How I Started and where I’m at now

My struggle started small. Fifth grade. Just me, alone after school, playing with the iPad. I typed “naked girls” into Google—didn’t even spell it right lol. Scrolled. Watched. It didn’t feel wrong. I didn’t feel shame. I just felt older. Like I discovered something adults weren’t supposed to know I had access to. That first search became a weekly thing. Then daily. Then… multiple times a day. I didn’t know I was rewiring my brain. I didn’t know I was giving lust a foothold. To me, it felt normal. Just curiosity. Just growing up. By middle school, I was full-on addicted. I didn’t call it that, but I knew it was my secret. My escape, reward, and routine. That’s when the exploitation happened. At 12, I got messaged online by a girl. She was flirty. Encouraging. Attractive. She sent photos. She asked for mine. I was a kid, and I gave them over. Turns out, it wasn’t a girl. It wasn’t anyone real. It was a predator, an old man the exact way you can picture him. And before I knew it, I had lost pieces of myself I didn’t know I could lose. At another point, a different person. My same broken state of mind and their manipulation. Only this time, it went on for months. This one was smart. Gained my trust. Got me to talk, open up. Asked for things gradually. Made me feel seen. Even wanted. And I gave in—because, in a twisted way, I wanted to be wanted. I had shamed and convinced myself that I should “pay them back” and return the favor for the emotional help they gave me… this is what they wanted, what they bid on That experience changed me. It messed with how I saw myself. My body didn’t feel like something sacred anymore. It felt like a tool. Something to give. Something to use. And so I used it. Repeatedly. On my own. To cope. To feel something, anything. In high school, the porn got darker. More violent. More shocking. I didn’t care who was on the screen anymore—I just needed to feel the high. That’s when something shifted. I started reacting to things that never used to set me off—locker rooms. Gym mirrors. Shirtless guys. My own reflection. Not because I wanted to be in a relationship with a guy. I didn’t. Not because I dreamed of being with a man. I never did. But because lust doesn’t care what your preferences are—it just wants more. I wasn’t fantasizing about love. I was stuck in a loop of distorted desire. And that desire wasn’t rooted in who I was… it was rooted in what I fed. I joined forums. I ended up in chats with other guys just like me. Many of them were Christians. They had crosses in their necks. Went to youth group. Quoted Scripture in the same breath they shared explicit messages and things with me. We didn’t call ourselves anything. We were just chasing the same high We were just… lost. I hated myself for what I was doing. For how I felt. For who I thought I was becoming. Because I never wanted to be that way. I never wanted to be the guy stuck in secret threads. I never wanted to be the guy sending those photos. I never wanted to be the guy lusting after people who looked like me. But there I was. Ashamed. Exhausted. Addicted. That’s when Jesus met me. Not after I confessed. Not after I stopped. Not after I got “clean.” Right in the middle of the mess. Right in the middle of my lowest point. Right in the middle of the contradiction. And He didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn away. He stayed. He looked at the version of me I hated the most—the one I swore no one could love—and said: “I still want you.” And I broke. Because grace like that doesn’t make sense. It’s not comfortable. But it’s exactly what I needed. Jesus didn’t just forgive me—He began to restore me. He started showing me who I really was before lust tried to rewire my identity. He reminded me of the boy I used to be. And introduced me to the man I was becoming. Now I don’t speak from victory on a pedestal. I speak from the trenches, where I still have to fight. Where I still get tempted. Where I still have to bring thoughts into obedience. But I don’t fight like a slave to porn anymore. I fight like a son who’s been rescued. ⸻ Why I’m Telling You This Because I know I’m not the only one. You might be a guy who thinks this could never be your story. I promise that’s exactly what I thought, too. You might be the guy who’s neck-deep in the same struggle I was. Or the guy who’s never talked about his SSA because he doesn’t want the label. Or the guy who grew up in church and feels like no one would understand. Or the guy who doesn’t know what to call what he’s feeling—but knows it’s real. To all of you I promise This is way bigger than gay or straight. This isn’t about pride or politics. This is about how lust twists the soul and how Jesus puts it back together. So no matter where you are in the story—at the start, in the spiral, or clawing your way out—just know: You’re not disgusting. You’re not unlovable. You’re not too far gone. You’re seen. You’re still wanted. And there’s a way home. Jesus Loves You. I Love You, friend. This world is better with you in it Upvote this so people know they’re not alone ! Much love bros!!! You got this!! Ivan