I was thirteen when I first looked up pornography. There was a three-day period when I didn’t care whether it was right or wrong—I fully indulged. Calculating times when I knew people wouldn’t be around, planning my strategy for searching, worshiping, and retreating.
But then I got caught. And once I knew I couldn’t get away with it, when I realized how violating my “acts of worship” were, I felt engulfed by shame.