There was a time when I stopped feeling the immediate guilt after my habits. I didn't think too much about it anymore. I knew there was a God, and I believed in Him, but I didn't know Him. My knowledge of Him was shallow, like a name I could repeat, a figure I could mention in prayer without understanding the depth of His presence or power. I began to live my life "normally"—or at least I thought I was.
At school, with friends, online, I acted like everything was fine. When I wanted something, I prayed, and sometimes I received it. That made me feel like I had control, like I was in sync with God's favor. And in those moments, I turned away, feeling like I didn't need Him beyond my wants. Sometimes I prayed with sincerity, but most of the time I didn't. I asked myself, almost foolishly, "Is there really a God?" without fully realizing that His protection alone—the breath in my lungs, the life I had, the chances I was given—was proof enough of His existence.
Sometimes, the things I didn't get were His protection. I didn't pray for lust, because I thought it was normal. I thought it was just part of growing up. And that's the danger: what you normalize, you stop fighting against, and what you stop fighting against will slowly eat you alive. It wasn't obvious at first. I didn't feel guilt. I didn't feel shame in the moment. But lust kept growing quietly, and I was unaware of the way it was shaping my thoughts, my desires, and my perspective on life.
My sister believed I had stopped. She didn't see me indulging in the habit anymore, at least not openly, and she assumed I had conquered it. But the truth was far from that. I was still trapped in the same cycle, still feeding the same habit, still letting it shape me silently. I had become skilled at hiding it—from her, from my friends, and even from myself. Outwardly, I was normal, pleasant, obedient, and seemingly disciplined. But inwardly, I was far from free.
I began to realize, slowly, that believing in God wasn't enough. Faith without understanding is like holding a lamp but never lighting it. You know the light exists, but you cannot see the path it is meant to illuminate. I believed in Him, but I didn't seek Him fully. I didn't ask Him for help with the areas of my life that needed it the most, and I certainly didn't pray about lust. I thought it was normal. I thought I could handle it on my own.
But lust has a way of convincing you that normalcy is enough, that what you're doing is fine, that God isn't concerned with your thoughts or your mind, just your actions. And so, I continued, letting the habit grow stronger, quietly, without realizing the weight it carried. Every day, I made choices that moved me further from the discipline I knew I needed. Every day, I ignored my better self's warnings, thinking that as long as I could live "normally," nothing would go wrong.
This is where I want to pause and speak to you, the reader. It's easy to think that believing in God is enough—that if you acknowledge Him, if you say the right words, if you go to church or pray occasionally, that you are automatically protected from temptation. That is not how it works. God's protection is already there, even when you don't fully seek it. His presence sustains you, gives you life, and keeps you safe. But understanding Him, knowing Him, and surrendering to Him is what allows you to truly experience freedom from habits that can consume you.
I didn't pray about lust because I thought it was harmless. I thought, "Everyone struggles with this. I'm normal." But what I failed to see was that ignoring it only gave it more power. And the more I ignored it, the more it ate away at me. The moments I thought I was free, the moments my sister believed I had stopped, were illusions. I had created a mask, hiding the truth from everyone—including myself.
Looking back, I see how dangerous it is to live with that disconnect: knowing about God but not truly knowing Him, appearing disciplined while secretly indulging in habits that steal your joy and your peace. I see now that real freedom doesn't come from pretending or ignoring; it comes from awareness, surrender, and consistent effort guided by faith.
Even in my ignorance, God's protection was there. He kept me alive. He gave me opportunities, relationships, and moments of clarity that slowly built the foundation I would need to overcome. And while I didn't understand it then, His presence was always stronger than my habit, stronger than my temptation, stronger than my mistakes. I just had to learn to see it, to accept it, and to lean into it fully.