who adores and loves you would NEVER EVER violate you. Never. Instead of violation, they would protect. They would pray for you. They would honor your boundaries.

    Someone’s selfish gratification is not your fault. Don’t own that. Dare to believe your worth, and allow yourself the feel the grace that God grants you. Forgive yourself. Let yourself off the hook. You were abused. You didn’t want it. Someone took from you–like a thief. They may have used slick words, threatened you, persuaded you that you wanted it, but it’s not true. Thieves are often liars.

    In sexual abuse’s aftermath, you’ve possibly thought of suicide. You’ve cut your skin until the blood came. You over-ate. You spent years hard as rock, bitter as horseradish, always vigilant–ready to fight. You’ve protected your heart with ironclad resolve. No one will EVER hurt you that way again. Not on your watch.

    All these coping strategies had good purpose a long time ago. They protected you. But now they’re strangling the life out of you. I only say that because I’ve walked the path of isolation and withdrawal. Actually, I spent about a decade of my life keeping the sexual abuse secret. And once I let the secret out, I decided I’d been healed, so I tucked it back away for another decade and lived inside myself–not daring to deeply engage my heart.

    An untold story never heals, friend. Isolation only masks the problem.

    That’s not living. It’s existing. It’s pushing stuff down that you hope stays submerged forever.

    Unfortunately, our stories have a way of coming out–almost always in our actions. We end up hurting those we love. Some people become perpetrators because they never deal with getting better.

    I know there are questions. I have them too. 

    • Why did God allow this to happen?
    • Why didn’t He step in and rescue?
    • Why do I have to suffer seemingly forever for something someone else did to me?
    • Why can’t I ever feel normal?
    • Will I ever be able to enjoy sex?
    • Why does my spouse have to suffer for something someone else did to me?
    • What’s wrong with me that I kept being violated?
    • Was I put on this earth to be stolen from?
    • Why am I here?
    • What was it about me that perpetrators found irresistible?
    • Why do other people keep telling me it was a long time ago and I should be over this?

    I want to assure you that these questions are entirely, utterly normal. And you should ask them. You should wrestle with them. Some of them will not be answered this side of eternity.

    When I feel overwhelmed by the whys and the whats, I stop a moment and consider Jesus. This may not resonate with you because you might be mad at Him. That’s okay. I hear you. But there is comfort in knowing Jesus understands.

    He took on the sins of everyone, including sexual sin, upon His holy, undeserving shoulders. He suffered for everyone’s wicked crookedness. And when He hung on a cross, He did so naked. Exposed. Shamed. Humiliated. Bleeding.

    NOT MARKED - FOR AMAZON 3DThat’s why, when I write about sexual abuse recovery, I have to involve Jesus. He has been the single best healer in my journey. He understands. He comes alongside. He “gets” violation.

    Sexual abuse is devastating. It pulls the rug out from under your worth. It keeps you scared. It infiltrates nearly every area of your life, consciously and subconsciously.

    But I am here to let you know there is hope. Though the healing journey is long, it is possible. When I tell my story now, it feels like I’m sharing about another person’s sexual abuse. I’ve experienced profound healing. It didn’t happen passively or quickly. I had to WANT it, pursue it. I had to stop shoving it down and bringing my story into the light–with praying friends, with counselors, with my husband.

    Today I enjoy sex. I can share my story without getting that vomit-y feeling in my stomach. The flashbacks are less and less. I still have moments, of course. But I am so much farther along than I had been.

    I want to end this letter with this truth: You are amazing. You survived something traumatic and horrific. You are reading this letter blessedly alive, connected to others. Your story absolutely matters. Don’t let the trauma steal your story of hope today.

    Joyfully free,

    Mary

    ***

    I’m humbled and grateful to be here today. A huge thank you to Anne for allowing me to share my heart. A little background. I’ve shared my sexual abuse story in the last few years, but I haven’t always been so open. Initially I kept it silent for a decade, then over-shared, then went silent another decade. The healing journey hasn’t been easy, but it has been good.

    About a year ago, I sensed God wanted me to be bold in sharing about sexual abuse. I wrote “The Sexy Wife I Cannot Be” on Deeper Story, which went crazy (so many comments), followed by “I’m Sick of Hearing About Your Smoking Hot Wife” on Christianity Today. The overwhelming response to those two posts prompted me to write Not Marked: Finding Hope and Healing after Sexual Abuse.

    The book proved too risky for publishers, so I decided to crowdfund it, which turned out to be an amazing success. I cannot believe that now I can hold Not Marked in my hands, and also offer it to you. What’s unique about it: It’s written from the perspective of a survivor. It doesn’t offer cliche answers. It’s honest. And my husband shared his unique journey of how to walk a loved one through their sexual abuse.

     

  • Fighting for Our Men: A Challenge to Any Woman for Any Man

    Imagine five women: two married (one with kids), and three single gals. All around thirty, give or take. We’re at the Opryland Hotel, piled on a hotel bed and various spots on the floor, one with legs draped over the side of an ivory recliner. It’s close to midnight. And we’re talking..about guys, of course.

    Recently, it’s been encouraging. Instead of hearing the “There are no REAL men to date. Just boys. Boys without jobs. Boys who play too much Call of Duty. Boys with too many other girls who are friends. Boys who live at home. Boys who don’t open doors,” we had a totally different conversation.

    “Do you think that sometimes guys feel like they can’t be men because we’re always telling them that they’re boys?” asked my friend sitting next to me on the bed.

    Yes, yes, a million times yes.

    Man waterfall

    It is easy to look around and see a world where men are tethered to their jobs, their phones, their parents…whatever gives them a sense of security and identity. Please don’t misread: women are as equally tethered to the things we find our value in. Somehow, we’ve found away, in spite of our competitive and comparative nature, to still champion one another – or at least help each other know we aren’t alone. From my very limited conversations with men, my husband included (who bleeds the desire to connect and grow with other men), it doesn’t happen so easily for them.

    Generally speaking, women wired to nurture. Men are wired to protect. And because so many of us have experienced a man letting us down in our life (a father, a pastor, a priest, a spouse…), we have stepped into the role of protector so that we may feel nurtured. Safe. Free from being let down again.

    If you’ve ever taken a sociology or human behaviors class, you know that once a group of people or culture changes a behavior, in time, that change has a profound effect on future human behavior. Just take a look at gender roles and how they shift with each passing decade. When the women of a culture tell men (by showing them) we don’t need them, it’s completely natural for the men to adapt to not being needed.

    Instead of thinking the men of whatever generation are not men, maybe we can change our beliefs about them. By changing the way we think, I believe it will have a profound effect on how we act toward them – directly and indirectly. 

    Man / Forest

    I know in many situations, I’ve not always believed the best about my husband, Tim…even when one of the (many!) reasons he was able to break into my heart and steal it is because of his strong leadership and desire to protect and care for me.

    We were one month into our marriage and finalizing details for our move to Nashville. We drove from Iowa to Tennessee and stayed with friends as we looked at renting and buying and where we should live. The cost of living in Nashville is about three times as much as it is in the Quad Cities area, so the sticker shock was a lot to take in.

    I really (really, really) wanted to live in one area close to my friends and the community I’m used to living in. We had a little bit of debt to pay off, but we had the money to make the move happen without it stretching us too far financially. I thought it was a done deal until Tim proposed the idea of waiting three more months so that the debt could be paid and we could head into it without the guillotine of interest rates hanging over our heads.

    In the living room of our friends’ home, with them present, I started crying/getting angry/being stubborn/wanting my way/and was pretty much on the border of a temper tantrum.

    “Why don’t you want me to move back and live with my friends?!”

    In one (loving) sentence, he shut my selfishness and my assumptions on his motivation down.

    “The reason I want to wait three months is so I can give you this; so we can do this together, easier, and so you can have what your heart desires most.”

    I see the power of my words, my passive responses to him, and the false beliefs I project on him and how they tear away at his innate desires to care for me and love me. When I show a lack of respect for him or my unwillingness to believe he has my best interest at heart fires away at him with 45-caliber force, I’m telling him I’m strong enough on my own. I can protect myself.

    These things that hurt men, whether we’re married to them or not.

    My friend that asked if sometimes men act like boys because of the way culture tells them to wrapped up our estrogen-filled talk time with a generous and love-filled thought:

    “Whoever my future husband is, I pray he has women around him who are showing him he’s strong, he’s capable, and who are praying for him and encouraging him along the way, no matter where he is in his journey.”

    May we all take on that countenance with the men in our lives: our fathers, our brothers, our husbands, our friends. May our thoughts, words and actions only build them up so they have one less voice telling them they’ll never be man enough.

  • The “Change Me” Prayer

    I’ve always heard about it – in church, in counseling, in conversations I’ve eavesdropped on in coffee shops.

    You never try to change people in your relationships. You can only change you.

    Oh, how changing yourself is hard.

    A few weeks ago, I finished reading Love & Respect by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs, a book I should have finished reading the moment it came off the printing press. And whether you’re married or single, read it. Another good book? Fully Alive by Dr. Larry Crabb. Talk about two wonderful books on relationships and gender. Anyway, I digress. (But really, pick them up.)

    The ending reinforced the truth of loving someone (in the case of Love & Respect, loving one’s spouse) out of obedience to God first and foremost. Nothing new, but always a good reminder. But deep inside my spirit, an inspiration to actually change something emerged…

    Change me.

    Whenever I feel that first notion of being offended, irritated, or the need to be right…“Lord, change me.”

    Whenever I feel like I want to choose the worst instead of the best…“Lord, change me.”

    Whenever I feel like I want to worry and not trust…“Lord, change me.”

    Will this one small prayer in many moments over many days change me? How? And I’m not putting permanent parameters on it, but let’s just say for a year, I’ve made an intentional commitment of praying this prayer and weekly journaling how my heart is changing.

    Because certainly God will change it, right?

    Lord, change me…

    Married or not, would anyone like to join me in committing to this for the next year?

     

  • LINK: The Best Message I’ve Heard on Pornography

    Last spring, I had the chance to hear Dr. Russell Moore speak at a college chapel and appreciated his to-the-point gracious intensity. Recently he preached at SWBTS (where both my parents attended in the 70s) and his message on pornography had a palpable effect on me.

    I quoted him this week as I spoke in Michigan and pointed students here for the link to his full message, but it is so powerful I just want everyone to listen and let the weight of his words focus you on the costly and abundant grace available for us all.

    This link is a summary of his talk. Don’t just read it. Listen or watch the link included in the report.

    God’s peace,
    Anne Marie

  • My Story – Part 2: Fighting My Addiction to Pornography (and Giving the Gift of Going Second!)

    Because this story’s been written before in my book Permission to Speak Freely, I’ve adapted a few of the chapters to use on my blog. If you’re interested in purchasing the book, it’s currently on sale on Amazon for $7.98 and you can pick it up by clicking here.

    Or, you can also watch me share the story on LifeToday, which is a great Christian television broadcast. James & Betty Robison were such amazing hosts, and they had someone do my makeup and my hair and make me look presentable and fancy.

     

    Anne Marie Miller Pornography Abuse Story

     

    *****

    I know, I know. Porn is a guy’s problem. Girls—especially good, teenage girls—don’t look at porn.

    And the last place you would expect to see porn is the living room of a former pastor, right?

    But during these “dark years,” between a portrait of my family taken at Christmastime and an old, broken, dot matrix printer sat a computer screen. The place where I typed book reports and instant-messaged my friends became the doorway to an endless amount of forbidden fruit—and even more amounts of guilt.

    Still in culture shock from our move to Dallas, and now with an awakened sense of myself sexually, I began to notice the provocatively lit neon signs loudly proclaiming XXX and FULL NUDITY. On the way home from school on my bus, I overheard two boys talking about looking up images of people having sex online. Ignited teenage hormones and my lack of sex-ed combined with the new technology of the Internet proved to be a dangerous combination.

    Late one night, after my parents and younger brother had gone to bed, I logged on and did an innocent online search for “sex.” I had no idea that typing that one word into a computer would lead me to an addiction I’d fight for years.

    And it wasn’t just a physical addiction either. Viewing these outwardly flawless women fed the huge emotional need that was left by my dad’s withdrawal and the youth pastor’s rejection. Through the fantasies I would have by looking at that computer screen, I would find love and affirmation.

    I graduated as planned my junior year and moved out a few months after my seventeenth birthday. Now I had my own apartment with my own computer, and all the freedom in the world.

    I would go to work (now the manager of the Christian bookstore), come home, and look at porn almost every night. Soon my porn binges started affecting my performance at work and my relationships because I wouldn’t get any sleep, and when I was with friends, I would secretly obsess about how soon I could be home and when I could get my next fix.

    What’s a girl to do?

    Of course, I never mentioned my struggle to anyone. Looking at porn was typical, even expected, for men . . . but a girl? A girl who likes porn? I even questioned my sexual orientation. If I was straight, why did I like looking at naked women? So was I gay? Or bisexual? Or was I just perverted?

    I hated the pattern I had fallen into. I think I knew it was wrong. At least I realized anything that caused this much obsession couldn’t be right.

    But I couldn’t stop.

    The addiction went from online to offline. When something as dark and lonely and shameful as a sexually oriented addiction has a grasp on you, you do a lot of things you’d never in a million, billion years dream you’d ever do.

    According to everything I had seen, to be accepted and loved meant to have a sexual relationship, and what girl doesn’t need to be accepted and loved?

    For years this addiction held me tightly in a dark embrace, and somewhere inside me I knew it wasn’t the life I was intended to have. I knew it was wrong. And as I got older and began to rediscover my faith and my purpose and identity in Christ, I knew I had to break away from the safety I found in my morphed perspective of sex.

    As twisted as it was, it was familiar. And that familiarity brought me comfort.

    But I knew I needed to let it go.

    When I was twenty-one, I moved to Kansas City and met a girl named Kristi. We became friends and one evening as we sat in her bathroom painting our toenails, she began sharing her story with me. Lust. Pornography. Masturbation. She looked at me with timid eyes waiting for a response.

    Any color vanished from my face as I told her my story. Inappropriate relationships with guys. Porn. Lust. We had almost the same story, and for the first time that night, we were both able to confess to another human.

    The weight we both carried around was lifted. It was exactly what’s described in James 5:16 – “Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.”

    The healing mentioned here is a spiritual healing – a weight bound up and lifted off of one’s spirit.

    Confession isn’t the end-all, but it was the beginning of a transformation. We invited God into our struggle. We invited others into it. We took practical steps like putting software on our computers and met weekly and asked difficult questions.

    That’s what it took. Confessing to God. Confessing to others. Committing to each other to ask and answer the hard questions for a long, long time.

    After a few years, freedom slowly happened. The pull to look at porn hasn’t been strong in over a decade. Have I messed up now and then? Yes. Have I confessed those times? Absolutely. And we keep going.

    Kristi gave me a huge gift that night. She went first. It’s the hardest thing to go first, to confess the broken using awkward words and avoiding eye contact. What happens on the other side of that confession is something beautiful. When you confess, there’s somebody on the other side of that confession who could very well be keeping a secret too.

    So when you go first, you’re opening up this amazing opportunity for trust. You’re saying, “I’m broken.” That trust carries so much power with it. It can give people the courage to go second.

    When people go second, it’s not an easy thing, but because you’ve already broken the silence—you’ve already released some of the shame in that confession—it makes it a little bit easier. They know they can trust you. And so you give them a gift.

    The Gift of Going Second.

    It’s the Gift of Going Second that starts waves of confession and healing.

    It’s now your turn. Who can you give the Gift of Going second to?

  • My Story – Part 1: The Preacher’s Daughter & The Youth Pastor – My Introduction to Sexual Abuse and Pornography

    Because this story’s been written before in my book Permission to Speak Freely, I’ve adapted a few of the chapters to use on my blog. If you’re interested in purchasing the book, it’s currently on sale on Amazon for $7.98 and you can pick it up by clicking here.

    Or, you can also watch me share the story on LifeToday, which is a great Christian television broadcast. James & Betty Robison were such amazing hosts, and they had someone do my makeup and my hair and make me look presentable and fancy.

     

    Anne Marie Miller Pornography Abuse Story

     

    *****

    Most teenagers believe they’re more mature than they really are. I know I did. So when this youth pastor in his mid-twenties asked me over to see a movie and talk about Jesus, I didn’t think twice about it. In fact, I was flattered that an older guy was interested in me, an all-grown-up sixteen-year-old girl.

    And he was a youth pastor. Maybe he could help me rediscover my faith. There was a part of me that missed it since my father left the church.

    Now, something I never had growing up was a curfew. My parents trusted me enough not to worry about where I was or who I was with. The two unspoken rules I had to live by were “Don’t get put in Juvie” and “Don’t get pregnant.” As long as they never got a call from the police or the hospital, I was pretty much free to do whatever I wanted.

    A basic “to a friend’s house to watch a movie” appeased my parents as I walked out the door. Taking my mom’s car to his apartment, I was more worried about driving in the Dallas traffic than I was about watching a movie with him.

    I knocked on the door to his apartment, and he let me in. From the beginning, even as naïve as I was, it was obvious what was on his mind and it wasn’t talking about Jesus. The lights were dimmed, and blankets and pillows were laid out on the floor to make the movie watching more . . . comfortable.

    The details of that night aren’t relevant, but it’s safe to say I don’t remember what movie we watched. The one thing I do remember is that as scary as this new experience was, a huge void in my heart had been filled, and for the first time in several months I felt loved and accepted and worthy.

    And I felt beautiful.

    The youth pastor and I “dated” (and I use that term loosely – it’s what, as a sixteen year old, I perceived our relationship to be) for a couple of months, and then he quietly slipped away. I was upset but decided to move on. The wounds on my heart caused by the pain from uprooting had started to open up again. I felt lonely, and I needed to find someone else to make the pain go away.

    I went on a few dates with a couple of guys, but my heart still longed for this youth pastor. I’d given him so much of myself; how could it not be?

    After the holidays, the youth pastor called me, and we started our “relationship” again. He had moved to another part of Dallas and had a roommate now, so we’d meet in a park close to his new house. A few more months went by, and I had fallen back in love, head over heels.

    Just before I graduated high school while we were out one afternoon, he told me he was getting married. He had proposed to someone he knew from his past and said he could never see me again.

    The youth pastor and this other woman had a long-distance relationship the entire time he and I had been with each other. She didn’t know about me.

    And from the way I couldn’t catch my breath and started seeing double, I obviously didn’t know about her either.

    My heart broke. I was so naive and lonely I actually had believed he loved me.

    And he was a pastor. How could he have lied to me?

    This experience became another piece of evidence that people who say they’re close to God can’t be trusted. And as far as I was concerned, God couldn’t be trusted either.

    There was a sharp pain in my chest where my heart once lived. It hurt so badly my mind would scream at my heart and tell it to stop.

    “Will you ever stop hurting? I can’t take it anymore.”

    I had to do something to medicate this pain. I had to escape it as if life itself depended on it.

    I put the blame for the pain I was experiencing from the “relationship” with this youth pastor on God and began to run from my faith again. God and I were through. He obviously didn’t care about me, so I didn’t care about Him anymore either.

    To help numb the pain, and to find a little understanding about all that happened to me as I was spun up in a torpedo of confusion, I turned to the internet.

    I know, I know. Porn is a guy’s problem. Girls—especially good, teenage girls—don’t look at porn.

    And the last place you would expect to see porn is the living room of a former pastor, right?

    (Tomorrow — Part Two: Fighting My Addiction to Porn & Giving the Gift of Going Second)