Lust was always a part of me, long before I knew its name. It had claimed me as one of its own in the darkness that would become my sexaholism—a universe-sized prison of my own making. My disease was quietly progressive. Some might argue that I haven’t hit my real rock bottom since my life has never been completely upended by my many relapses.

If my addiction were a physical disease, it would be one that starts at the cellular level, killing me slowly. Maybe my life hasn’t been totally rocked—yet. But inside, I’ve lived in a wasteland of loneliness, ego, self-pity, toxic shame, and a completely disfigured understanding of love. Even when everything on the surface looked fine, my interior world told a different story.

I don’t claim to have all the answers, and thank God I don’t. But through recovery, I’ve come to recognize some simple ways to check myself—to discern whether I’m acting by lust or by love. These questions have become essential guideposts for me:

• Am I concerned about the good of the other person or just myself?
• Why am I performing any act of service? Is it for attention or from a genuine desire to help?
• Who is running the show—God or me?
• Am I being patient and kind?
• What is my true motive behind any plans or intentions?

For years, I thought love and lust were intertwined, often indistinguishable. But recovery has shown me that love is not about taking, but giving. It’s not about consuming, but serving. Love is not a prison—it expands freedom. And when I surrender to God, I begin to glimpse what real love can be.

So I keep asking myself the questions above, not because I’ve fully arrived, but because this way I continue to learn. And that’s what recovery really is for me—a daily practice of choosing love over lust, faith over fear, and truth over the lies my addiction once told me.