I don’t have the secrets to lifetime celibacy

Last month I went on a walk-and-talk with a guy who'd been following me on Instagram for a while. He messaged me and said he'd almost given up hope, but he thought he'd give it a chance and reach out to me.

As we crisscrossed the neighborhood, he said he started following me because I posted honestly about my "struggles with sexual purity," as he called it.

He was secretly battling addiction and found it refreshing to hear someone speak openly about sexual addiction, gay desire, rooting out sin, and chasing after Jesus.

But, he said that for the past five years or so he'd go almost 12 months without slipping up, but then he’d sext an old fling or download a hookup app and meet a stranger.

"Pieter, I know you post about still struggling with temptation, but I think I'm too far gone. I think I'm gonna give up."

I responded with some encouragement to keep up the good fight, but he quipped back, "You don't struggle like me. You post about sexual sin, but you probably just watch porn once a year or something like that."

I reminded him of social media posts he had commented on where I named my deep regret for past sexual sins and the ways my mistakes enabled others to sin.

"You don't get it. People who are addicted as bad as I am don't get better."

Usually, I hesitate to share about the specifics of my sexual sin. Sometimes I worry that giving too much detail glorifies the sin and tempts others. Or maybe I'm just ashamed that I've disobeyed God so severely.

But this time, it seemed like I needed to be transparent. I told him that over the past five years I'd relapsed twice, thoroughly losing my sobriety. In between those two relapses, there were a few times when I crossed boundaries with guys that were less severe but still sinful.

I shared that I'd had some messy interactions with people I saw as peers but who (I later learned) looked up to me. I was honest that I was still trying to figure out whether physical affection like cuddling was wise for me.

"Don't get me wrong. I've made progress. Real progress. But it's not a light switch. It takes time and patience. It's six steps forward, three steps back, over and over again."

Then I waited, halfway fearing that my confession, from someone he looked up to, could just as likely devastate him as it could help him.

His head was down for a few moments. But then he looked up, and, with tears in his eyes, said, "So there is hope?! You've been where I've been, but things have actually gotten better?! Maybe I can do this..."

We kept talking. I shared about how I responded to each of those setbacks by confessing to authorities in my life, being transparent in public and when speaking at churches about my imperfect celibacy, and consistently taking necessary practical steps to demonstrate serious sanctification.

I used a flip-phone for a year. I put restrictions and accountability on all my devices (and still do). I started going to weekly 12-step meetings and meeting with a sponsor (and still do). I met with my therapist to uncover the roots of my addiction (and still do).

Gratefully, there's been progress. When I first started my sexual addiction recovery journey eight years ago, I was in the habit of hooking up with people monthly. Since then I've gotten to the point where I haven't met up with someone through a hookup app or been dragged into pornography for more than five years.

But, admittedly, if you're looking for the secrets to lifetime celibacy, I don't have them. Go ahead and unfollow.

On the other hand, if closet trauma has stricken you with sexual addiction, you want to follow Jesus with all your heart, and it's messy, then you're in good company.

Keep going. Find a good 12-step group or a certified sex addiction therapist. You're not alone or without hope.