After that season of falling and getting back up, something in me began to mature. Not suddenly. Not dramatically. But quietly—like roots growing underground where nobody can see. I stopped chasing the feeling of being "free" and started choosing the work of staying free.
I realized something important: freedom isn't a moment, it's a decision you make again and again. Every single day. Sometimes every single hour.
There were days I woke up feeling strong, focused, and determined. And there were days I woke up tired, empty, and emotionally weak. On those weak days, temptation felt louder. Thoughts came faster. Memories tried to resurface. But instead of panicking, I began to respond differently. I didn't argue with temptation anymore. I redirected myself immediately.
I learned that lingering is dangerous.
Thinking is dangerous.
Entertaining is dangerous.
So I stopped negotiating with my thoughts.
When urges came, I stood up. I left my room. I put my phone down. I went to the living room. I washed my face. I breathed. Sometimes I didn't even pray long prayers—I just whispered, "Help me."
And somehow, help always came.
One thing I had to accept was that discipline doesn't feel spiritual. It feels boring. It feels uncomfortable. It feels restrictive. But discipline was the bridge between where I was and where I wanted to be.
I also stayed away from social media completely. That decision wasn't easy. At first, it felt like I was missing out. Everyone else was posting, scrolling, laughing, living. But I knew myself. I knew how quickly comparison turned into curiosity, and curiosity turned into temptation. So I chose peace over entertainment.
The more distance I created from my triggers, the quieter my mind became. My thoughts slowed down. My urges reduced. My heart felt less crowded.
I started filling my time intentionally. Reading. Writing. Sitting quietly. Doing small things with focus. I learned that idleness was one of my biggest enemies. When my mind had nothing to do, it went back to old places. So I gave it new places to go.
There were moments when I felt proud of my progress—but I kept checking my heart. Pride had tripped me before. So whenever I felt confident, I reminded myself: This is grace, not strength.
I stopped counting days. I stopped making vows. I stopped saying, "I'll never fail again."
Instead, I said, "I'll obey today."
That mindset changed everything.
Sometimes temptation still came unexpectedly. Sometimes I felt frustrated that the desire hadn't completely disappeared. But I began to understand that temptation leaving wasn't the goal—self-control was.
I noticed something else too: my relationship with God became more personal. Less transactional. I wasn't just going to Him when I wanted something. I started going to Him because I wanted Him.
I talked to Him about my fears.
About my future.
About my weaknesses.
About my shame.
And slowly, shame lost its grip.
I stopped seeing myself as "the girl who struggles with lust" and started seeing myself as "the girl who is healing." Identity matters. What you call yourself shapes how you live.
I also became more compassionate toward others. I stopped judging silently. I stopped assuming people were weak. Because I knew how easy it was to fall and how hard it was to rise quietly.
There were nights when I lay in bed, not battling urges, but reflecting. Thinking about how far I had come. Remembering how trapped I once felt. And gratitude filled my heart—not because I was perfect, but because I was progressing.
I learned that relapse doesn't mean failure. It means information. It shows you what you still need to work on. And every time I learned something new about myself, I adjusted.
I protected my environment.
I guarded my thoughts.
I chose discipline over comfort.
And slowly, obedience became less painful.
I won't lie and say everything became easy. It didn't. But it became possible. And possibility gave me hope.
That was when I knew this journey wasn't just about me anymore. One day, my story would help someone else who felt trapped, ashamed, or alone. Someone who thought there was no way back.
I wasn't fully at the finish line yet—but I was finally walking in the right direction.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't running from myself anymore.
I was becoming someone new.