I used to tell myself it wasn’t a problem. 

Everyone I knew watched porn. My mates talked about it like it was as normal as brushing your teeth. "It’s just what people do,” they’d say, laughing. And I laughed too. I told myself I was just like everyone else. But behind the scenes, my relationship with porn didn’t feel casual or healthy. It felt… compulsive. 

I’m 25 now. I’ve been in recovery for over two years. And I’m learning to be honest — not just with others, but with myself. I want to say something out loud that I wish someone had said to me a few years ago: just because something is normalised, doesn’t mean it’s not hurting you. 

The Slippery Slope I Didn’t Notice 

I started watching porn when I was 14. At first it was curiosity, excitement, some weird combination of teenage hormones and the thrill of doing something “taboo.” But over time, it became something I turned to when I was stressed, lonely, anxious, bored. It became a way of avoiding life. A coping mechanism. A secret comfort. 

By university, it was a daily habit. Sometimes multiple times a day. I wasn’t connecting with people. Real relationships, even physical intimacy — started to feel overwhelming. Porn was easier. But afterwards, I’d feel shame. Numb. Like I had crossed some invisible line but couldn’t explain why. I was lonely and porn was a strange intimate but isolating relationship. 

“It’s Just Porn” — Until It Isn’t 

What made recovery so hard to start wasn’t just the addiction itself — it was the denial around it. I kept hearing, “Porn is normal,” “Everyone does it,” “At least it’s not drugs or alcohol.” It was this normalising that kept me trapped. 

But the truth is, anything can be a problem when it starts to control you instead of the other way around. I didn’t feel free. I felt stuck. I felt ashamed. And I felt alone. 

Reaching Out for Help 

I started therapy because I was struggling with anxiety and low mood. I didn’t go in thinking porn was the issue. But in the safety of the counselling room, I finally said it out loud: “I think I have a problem with porn.” My therapist didn’t judge me. She didn’t flinch. She just listened. 

That moment was a turning point. Being able to name it — without being shamed or laughed at — helped me realise that I wasn’t broken. I wasn’t perverted. I was using something to avoid pain, and it had gotten out of hand. That’s not weakness. That’s human. 

Recovery Is About More Than Willpower 

I used to think quitting porn was just about self-control. But it’s deeper than that. I had to learn why I was using it. What feelings I was trying to escape. What I needed instead. For me, recovery has meant learning to sit with uncomfortable emotions, build real connections, and give myself compassion instead of punishment, one day at a time.  

It’s not been perfect. I’ve had slips. But I’ve also had progress. I’ve gone from feeling like porn was my only coping tool, to having choices. That’s what recovery feels like — not perfection, but freedom. 

To Anyone Who’s Struggling 

If you’re reading this and wondering if your relationship with porn might be more than just “normal,” you’re not alone. There’s no shame in asking for help. You don’t have to hit rock bottom to decide you want something different.