My Redemption Story, Part 3

“I…struggle with looking at pornography,” or something to that effect, because I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I remember how I felt. The thing I thought I would never-tell-anyone-ever I had just confessed to a few girls. This was IT: NOW I could have accountability, NOW I could heal.
But a week later I found myself engaging once again with the very thing I wanted to escape from. Confess. Repent. Tell. Repeat. Confess. Repent. Tell. Repeat. Why wasn’t my remorse translating into renewal? Why didn’t my sincerity breed change? I felt stuck recycling the same prayers and mustering feelings of repentance. Might as well give in to oblivion? Just this once. Until ‘this once’ was the next day, and the next.

My good girl image still didn’t bear a stain – my Do Not List continued to be impressive. But the one thing that was consuming and destroying me, felt like enough to undo my Do Nots. Fear of being ex-communicated from church, community, and leadership positions, like certain evangelists and pastors – you (unfortunately) know the ones – haunted my mind. The only thing that seemed to separate me from them other than being female, was that a few people knew, but if more found out — if I was found out, I was over.

God felt distant. His presence seemed to ebb and flow- close if I didn’t give in, far if I did. I functioned, prayed, and worshipped as if my sin still separated me from God, current-tense. He couldn’t turn His face towards mine; I was defiled, a disappointment. I couldn’t measure up or change my behavior.




I felt dirty, so that rationalized into what I believed about myself: I was dirty. I pled with Him to give me clean hands and a pure heart. I yearned for Him to break the chains and set me free. But He already had. I was asking for what’s already mine through Jesus.

I am in harmony with God. I never needed to reconnect with the Trinity through extra prayer and surrender, or offer up more to-dos and grandiose promises to earn His acceptance and love. We have an unbreakable connection, His face never turns away from mine. Yet I was too distracted and too disoriented to lock eyes with His. I couldn’t grasp His character because I didn’t understand His character. I viewed and related to our unconditional Jesus through condition-colored glasses.

The recycling ritual of confession, asking for forgiveness, and pursuing accountability continued even after addiction tapered off, because the fear of spiraling lurked. The addiction adjectives of “dirty” and “unacceptable” still clung to my identity. It was exhausting. My works-based-grappling attempts at healing and recovery never bred full rest or freedom, because ultimately, healing doesn’t come by way of confession and accountability, but resurrection and new identity — and He had already dressed me in white. My forgiveness was secure, my heart already clean. The chains broke 2,000 years ago, I was free. But I was still attempting to clean myself up. I was applying a good girl spot clean to my grave clothes while wearing my wedding dress. To be continued. 🌼

Photo by Kaylynn Krieg Photography