By the time I was fourteen, the habit had woven itself into the rhythm of my life. It wasn't just a curiosity anymore; it had become a pattern, something I did automatically without much thought. But even in the middle of it all, there were moments when a part of me—my better self—would whisper that this was not the way. That quiet voice, the one that longs for purity and self-control, began to grow stronger, even if I didn't act on it immediately.
I want to pause here and speak directly to you, the reader: your better self exists. That part of you, no matter how faint it seems, is real. It is the part of you that wants to rise above temptation, that wants to be disciplined, that wants freedom. Listen to it. Guard it. Let it guide your choices. As Pastor Anthony Mitchell wisely said, "When you see it, recognize it, and cut it off." I am not saying this lightly. Recognize the temptation, confront it, and do not allow it to take root in your mind or heart. The moment you see the first sign, take action. The earlier you act, the less power it has over you.
In my own story, that awareness existed, but awareness alone was not enough. My sister noticed what I was doing long before I admitted it to myself. She was older and wiser in many ways, and she told me one day, with concern in her voice, that I needed to stop. She didn't scold me harshly; she didn't shame me. She spoke gently but firmly, "You need to stop this, for your own good. It's not worth it."
Her words hit me in the head and in my heart. I nodded, pretending I understood, pretending I would follow her advice. But in my mind, the habit had already claimed a place too strong to resist easily. I wanted to obey, I wanted to stop, but the lure was powerful. I wanted the escape, the momentary pleasure, even though I knew it wasn't good for me.
The tension between my better self and the habit was relentless. I knew what I should do, and I wanted to do it, but when the opportunity arose, I couldn't resist. One day, despite my sister's instructions and my own desire to quit, I found myself alone, and the urge returned with a force that was almost magnetic. I told myself, "Just this once. I'll stop after this."
And I did it.
The sensation was overwhelming, something I had never fully prepared myself for emotionally or spiritually. In that private moment, the pleasure was intense, and for a moment, I was lost in it. But immediately after, a familiar wave of guilt and shame washed over me. I felt conflicted: I had done something I knew was wrong, yet part of me longed to do it again. That moment of indulgence had cemented the habit deeper into my mind.
Even then, I wanted to resist. I wanted to honor my sister's guidance, my better self, and the teachings I had heard from Prophet Anthony Mitchell. But the pull was relentless. My body and mind remembered the sensation, the temporary satisfaction, and I struggled to regain control.
This is where I want to speak directly to you again: if you ever find yourself in this place, understand that it is normal to struggle. You are human. Habits are powerful, especially when they are reinforced repeatedly. But there is hope. God's strength is available to anyone who asks for it, anyone who is willing to surrender and take one step at a time toward freedom. You cannot rely on willpower alone. You need awareness, guidance, prayer, and accountability.
For me, my sister became a form of accountability, even though I didn't always respond. She continued to encourage me, to remind me of the better path, and to speak words of wisdom that I only slowly began to understand. And slowly, over time, I began to see that my struggles weren't shameful—they were a signal that I needed change, a nudge toward self-control and spiritual growth.
Even though I continued to struggle, even though I gave in more times than I could count, every moment of awareness, every internal warning from my better self, was preparing me for the day I could truly overcome it. Every temptation I resisted, every struggle I reflected on, every prayer I whispered in the quiet moments was building strength I didn't yet see in myself.
The key, I realized slowly, is not to shame yourself into submission but to recognize the habit, understand it, and make conscious choices to stop it. That is why I share this with you: there is no shame in admitting your struggle. There is no weakness in asking for help. But there is danger in ignoring it, in pretending it doesn't exist, in thinking you can control it alone. The habit of lust is not just physical—it is mental, emotional, and spiritual. It touches every part of your life if left unchecked.
Even in those early days, when I felt powerless, I clung to the hope that I could be better. I wanted to obey my sister's instructions. I wanted to listen to my better self. I wanted to honor God in my choices. But I also had to face the reality that change would not come instantly. I would stumble, I would struggle, and I would sometimes fail. What mattered was the intention to rise again, the willingness to keep fighting, and the recognition that God's strength is greater than any temptation.
Looking back now, I can see how that single moment—the day I gave in despite knowing better—was both a setback and a lesson. It taught me that temptation is strong, that habits are powerful, but that self-awareness, guidance, and faith are stronger. And I hope that anyone reading this can take away this truth: do not despair if you stumble. Recognize it, cut it off, and ask for help. Every small step toward control, every small victory over temptation, is part of a larger journey toward freedom and peace.