Six years ago, when I was 21, I was shocked to hear my counselor say he thought I was a sex addict. I was in college and trying to be cool and impress my friends. The last thing I wanted to be was a sex addict. But today I realize that his diagnosis was the turning point in my life.

During my childhood, my dad was verbally abusive to my brother, my mom, and me. My mom had an affair, which basically ended my parents’ marriage. I was four and my brother was eight when my mom told us they were getting divorced. I remember that my brother cried, but I went across the room and started playing with toys, as if nothing had happened. It was a pattern that would repeat throughout my life: feeling numb and not knowing how to respond.

Dad’s verbal abuse continued throughout my childhood. On weekends he’d come into our rooms, run his finger across the furniture, and if he found dust he’d say, “You might want to think about cleaning your room.” I’d know what was coming; it was like storm clouds gathering. I’d start picking stuff up, but my dad would cuss and yell, “You guys are slobs, you need to pick this place up.” I’d feel paralyzed, not knowing how to react. I tried burying the pain with video games or by staying busy, or by sleeping over at friends’ houses—anything to escape the pain.

When I was eight, my mom married the guy she had an affair with. Dad had several girlfriends who slept over. He also left pornographic magazines where I could easily find them. My stepdad and older brother also collected pornographic magazines. So the three men in my life were all engaging in various forms of sexual behavior, which no doubt planted the seeds of addiction in my mind.

When I was 13, I discovered masturbation. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. I felt fear, confusion, and guilt—but also freedom; a momentary release from the fear and chaos in my family. I thought, “If only for 5 minutes, this is a way out of the pain in life.” When I was 14 and a freshman in high school, I had my first serious girlfriend. By the time I was 15, I had lost my virginity.

In high school, I couldn’t break into the popular crowd of students, and I felt very apart from others. For relief I turned to pornography or my girlfriend. I would sneak my brother’s magazines and act out several times a day. Sex and lust became an obsession.

Often during class I’d feel anxious, like everything I was burying would start to build up, and I’d raise my hand to go to the bathroom so I could act out. I needed this drug to calm down. But when I came back to class, I felt disconnected, like I was outside the world looking in. This only added to my feelings of isolation and fear. I tried acting out in class through my clothes. I acted out on the bus coming home from basketball practice. I masturbated every night to get to sleep. I became paranoid of getting caught and actually was caught once by my mom. But the thought of stopping didn’t occur to me. Instead, I vowed to become more secretive.

After high school I enrolled in a college across the country. Before leaving home, I had to binge one more time with my girlfriend. I spent a whole weekend acting out with her before moving away. I was terrified to leave home, but the feelings were buried. Just like when my parents got divorced or when my dad would yell at us. Buried emotions with nothing to do except numb them.

During college, I’d fly my girlfriend out for weekend binges. I’d get a hotel room and a car. I went into debt. I spent thousands of dollars on this addiction because I felt that I needed to impress my girlfriend (and women in general) in order to feel right about myself.

During my freshman year in college, I joined a Christian organization on campus and decided to reform my life. I thought, “I have religion now, I want to be different.” I decided I was done with sex, pornography, and acting out. But I would stop for only a few days and then act out to pornography again. Or I’d see my girlfriend over the summer and we’d have sex. I realized I couldn’t control my lust; the more I tried, the worse it got. I’d be studying in the library or swimming in the pool, and I’d have to go act out. I was desperate to stop.

Finally, during my senior year in college, I disclosed my struggles to a mentor. I said, “Every girl I’m with, I can’t control my sexual behavior. Pornography is a constant obsession. I’m acting out all the time.” He recommended I see a counselor.

I went to a counselor, and before long the counselor said “I think you’re a sex addict.” This floored me—but it was like the first time I acted out: frightening and liberating at the same time. The words “sex addict” explained a lot of my behavior. I felt some hope that if there was a diagnosis, then there might be a solution as well. Although I really didn’t want to be a sex addict.

I joined a counseling group for men who struggle with sex addiction. We met once a week and worked the Steps. I was in that group for 13 months. I hated going, but I went every week. Progress came slowly, but the burden of lust began to lift.

I had a major breakthrough with Step One, when I finally realized I could not fight my addiction on my own. I had tried many times but nothing had worked. I imagined stepping into a ring with a 250-lb. 6’5” fighter, who was beckoning me to fight. That’s what lust is like to me, a fighter beckoning me to fight. I would step into the ring and be defeated every time. I finally realized I needed to stop fighting. My Step One breakthrough was this: If I know I’m going to lose, why am I fighting? Today, my image is: “God, I can’t fight this addiction, You can. I’m stepping out, I need you to step in or I’ll lose.” There’s freedom in that.

I worked through the Steps with my group and found short-term sobriety several times. The counselor recommended I attend SA meetings in addition to group therapy. I went to my first SA meeting in October 2002 but hated being there. I hated saying “I’m a sexaholic.” I felt deep shame. I reluctantly got a sponsor but never called him. In 2003, I “graduated” from the group therapy and was on my own to pursue SA recovery. But inside I was thinking, “I’m on my own to leave the program now.”

I was still acting out but less often and less intensely. Around that time I met a girl, fell in love, and got engaged. Two months before we were to be married, we eloped to Las Vegas, largely because I was sick of trying to not have sex. I was only half-heartedly working my program. I was on my second sponsor and supposedly working the Steps, but I was dragging my feet. Deep down I didn’t really want to be in SA. I thought, “If I’m married this thing will be easier to control.”

But not seriously working the program caught up with me. I noticed I was becoming more emotional and more out of control. Seven months after I left the program, I woke up thinking I had acted out in my sleep. “Well I’m still sober,” I thought, “it was in my sleep so I’m not going to count that.”

Around that time an SA friend asked me: “Will your program—the one you’re working now—keep you sober for the long term, or is it just barely keeping you sober now?” I thought, “You jerk, why ask that?” But the answer was obvious: “No, it won’t keep me sober for the long haul; it’s barely keeping me sober now.” It made me think, “What will I be doing in five years if I’m not in the program? Visiting prostitutes or massage parlors?” The thought began to grow in me.

In January 2005, I woke up realizing I had acted out again in my sleep. I knew something had to change. So I went back to SA, fearing I would be rejected, that people would say, “You’re an idiot; look what you’ve done.” Instead, I was embraced. I decided this would be a clean slate; I would get a new sponsor and really work the SA program. I was done with my way of recovery. Alcoholics Anonymous (58) says, “Half measures availed us nothing.” I had been doing half measures for three years, and the result was pretty much nothing.

My new sponsor told me to call him every day for 30 days and start working the Steps. Since then I’ve called him almost daily for two and a half years, because it really helps. I worked through all Twelve Steps and started sponsoring others. I attended meetings and got involved in service. And slowly, I began to experience freedom. Today, I’ve been sober for 18 months.

The Twelve Promises of Alcoholics Anonymous (83) have been a guiding light in my recovery. The promises motivate me, keep me on the right path, and remind me of why I’m here. After 18 months of sobriety, they’re already coming true in my life. Here are a few examples:

1) If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. Today I’m amazed that I have 18 months of sobriety. Amazed at the friendships I’ve found, and that there are so many people I finally relate to. I have a home in SA, a place where I finally feel understood. I’m also amazed at the healing I’ve found in relationships with my family, my wife, and myself. And amazed at the spirituality. I became a Christian and went to church but never found what I was looking for spiritually until I came to SA. I think what’s missing from church is what we have in SA: real honesty, fellowship, depth, and the ability to deal with our shame.

2) We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. Today I have some freedom from lust. The shame and guilt of acting out are lifting. I no longer need to act out to fall asleep. I’m also taking better care of myself. When I returned to SA, my sponsor told me to shave every day and to take a shower before a meeting if I played basketball before the meeting. Those things didn’t come naturally to me before, but today, taking care of myself is part of the freedom and happiness of recovery. Recovery is not just about sobriety, it’s about a new way of living.

3) We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. I have a good relationship with my dad now. We talk regularly. He knows I’m in SA, and that I’ll go to a meeting when I’m home. The past is more the past now. I don’t fear it or the people I run into from my past. The more amends I make, the less guilt I feel over the past. The past becomes closed when the wrongs aren’t hanging over my head.

4) We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. I still feel fearful at times, but my life has become more peaceful in the last five years, so I have hope for a more peaceful life. Also, I see members who have much more peace than I do, and that gives me hope.

5) No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. I sponsor guys in this program and mentor guys at the church. Amazingly, these people are helped by my experience. It seems that the most broken parts of my life are the parts that help and inspire others the most; the parts I was most ashamed of seem to bring others the most freedom.

6) That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. I understand feeling useless. I never thought I would have a job I was good at or that I would like. I never felt there was a place for me in the world. But today I like my job and I don’t feel useless, so self-pity has less power in my life.

7) We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. My wife likes to share things and I don’t. I was eating lunch with her recently, and she asked if I wanted to share two things she selected from the menu. I said “sure let’s do that.” I didn’t feel angry or frustrated. I was free to just share lunch with my wife. Little things like that are big parts of this program.

8) Self-seeking will slip away. One thing I’ve had to deal with was a deep underlying desire to be famous. Whether I was famous in ministry or some other area, I thought being famous would cure me. Through SA, my self-seeking is slowly becoming, “God, wherever you want me; help me just to do what you want.”

9) Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. At my lowest point, suicidal thoughts came frequently. My new outlook on life is that I have a purpose and I know things will get increasingly better. I have the hope of a better life.

10) Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. Before, I was terrified of my bosses, but today I’m able to be honest and open with people in authority. My boss once told me he trusts me more because of my honesty, and this led to a raise! Also, I understand other people’s pain and suffering more because of dealing with my own addiction. I feel more comfortable with myself, which makes it easier to be comfortable relating with others.

11) We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. I don’t panic as much under stress, problems don’t overwhelm me as much, and I know there are people who can help me.

12) We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves. That part of my program I see every day—in my marriage, at work, everywhere. Things happen that I tried to make happen before. I tried to make sobriety happen, make friendships happen, make love happen—tried to make so many things happen in my own power. This program has taught me that God is the one who makes things happen.

I’ve heard it said that when I die, God won’t ask me why I wasn’t more like Moses or Buddha or Mother Teresa or Billy Graham. What God will ask me is “Why weren’t you the you I created you to be?”

I’ve been thinking about that lately. I know I’m a sexaholic. I can’t change that. When I get to heaven, I don’t want God to ask me, “Why didn’t you own and accept that you were a sexaholic? If you had, you could have recovered, and you could have helped so many people.” The time to accept my sexaholism is now. The more I accept it, the more I work my program, and the more I work my program, the more I experience its benefits. The most important thing is that I accept who I am. I have to accept that this is a part of my life. It’s always going to be a part of my life, and when I work the program, every day—work the Steps, work with my sponsor, sponsor others—then I see the benefits of recovery, every day.

I know that I can recover, and that you can recover—and that all of us can really embrace what God has waiting for us.