My journey into recovery was unexpected.
First, because I didn’t think I had a problem—at least not before recovery.
Second, because had COVID not happened, California might not have completely shut down and taken away everything I found meaning in.
California shut down everything: bars, restaurants, anything deemed non-essential. The world paused. All of my sports leagues were canceled, and for a period of time you couldn’t even walk on the beach. Work began to slow down too.
Before recovery, the things I valued most—and where I found my validation—were sports, activities, and work.
When COVID shut down sports and my ability to connect with others through restaurants and social gatherings, work and money were the only things I had left holding me together. Even that one remaining “solution” couldn’t fix the bigger problems I was facing. I was in a crisis.
Underneath all of this was my lust addiction.
I started watching soft pornography when I was 13. Over the years, my addiction to lust progressively worsened—but I had no idea I was addicted. I didn’t realize what I was doing was hurting anyone. I only knew that it made me feel better, at least temporarily.
This is where my story differs from many men in recovery. I wasn’t caught in the act. Without realizing it, I hit rock bottom. I was depressed, hopeless, angry, frustrated, and felt completely powerless.
It was the last week of August 2020. I don’t know exactly what triggered it, but in the weeks leading up to that point I started reading Doctrine and Covenants, a book from the LDS faith. Since I grew up LDS, it was familiar to me. I think part of me was wondering if there was more to life now that everything I relied on had been stripped away.
It was a scary thought:
What if this life was it?
What if the things I loved never came back?
Life is short and full of phases—maybe 100 years if you’re lucky. If that’s all there is, what really matters?
One question kept coming to mind: There has to be more to life than this. More than sports. More than social gatherings. More than work.
While reading D&C—section 132, I think—I came across the passage, “Seek and ye shall find; knock, and the door will be opened to you” (also found in the Gospel of Matthew 7:7-8). Something clicked.
Ask God if He exists.
Simple enough, right?
If God exists, then there is a solution to the internal crisis I was facing. If He doesn’t, then at least I tried the spiritual route and could look elsewhere.
So for the first time in maybe 12 years, I prayed to God. But this time it was different—it was real. I was humbled, hurt, and desperate. I asked, “God, are you real?”
The answer I received was not what I expected. I thought I would hear, Yes, I’m real. Instead, I heard: I love you.
It wasn’t loud. It was a soft, quiet voice. My body filled with a warmth I had never experienced before.
What was so profound wasn’t just that God was real—it was that He loved me. I can’t fully put into words how life-changing that moment was. My entire life, I had been searching to feel loved. I didn’t realize how deeply I lacked the love I needed, or that the people who were supposed to love me weren’t able to love me in the way I needed—despite doing the best they could.
For the first time in my life, I felt God’s love. And His love is powerful.
That experience opened something in me that I don’t think I had ever fully given to anyone before: trust. I trusted Him. That trust laid the foundation for turning my life around. Imagine going from hopeless to complete inner peace in an instant.
Naturally, once I experienced God’s love, I wanted more. I spent the rest of that week diving into scripture and listening to talks to learn more about Him. On Friday, while listening to a talk about repentance, something hit me: if I wanted an honest and genuine relationship with God, I needed to change the way I was living.
There was—and still is—much to change. But it had to start with repenting of my lust addiction, even though at that point I still didn’t fully recognize it as an addiction. That realization led me to something I knew I had to do: come clean with my wife.
I’ll go deeper into this in future posts, but essentially I made several partial disclosures throughout the week about what I had done during our marriage. It is nothing short of a miracle that she is still with me. (For anyone new to recovery: please get help with the disclosure process. Healing is far more possible when the full truth comes out at once.)
After those disclosures, we created a plan of attack.
I needed personal counseling.
We needed marriage counseling.
I needed to join a recovery group for sex addiction.
And I needed help cleaning up my life—meeting with a priest helped guide that process.
Through it all, one thing was clear: God loved me and had a plan. No matter where this journey led, it was going to be okay. It wouldn’t be easy, but there would be healing and real connection down the road.
Now, almost six years later, I can say without hesitation that my recovery would not be possible without God. I can see where and how He has worked in my life. He gave me a heart transplant. He fights the battle with lust when I surrender to Him. He is the reason I am sober today and able to connect—openly, honestly, and authentically.
I thank Him for turning my life around. I look forward to sharing more of my story and going deeper into each step along the way. My hope is that this helps you learn from my mistakes and makes your own journey a little easier.
God bless.