We all know the stats. Porn affects the brain. Porn is harmful to relationships. Porn fuels sex trafficking. Porn is addictive. I knew them, too. I still know them. And still, I find myself a part of the statistics. Yes, even Christians watch porn.

But get this: I’m a woman. Yes, even Christian women watch porn.

Growing up, I never thought this would be a part of my story. Raised in the church, my parents put everything in place so that this wouldn’t be a part of my story. We had open conversations from a young age about sex and healthy sexuality. There were parental controls on every  computer in our house. They even asked me relatively often if I had seen anything on the internet that I shouldn’t have or didn’t want to. They weren’t going to be upset, they said, they just wanted to know. They did everything they knew how to do and they did it well, but sin penetrates every aspect of our world. 

By the time I arrived at Calvin, pornography had been a part of my life in some shape or fashion for about seven years and still not a single person knew. Once I started to, very slowly, open up to those that were close to me, it still took me nearly three years to even use the word “pornography” to talk about my struggles. It felt dirty, and the shame that had swallowed me up stopped me from even speaking the word. 

It took me the first two years of college to admit to myself what deep down I knew to be true: I was addicted to pornography, and it was time to deal with it head-on. 

Well, there are groups for that, right? Yes, there are. If you’re a man. The Center for Counseling and Wellness currently only offers a pornography support group for men. The semester that I decided to step forward and talk about this secret struggle that had, in many ways, taken over my life, the demand amongst women wasn’t high enough to form a group. While statistics told me that I wasn’t alone, I felt siloed in my own shame. 

Over the next two years, I began to find my way out from under the shame. I began to re-take control of my own story and fight back against the loud lies that my addiction to pornography made me less than. I began to open up to those around me, each of them, in a unique and powerful way, reminding me that I was loved and valuable and worth far more than what I struggled with in secret, each of them taking steps alongside me to take back this story. This is not one of those “And then everything was easy and now I never even think about watching porn!” type of stories. It’s still a conscious decision. A hard one, some days. 

I write this for the woman who knows that to be alone in a dorm room can be dangerous. I write this for the woman who thinks she is the only one. I write this for the woman who has been told her whole life that pornography is a “boy problem.” I write this anonymously because society still says that I am not more than what I’ve struggled with, and while that in itself is absolutely maddening, this societal shame can have real, career-stifling consequences. To the woman who reads this and breathes a sigh of relief or feels anxiety rise within her, know that you are seen, loved, and not alone. Pornography is not a “boy problem” and there is power in taking ownership of your story. Shame will not win. 

Editor’s Note: Chimes has granted anonymity because of potential reputational harm to the author.