Pressing my face violently into the pillow, I screamed at the top of my lungs. All the rage, shame and fear had come to a tipping point. It was time to change. It was time to beat this thing. It was time to be a man. Once again, I resolved that this would be the last time. This time was different. I was going to try harder and be better. Of course, I would eventually fail for maybe the thousandth time. And, it would bring me back to the same place again. Despair. Impending doom. A failure.
I grew up in what many would call the middle of nowhere. Binford, ND, “The Biggest Little Town,” was a whole six blocks long and filled with 200 people. My brother and I, along with other kids, would spend our summer days riding bike all over town exploring every inch. When we heard a not so regular train horn blowing, we would race to meet it and feel the ground shake as it went by.
Binford was the kind of place where the whole town would show up to a basketball game. Like many towns around there, they’d have one big summer weekend a year where there’d be a carnival of sorts, a 5K, a rodeo, a streetdance all on Saturday--oddly followed by a city-wide church service on Sunday morning in the school gym. Mom would often tell us to check in every thirty minutes, but we’d ride bike and play with our friends for hours. I’m still amazed when I go back to visit at the city’s peace and quiet. Time goes a little slower it seems.
It was a different time. It was also a childhood experience that not many have had. My parents were both teachers and would eventually both live and teach in that area for 40 years. My dad coached primarily girl’s basketball and even led them to a state championship, which was no easy feat in such a small school. My parents were very hard-working. My dad would teach and coach nine months out of the year and then work 60+ hours/week in the summer painting and shingling houses and barns.
I grew up in a trailer house, as we called it. I didn’t think it was strange, even though the ‘trailer court’ comprised of a total of four mobile homes--most of which were occupied by teachers. It was actually very convenient--half a block from church, school and the grocery store. I’m pretty sure there were times where we didn’t drive anywhere for a month.
So this was my young life, and I didn’t know much of anything else. All of that unknowingly changed one regular summer day. One of my friends had invited me over to play and he was excited to share something. I followed him upstairs, and as he dug under his parents’ bed, he pulled out a VHS tape. I knew enough to know there was a movie on it, so we went downstairs to the living room and put it in the VCR.
Miraculously, I don’t remember anything that was on that TV. What I do remember was numbly sitting and having no idea what I was looking at. I remember feeling physically sick, like I wanted to throw up. And then it was over. My friend and I took the VHS back upstairs and put it precisely the way it was under the bed. Then we went out to play like nothing happened. But, something did. It was my first exposure to pornography.
I actually didn’t even remember this story for many years. I think it traumatized me enough that I pushed it down deep and forgot about it. Through a series of events many years later, God showed me the root of where the devil got in, so to speak.
Now I don’t start with this story to gain your pity. My hope and belief is that this story will help many people not only with sex-related addictions, but also addictions of any kind. I’m not a Licensed Addictions Counselor, but I do know the Counselor Jesus spoke about with His disciples before He ascended into heaven. In fact, it’s only at the Holy Spirit’s prompting that I write this story down.
Jesus said you will be my witnesses, and I am a witness to the awesome power of God.
Hi! We're the Hoeckles.
We're a family of six living full-time in an RV. We are inviting you to join us as we live life to its fullest and empower others to do the same. Welcome to the family!