From Prison to Freedom

For most of his life, he lived in a prison built with shame, secrets, and addiction. Working the Steps with an accountability partner in prison and with the help of his sponsor by phone, he connected with God. 

I had to go to prison to be set free. For most of my life, I lived in a prison I built myself, brick by brick, with shame, secrets, and addiction. It was far more confining than any cell could ever be. 

I grew up in a “Brady Bunch” family—stable, warm, loved. Life seemed perfect until fourth grade, when an older boy abused me. The shame burned so deep I told no one. I buried it and tried to erase it from existence. But my soul remembered. The happy, optimistic boy who smiled easily and trusted freely died that day. In his place stood someone else—introverted, scared, mistrusting everyone. That’s when I started building my prison walls. 

By fifth grade, I had pushed away every friend and locked myself inside, alone. In eighth grade, I found my brother’s pornography. I was hooked instantly. I developed two selves: the mask I wore for the world and the addict I hid inside. Through high school and college, my addiction consumed me. I learned the dark art of manipulation—chase, groom, catch, discard. I hurt so many good people. People who genuinely loved me. People I threw away like trash. With each person I hurt, I added another lock to my prison door.

Three years after college, desperate and broken, I thought marriage would save me. It didn’t. When internet porn arrived, it swallowed my life whole. I grew angrier at my wife, blaming her for the monster I’d become. After 27 years, I manipulated her into divorcing me. As she walked out the door, she said two words: “Get help.” I looked her in the eye and lied: “I will.” 

My addiction exploded. But I wasn’t free at all—I was more imprisoned than ever. I crossed every boundary. Nothing satisfied the screaming emptiness inside. I pushed away everyone—my wife, my daughter, every friend. I couldn’t keep a job. I was living in a hell of my own making, a prison of the self. I thought about ending it all. Then God broke down the door. In July 2020, when police burst into my room, my first thought was “Thank God!” Relief flooded through me—finally, it was over. 

To be continued…