I hear this from men with sexual addictions every day: “I hate what I’m doing. I hate the late nights, the porn, the fantasies that suck me in. I hate the shame that hits after, the promises I make and break to myself and to God. I want to stop, but I can’t. What’s wrong with me? I hate myself and what I have become.” It’s a gut-wrenching cry I’ve heard over and over, and I’ve felt it too. That weight, the self-loathing, the helplessness. It’s a blade in the gut. If you’re caught in that storm of porn, sex addiction, or runaway thoughts, you’ve probably shouted it into the night like I did. It’s a war tearing at your soul and your brain. Here’s what I’ve learned: there’s nothing “wrong” with you that God can’t redeem. Scripture and science both scream it; you’re not smashed beyond repair. You’re in a fight, and I’ve been there, and there’s a way out.
This isn’t just talk; it’s real. Romans 7 hits it dead-on. Paul writes, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” I’ve lived that. Screen blank, heart sinking, asking why I kept diving back into what I despised. Spiritually, it’s sin’s claws, the flesh battling the spirit. The enemy is in your ear, snarling, “This is the real you. Hate yourself, you’re done.” But it’s not just spiritual; it’s wired in your skull too. Chronic porn use, fantasies, sex addiction. They don’t just draw you; they rewire you. Neurologists say every click dumps dopamine into your brain, the feel-good rush. Keep going, and it molds neural pathways. Deep ruts that make the addiction your default. Over time, your reward system gets snared, simple joys like a kid’s grin or a quiet walk fade, and stopping feels impossible. That’s why you hate it and yourself, but can’t quit. Your brain’s been grabbed.
Oftentimes this looks like me. I was that guy. Good job, church, beautiful family, all of it. It started small: a peek at porn now and then, no harm, right? But it grew, countless nights lost to it, fantasies I couldn’t shake, hours I couldn’t get back. I never stepped out on my wife, but I’ve seen plenty of men who did, chasing the high beyond the screen. I’d mutter, “I hate this. I hate who I’ve become.” My wife found out, tears fell, fights flared, and I’d promised her I was done. Days later, I’d relapse. “What’s wrong with me?” I’d choke out, despising the man I saw staring back. Neurologically, my brain was hooked—dopamine receptors fried, normal highs dulled, the only thing that made me feel something was porn. Spiritually, I was trapped in Romans 7: “The evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.” I felt like a wreck, loathing the shell I’d turned into.
But I wasn’t done and you aren’t either. God didn’t create us to stay chained. Spiritually, He’s right there. Romans 7 ends with Paul’s raw cry: “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” It’s not a platitude—it’s a lifeline. Jesus waded into my mess, offering grace when I couldn’t crawl out. And neurologically? My brain could heal. God created our brains to be neuroplastic; your brain rewires itself. Those ruts from porn or sex addiction? They’re not set in stone. Starve them, and they shrink. Build new paths through prayer, real bonds, good fights, and your brain shifts. Romans 12:2 says, “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” It’s not just a line; it’s how you’re built. Over time, the pull weakens, the old tracks blur, and your brain chases what’s true.
That was me. I hit the bottom. Marriage hanging by a thread, self-hatred crushing me, but I didn’t stay there. I cried out like Paul, leaned into God, and found brothers who didn’t turn away. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me, unflinching, bearing the weight of my shame alongside me. They prayed when I couldn’t, spoke truth when I doubted, and walked every hard step until I could stand again. I quit the porn, traded it for late-night prayers and real talks, and slowly, my mind healed. It wasn’t quick. Neuroplasticity takes grit, but eventually the cravings faded. My wife saw a new man, my soul lifted, and I found peace I’d thought was gone. Psalm 40:2 nails it, “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock.” I know this man’s story because it’s my story. God healed me, restored my marriage, and over the years, I’ve walked with hundreds of other men through the same hell, watching Him do it again and again.
You don’t have to hate yourself forever. God’s grace and your brain’s design say you can rise. It’s a war! Romans 7 proves it’s brutal, but it’s winnable. If you’re struggling like this, reach out to us, a trusted pastor, or a friend. Get your struggle into the light, because that’s the only place you’ll find healing. Lean into Jesus, let your brothers in Christ stand with you, and watch your mind renew. You’re not “wrong”, you’re loved, human, and healable. I’ve lived it, seen it, and it’s the hope that drags you up, the truth that sets you free.
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