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Choosing To Not Be Bitter / Jaded In Spite Of Being Read (& Tremendously Scarred By) The Riot Act

I had the privilege to delve into volunteer work in my early 30s (20+ years ago).  This volunteer leadership position that I was appointed to was far more demanding / intimidating than I ever could have imagined it would be, and much of that challenge centered around the individuals I was tasked to serve alongside (we were all appointed simultaneously / I knew none of these older men).

About three years into my volunteered position tenure, tension between myself and another volunteer had reached a fever pitch.  As such, that tension reached its inevitable conclusion whilst having to confront him regarding some questionable funds' (organizational) usage.  And that's when I was read the riot act (thankfully I wasn't alone with this colleague when this lambasting occurred).  And when I say I was read the riot act, I'm talking expertly / with zero restraint.  I remember feeling afterwards as if I'd been fire hosed down with gasoline prior to my colleague lighting a match.  

There's a current phrase for this:  scorched earth.  As such, any semblance of remaining relationship was completely burned up after this 10–15-minute deluge of spite.

-------------------------

A few years back, I surprisingly encountered my former volunteer colleague.  We eventually spoke politely (as subsequent encounters occurred), and I was hopeful for some sort of potential reconciliation.  Choosing to not be jaded / bitter was the best position to take. 

Unfortunately, today, I'm again having to face down this same man due to me, once again, stepping up to volunteer (identical organization).  He's already made it very clear that the calendared rendezvous itself is a huge waste of his time / energy.  

Thankfully, once again, I won't be alone during this juncture.

-------------------------

What's clear to me as I head into this is the following:  This man is allergic to Rob and likely always will be.  And there's nothing I can do about that.

Therefore, I must minimize as much as possible during this meeting.  How?

I'm so grateful to be serving today alongside some excellent co-volunteers who're supportive and not at all naive / easily swayed (they've each been around the block).  Ultimately, my plan is less of Rob and more of them.

But my secret weapon is to remain hopeful about this situation.  And it is a situation.  I truly know nothing about the inner workings of this man and do not pretend to.  That being said, I'm older / wiser.  And though scars remain, my dignity is intact.  And that's what's most important to me.  

Some relationships barrel towards ending badly.  Very, very badly.  Nonetheless, as a Christian, in particular, be mindful of the approach you choose to take therein.  You have a witness to first & foremost protect.    

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The Piano 

 

Disclaimer: All thoughts / ideas / words that appear below are the sole thoughts / writings of the author and were in no way AI generated. Images appearing in this post were created by the author using an AI image generator for the sole purpose of providing illustrations.

Fermata, Legato, Staccato, Slur, Forte, Fortissimo, Pianissimo, Diminished, Whole Note, Quarter Note, ¾ Time…

These were terms I had not heard in over thirty years; in fact, some of them were terms that I had never encountered before. They were all new, yet so familiar. It was a part of me I had never known existed, yet had been there all along. It was a friend waiting in the shadows; it was a connection waiting to be restored. It was a missing puzzle piece; it was a lost part of me. It was like a prodigal returning home. It was my piano.  

I have always thought that my childhood could basically be defined in three stages. Beginning, middle, and end. Because of the nature of my dad’s career(s) while growing up, there was not a lot of continuity or consistency in my childhood at all. 

In some ways, there was consistency, as I had both of my parents as stable figures in my life while growing up. In other ways, the constant moves, changing of schools, leaving friends behind, and learning not to ever get close to people created a huge disconnect in my life. It might not sound like a huge deal to some people, but one of the accomplishments in my adult life that I am the most proud of is that I have been able to obtain stability, to live in one town (nearly 18 years now) for my entire married life. My son has been able to grow up in this town, go to the same church in the same school that he has been in since he was little, and have the same friends all his life.

When I was about seven or eight, my parents wanted me to start playing the piano, so I had a really sweet older lady named Mrs. Barbara who began to teach me piano. I can still faintly remember going out to Mrs. Barbara's house in the country and enduring those weekly lessons. I don't remember much about my practice in those early years, but I do remember that I did not practice that much because my parents were very lackadaisical in making sure that I was consistent in my practice. Those lessons lasted for about a year and a half until we had to move again and I had to leave Mrs. Barbara and my piano behind.

As some of you know, I was diagnosed with a rather severe hearing loss early in my childhood. It stabilized, and the doctors thought that it would remain consistent with the rest of my life. They thought that what I had at that point would be what I continued to have into my adult years. Undetected by my parents, it slowly started to diminish even more after I turned 10 years of age.

When I was nine years old, we moved, and for the next four or five years, life was filled with moves, job inconsistencies on my dad's part, and uncertainty about where we would even live. I always missed the piano, and secretly longed to play it but felt really discouraged and so I never picked it up after leaving Mrs. Barbara behind.

When I was 13, in the summer of 1994, we moved for what would be the last time during my grade and secondary school years. This was a time filled with much angst; in addition to the normal teenage angst, there was the added factor of moving to an entirely new city, nearly 1 ½ hours from where I’d lived for the past 5 years. It was a place where I knew no one, and had no desire to be. I won’t go into much detail about those years in this blog, because that’s not really the point of this post, and it’s still really difficult for me to think about and talk about even 30 years after the fact.

The pianist at our church was an incredibly talented lady named Mrs. Jackie. To this day, I still have not heard anyone that could play with the distinct style and talent that she processed. Sure, I have heard a number of incredibly talented pianists through the years, but Mrs. Jackie’s sound was unique. Just like I can close my eyes and tell you exactly when Floyd Cramer starts playing, I could tell you exactly when “Mama Jackie” (as we called her) would start playing. Her sound was that unique and beautiful. She was incredibly gifted in that she played by ear, but also knew how to sight read music very proficiently. In addition to being a church pianist, she was a banker by day, and a piano teacher by night. When  I was 15, my parents got Mama Jackie to start teaching me on the piano once more. I picked it up very quickly again even though I hadn’t touched the piano in more than 6 years. 

Because I was battling so much inner turmoil as a teenager that I kept hidden until my thirties, I never really took my piano playing seriously (which unfortunately, carried over into lack of desire to practice). When I turned 15, my hearing started rapidly diminishing even though the doctors had, years before, told my parents that it would remain stable. When I was 17, I was facing the inability to hear the notes clearly, so much repressed anger (which led to untreated depression), and yet even more instability in my family. In addition, Mama Jackie was facing some personal challenges in her own family which meant that she had to give up teaching for a spell. All of these things created a perfect storm which meant that I had to give up piano once more. For years after that, every time I saw a piano, I was filled with equal parts remorse, anger, longing, regret, and hopelessness. For me, it wasn’t just a piano. It was a symbol of what I’d lost as a teenager, a symbol of the lost, lonely young man that I felt no one saw or understood. It was a symbol of something I felt I could never achieve. 

During my freshman year of college, my parents moved yet again. This time their move led them out of state. It’s laughably funny, but when you think of kids going off to college, you think of the kids flying the nest and branching out on their own. In my situation, it was quite the opposite. I was already in school and didn’t have it in me to move yet again. I certainly did not want to go to college in Louisiana closer to my folks. So I stayed behind and my family left me. I actually lived with Mama Jackie and her husband for about 6 months until I got my own place and caught my stride. I will forever be grateful to them for that blessing. 

During my senior year of high school, my hearing had nearly completely vanished. That was a scary and frustrating time that I’d rather not remember. When I was a sophomore in college, I had surgery to bring back some of my hearing and the next few years were filled with the challenges of not only completing college, but also simultaneously learning to hear and speak correctly again. During this time, I met my lovely wife, who has been with me ever since (22 years now). In between starting my career after college, moving to Arizona for a stint, then back to Mississippi, getting married, and settling down to raise my son, and going through graduate school not once, but two times, playing the piano was the farthest thing from my mind. Yet, subconsciously, it was the closest thing to my mind the the nearest thing to my heart. Deep down, I always had a longing to play again, but the constant fear of failure kept that from ever becoming a reality. 

A few years ago, I found an older 61 key Yamaha synthesizer from the late 1990’s, and purchased it from an older gentleman simply because it reminded me of the one I played on in my youth. Last year, the music department at the college where I work was liquidating two of their older Roland digital pianos, to replace them with newer models. I bought one for pennies on the dollar and dragged it home in the back of my buddy’s truck, much to the dismay of my wife. I bought it simply because it reminded me of the one Mama Jackie had in her piano studio.

 

I saw Mama Jackie a few times after moving away from Petal and graduating college. I kept up with her regularly on social media and via text. She was an incredible lady that touched so many lives including mine. Sadly, she experienced a good number of health issues over the last few years, even though she was my dad’s age, 71. This past February, she took a turn for the worse and unexpectedly passed away. I went to her memorial service, which required me to return to a place I said I would never go back to for the rest of my life. Hearing story after story of how Mama Jackie had touched so many lives, and hearing so much piano playing (and singing) in her honor touched something and sparked something inside of me; something that had been long dormant. 

For several years now, I have said I was going to pick up where I left off with piano all those years ago. Every year, I’ve made excuses for why I couldn’t. I’m too old. I’m too busy. I will never be good. I don’t have the time. It’s pointless…and so forth. After bringing the Roland home, I sat down and dabbled a little while playing it. The video I included at the top of this post is just an improvisation piece I recorded one Sunday morning this past February, while thinking about Mama Jackie and what she had meant to me in my life. 

Our church pianist is a retired music professor who is very proficient on the piano and the organ. She is a sweet lady who is very kind and she teaches piano in her studio, the Clinton Music Conservatory. A while back, she added me as a friend on social media, and earlier this summer, she announced that she would be starting summer lessons at her home beginning in June. On a whim, I approached her one Sunday in church and expressed my desire to resume my studies, despite the fact that I had not played the piano or opened up a piano book since Bill Clinton was in office! She agreed to teach me, and thus began the continuation of my journey in June of this year.

Today, I’m nearly 45 years old. I’m not a young man any more, and my memory is not as sharp as it used to be. I don’t have any desire to be a concert pianist, a church pianist, or the next Beethoven. In fact, I know I will never be any of those things. But I am playing again. Not for anyone, but myself. And it makes me happy. It’s my therapy. It’s like coming home. Committing 45 minutes to an hour each day of practice is a daunting task, but this time it’s different…I can’t get enough of it.  Learning piano again is like drinking water from a literal fire hydrant. It’s overwhelming. It’s like continuing to learn a foreign language you gave up speaking when you were still in high school. But it’s exhilarating, it’s invigorating, and it’s challenging me to no end. And this time it’s different. I’m an adult, and I want this like I've wanted few other things in life. I'm doing this for no one but myself. The fire hydrant continues to gush, but I’m thirsty and I’m soaking in as much as I can as fast as I can. Dr. Wilder is a good teacher, and very patient. 

For me, it’s not just a piano, and nor are these just musical notes that I'm playing. It’s the 45 year old me traveling back in time, to a place in life where I can reconnect with the teenage version of me; I needed to find him and tell him it will be OK. It’s not just a piano, it’s re-discovering what was lost. With each chord I learn and play, I'm one step closer to him. It’s reconnecting with a part of me that I have been unable to reach for so long. You’re never too old to learn or to travel back and find the younger version of yourself and learn to love him. As long as you have breath, you’re never too old. 

Today, I challenge you, much as I have challenged myself, to go back and find whatever it is that you lost in your life. To reconnect and rediscover the younger you that was lost, and for the older you to be able to tell him “It’s OK, we will continue this journey together.” I know Mama Jackie is smiling at me. Even if I never play for anyone else, that’s OK. I have all I need right in front me; just me and my piano. 

Just remember that I, oh I am always near,
You just have to reach deep into your heart
But for now, you just dry your tears, don't you ever fear
Just sit awhile and play your song in the night

Come, just sit with me awhile, for I will make you smile
As we play our songs together in the night
You just call out to me and there will be no more tears
We'll just sit here together awhile
Come, let's just sit together awhile…

(excerpt from “Songs in the Night” © Stephen Coleman)

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Flynn's Recovery Journal (Entry #10)

Struggling

I am struggling right now. Last night, my first night in a new apartment, I gave into temptation and lust and used pornography. This morning I am feeling shame, guilt, and a deep sense of inadequacy. Tomorrow, I start a new job. Feeling like this is not the ideal to go into something so important. It is not how I “should” feel or am supposed to.

Today, I admit this reality to myself and others – instead of trying to compensate for or coverup the shame by focusing on other areas or tasks in my life. By deflecting. I need to lay this down at the Lord’s feet, accept where I am, and ask Him to help me do what I cannot do for myself.

I’m now headed out for the day. It has been a challenge to even find the right words for this entry. Facing people seems daunting right now.

Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

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Flynn's Recovery Journal (Entry 8 & 9)

(Entry #8)

Numbness – Apathy – Perseverance

Last night I relapsed, yet again. I acknowledge the steps I have taken up to this point to cut off access to explicit material, but in the back of my head, whether true or false, I believe I have known I would always find a way to get to porn. Today I am discouraged and feel defeated. As the title of this entry reads, my headspace is a mixture of numbness and apathy. With conviction, I feel what I am doing is wrong during and after self-pleasuring to porn, but at the same time, I feel like I cannot manage to live without it.

This is where I am at today. Long ago I heard the analogy that life is like a major highway with many lanes. Sometimes some lanes will be clogged and progress will be slow, and at the same time other lanes might have traffic humming along. I think this is an apt description of where I at least feel I am at. I am making progress and being diligent in regard to my new job and the move to a new place. But my recovery seems like it is at a standstill. In this circumstance, perseverance seems to me to be not losing faith that this lane will eventually open up.

(Entry #9)

Frustration and Anger

This post on the surface does not seem to me to be recovery related. But, in giving it some more thought, really everything in life is recovery related in at least some tangential way.

Today I have ran into some bumps with onboarding for my new job and securing a new place to live. I genuinely feel both were not the result of a mistake on my end, but I believe I have responded poorly to their popping up. I quickly grew frustrated, even angry, at what I perceived to be someone’s error causing me an issue or annoyance. A response from me was time-sensitive, and multi-tasking has never been my strong suit. I did not heed the wise words of the great basketball (and life) coach John Wooden: “Be quick, but don’t hurry.”

In these moments in the future, I hope I can remember that the grace God displays towards me for my faults is infinitely more than any I can share with another person in one given instance.

The issues are not fully resolved as of now, so I might get the opportunity to put this principle into practice. I pray I do if that is the case.

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Flynn's Recovery Journal (Entry #7)

Restlessness 

As long as I can remember, I have been a person with an abundance of nervous energy. It manifests in various ways depending on the circumstances. During conversation with someone I don’t know very well, I might smile and nod excessively. When I’m anticipating a call or an important meeting/task, I likely will go to town on making sure my immediate surroundings are neat and orderly. I do not view this trait as a character defect but rather as a personality trait that I try to be aware of and address when overly activated. (At one point in my life, I was crippled by OCD. While interrelated, these anxious “ticks” I view as distinct.) 

I have never been one to be able to sit still, and the advent of the smart phone and the intertwining of our lives with technology has only exacerbated this in my life. This is well and good when there are things to get done and as a preventative measure against laziness, but what about when I have put in a long day’s work and need to allow my body and mind to rest and recharge? 

For so long, I have passed up these opportunities for true rest because of my craving of stimulation. In addition to the physiological aspect of my struggle with porn (the belief I have cultivated that I need it to temper my sex drive at a given time), I think this part of me is also a significant contributor. 

A newspaper headline I saw months ago read, “When You’re Bored, Pay Attention,” and too often I haven’t been able to sit with myself and my thoughts. My automatic action in such moments (when I am alone, and especially just before going to sleep) is to retreat to the bathroom and self-pleasure. In these next weeks of high volume and quick turnaround as I move to Washington, DC for work, I hope to further recognize that my relationship with and dependence on porn is a lot more than sexual. That may be the primary driver of my initial attraction to it, but like most things, following through and making a habit does not have a singular cause. 

Next time I am presented with time to myself, my goal is to use it to deepen my understanding of myself through journaling here rather than languish in shame in God knows where.

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-lina (The Science of Being)

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Don’t Make Friends with Doubt | Desiring God

Is A Loved One / Friend / Professional Colleague Attempting To Drive A Wedge Between You & A Third Relational Leg (Parent / Common Friend / Professional Colleague or Bossman)? Read On.

Firstly, what is a relational wedge?  

It's an intentional (tangential) relational sabotaging technique used by individuals who feel a grievance has occurred between them and someone they're close to.  In tandem, these individuals often feel intensely justified to drive said wedge, but more often than not, their justification is only rooted in overwhelming negative feelings towards the griever (inflictor of emotional pain).  

But what's unique about wedges is that by definition, there must be at least three closely relationed individuals involved.

1.  The party who experienced the grievance

2.  The griever

[INSERT (POTENTIAL) WEDGE HERE]

3.  The friend / parent / coworker, etc. of both party 1 & 2. 

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What's unusual about some relational wedges is they're actually driven (attempted) forth between child & parent (via the opposing parent).  Why make the effort to do this?  Especially considering the baked-in longevity (stickiness tied to all familial relations) therein.  Nonetheless, let's say the parents are divorced, and now living separately.  And let's assume the divorce didn't occur amiably (as if any truly do).  Divorcee #1 can undoubtedly feel obliged / justified to drive a wedge between the child(ren) and divorcee #2, but just because it feels correct to follow through doesn't mean it's the smartest move long-term.

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A quick (decades old) story:

My first (large-scale, by MS standards) architecture firm job saw me hired on in '96 (by one of the four owners) who just happened to have - somewhat recently - remarried (to one of his employees / my now colleague).  His new honey was almost a decade older than he, and this woman (also a divorcee) had quite the chip on her shoulder (woman scorned...).  And to top that off, she was simply intimidating to boot (physically large / virago - professionally & otherwise).  

This woman is who first introduced me to the "art of driving wedges" within a vocational setting.  As such, as I became more comfortable with my role as an intern, she actively sought to weaken my professional / personal relationship with her husband via wedge driving.  Some of this was subtle but as my tenure increased, it only became more pronounced, especially considering how willing her husband (my boss) was to entertain her drivel.  Nonetheless, I lost more and more respect for both parties as the expected emotional exhaustion mounted.

As I'm sure you realize, I had no clue what I would be stepping into when I took this internship position.  All I knew was I needed employment (to serve as advancement towards eventually sitting for the Architectural Registration Exam).  But, man oh man, did I ever experience so much more.  All thanks to my boss's bed partner.  It was truly soap opera-like.  Yet, I'm so thankful to have walked through this young man experience.  Trial by fire, if you know what I mean.

A quick (much more recent) story (that went down a few years prior to the COVID-19 pandemic):

After coming alongside a newcomer (in-person Samson meeting attendee) that had been ushered / invited in by an old friend, this clinically depressed young man did such the unexpected by effectively driving a wedge between me and two other Samson brothers (+/-18 months into our friendship).  Keep in mind that I was considerably older than these guys.  Hence, their stage of life was so very different than my own.  But too, #1 wasn't from Mississippi, and as such, made it very clear how loathed he was as a "temporary resident".  

As such, I believe I became (to him) sort of a harbinger of all things Mississippi (immediately following my perceived grievance towards him).  As such, I believe, this further motivated him to drive that wedge as deep as he possibly could.

And as a result, just a short year later, that wedge had successfully metastasized into deep seated paranoia regarding Rob.  From there, the other longstanding Samson friendship imploded unexpectedly (yet spectacularly). 

Who would have imagined something like this happening within the auspices of Samson Society? 

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Once wedges are driven / established and the emotional / relational fallout occurs (as a result), you have a choice to make.

A.  Fight for the relationship's (between all THREE parties) "recalibration" ("equalization").  

B.  Politely walk away from the other two parties (as if no such wedge driving had occurred).

If you choose A, you're going to have to successfully bring all everyone together in order for you to insist on a "clearing of the air".  Sometimes this is impossible.  But, if it is, and you're successful in doing so, this can become a heated / passionate discussion that's likely going to deeply impact the standing (future trustworthiness) of #1 (the wedge driver) in light of the relationship's future.  Nevertheless, reconciliation is always a possibility, but especially so within Christian circles.

If you choose B, you're going to need to forgive these folks quickly, completely and quietly whilst moving on.  Why?  There's a good chance you'll bump into these (it's a small world) down the road.  In other words, cut your losses and exit stage left.  

Personally, I've done both and each is hard.  Mostly because you're the victim, therefore not only are you hurting as such but from there, you're saddled with following through with one of these two not at all easy relational choices (which only adds to the pain).

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Lastly, if you dear reader are or have found yourself as a #1 (wedge driver), give yourself some slack.  Relationships are filled with heady emotions.  Plus, talk is cheap.  Those two combined with our baked-in sin nature can make wedge driving (at times) almost impossible to revengefully / deceitfully resist.  Believe me, I speak from experience.

Flynn's Recovery Journal (Entry #4)

Sunday, June 1, 2025 (Entry #4)

Trust the process, keep moving forward

Last night I again delved into the sewer of pornography. This is the first time in a long time I have used this material on consecutive nights. A positive to take away from that: I did not binge the first night and neither the second night. A negative: I still feel the shame and sting of my choices despite not feeling as repulsed by the thought of porn as I usually would after getting off to it.

Speaking of that, I need to do a better job of describing what I am thinking, feeling, and doing during these instances of relapse. Here is my attempt.

- Before (dark night of the soul): It is almost second nature for my mind to go to the opportunity I have to watch porn and masturbate when I find myself home by myself. After dinner and a movie with my parents (which I did to prevent such an opportunity from arising), I got home and my brother was not back from his friend’s graduation party yet. Watching TV and even getting in bed to fall asleep proved futile. I kept checking his location on my laptop, and with the idea that last night might be my best chance for a few days, I took the plunge into the ditch.

- During (giving in & letting go): Deactivating my laptop’s Covenant Eyes blocking software, and with an image of the performer I was lusting after in my head, I went to Google. Dirty blonde/brownish hair, “normal” body features (breasts, buttocks, etc.), but very attractive, this woman fit perfectly my arousal archetype. Important for me as well though is the male performer she is acting with. For me to achieve the level of pleasure my loosed sexuality desires, I have to be able to feel comparable to the man. Whether I look like him in his current state or he is in a shape that would be my ideal, my intention is always to be living vicariously through him.

I would describe the material I am looking at while self-pleasuring to be “realistic,” relative to pornography. There is usually a level of physical attraction between the two actors that manifests in kissing/foreplay before they engage in intercourse. When they do so, I seem to be particularly stimulated by sex acts that are as visually pleasurable as possible for me. This means “positions” and angles that provide the most visibility of the performers’, specifically the woman’s, buttocks and/or breasts.

Often times, when I am in search of porn and a scene that I find pleasurable enough, the webpages I am visiting are inundated with ads that depict hardcore and deviant sexual acts. Despite my relative aversion to such depictions (I have not intentionally clicked one of the links in hopes of further exploring their content to date), this has obviously not stopped me from seeking out porn. And it has not stopped the progression of the porn I seek out from being more and more explicit: scenes with three people, scenes in different environments than the bedroom, scenes involving anal sex, scenes that are just degrading in general. To be honest, it at times scares me, what I am watching or unintentionally see. I sometimes wonder if my porn use has left me with trauma or lack of empathy for individuals I interact with in real life.

The fear, I believe strongly, is only worsened by my OCD and brain’s overall intolerance of uncertainty. I want to know for sure I will never behave improperly, say, during sex with my wife, or worse, ultimately engage in some of the acts in these scenes. The truth is, I don’t know for sure. But my hope is by continuing to show up and keep fighting, in the vein of journaling, reaching out for help with my family and friends, attending meetings, confessing to and confiding in my accountability, I can grow in confidence of my self-control and ability to experience pleasure, whether self- or sexual, in a healthy, non-lustful manner.

- Aloneness: After orgasm, I am invariably left in a state of shame, tiredness, and even times despair. I always shower and go to bed – or take a nap if during the day. It is almost impossible, I feel in the moment, to face people and my loved ones after doing something that I know and believe is very wrong. The next day, I ensure my devices are secured again and try to do something productive or charitable, whether it be completing a school assignment or donating a few dollars to a non-profit I receive email from. This practice puts me on the path to feeling better about myself, before the vicious cycle starts again in a day or so.

Flynn's Recovery Journal (Entry #1)

Wednesday, May 28, 2025 (Entry #1)

Flynn's Story with Porn

I cannot recall exactly the first time I saw pornography, but I do know a moment early in my life that sticks out to me that involves it.

It was me, my younger brother Jasper, and our close friend Ryan upstairs at our old house. I believe it was a weekend night, and we had a computer up there. I don’t know why or how, but I proceeded to type in an explicit website and explore it with them. From what I can remember, Ryan and I, around 11 years old, and Jasper, around 8 years old, stared in awe at the naked bodies and graphic acts being depicted on the screen. After a few minutes, likely upon hearing my parents downstairs, I remember leaving the site. As we looked at it and afterwards, I remember feeling that what I was doing and did was wrong. Looking back now, I feel tremendous remorse for exposing my little brother and friend to that site and what it contained. I do not know if it what was the first time I viewed pornography, but it certainly carried with it a lot of shame and guilt. Sadly, I still frequently experience those emotions today. I still engage pornography and masturbate. I find myself alone and isolated and filled with regret and sorrow after having committed these actions. I find myself yearning to be free of the allure of pornography and able to see the beauty of people as they are, the way God sees them.

Experience with porn

- Very often, when porn becomes attractive to me (usually only days after a fall) again, the fantasy I am picturing in my head is far different than the videos I end up watching on the screen. In my head, while lustful, it is less detailed (more sensual than sexual). In reality, I end up binging on 1-2 hours of increasingly graphic material.

- Porn offers me a “relief” from the burden and stressors of daily life. The actors and actresses always accept me and I never have to compromise or risk embarrassment.

- As someone who is constantly curious, porn provides me with novelty and adventure. True or false, I have come to believe that others do not see me as interesting or worthy of deeper examination (or perhaps I am too insecure to let them?), so porn and masturbation give me a means to explore and experiment with my sexuality.

- When I am watching porn and masturbating, I feel free from the confines and rigidity of morals and acceptable social behavior.

- Porn puts me in a position of power and gives me the autonomy to relinquish it.

Why do I think I watch porn?

In a lot of ways, because I have been using it for so long, it is the only way I know how to somewhat satiate my sex drive on a given day.

It is alluring for me to see people, usually very physically attractive people, behave in a way so freewheeling and with self-abandon. I believe, rightly or wrongly, this can never be me in real life, so watching others do so is the next best thing.

I do not have great self-confidence when it comes to intimacy or even talking deeply with members of the opposite sex. The male performers on the contrary exhibit it in spades. The visceral nature and immersion of porn videos these days allows me to try to live vicariously through them.

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The Recovery Junkie

It's a fact that there're certain men in Samson Society who're only present to appease a spouse / girlfriend, but too, in some of the most unusual (but perhaps not sooooo unusual) scenarios, they're men here as recovery junkies (& then, of course, there's everyone else).  And it's important to know that any of these participation motivators may just imbue some form (if not an awful lot) of recovery within these men which is no doubt a very good thing.  In other words, who cares what the motivator ultimately is? 

I do. 

Years ago, I posted regarding an influential Samson Society newcomer (therapist) who often made (announcing publicly) recovery men's groups analogous to church.  Well, this ain't no church, but for those who force it into that distortion, I'm of the opinion they're too sort of a form of recovery junkie (keep in mind that recovery is medicine NOT booze).

I believe recovery junkies (again, who're not therapists supporting said ministry) typically are / were serial fornicaters / adulterers.  A lot of these men have filed through numerous sexual partners and have either come out the other side a regretful man or are simply playing everyone a fool.  Why is this an important identifier?  An outrageously high number of sex partners equates to two possible motivators.  Either they're a nymphomaniac which isn't at all likely, or they're rifling through folks like one would any other plebeian conquest (guilt-free).  Callousness grows out of the latter.  And I find that recovery junkies can be - to one degree or another - as such. 

What's almost impossible to do well is spot one of these recovery junkies within Samson Society.  And besides, what's to gain by doing so?  But, if you're in a recovery ministry long enough, you'll most definitely suspect them.  Hence, it's interesting to me to honor their inevitable presence with a few descriptors.

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Perhaps it's due to the quantity / platitudes of illicit behavior that sets these recovery junkies up.  Perhaps reaching that plateau literally positions recovery itself as their next "mistress" (I can't take credit for this analogy).  

To circle back to what I mentioned earlier, the most tragic aspect of certain (NOT ALL) recovery junkies is how little recovery actually occurs within their individual lives.  This being in light of their raw dedication to said recovery ministry (attending meetings, retreats, etc.).  

I listened to a portion of a podcast earlier this week that featured what I suspect was some version of a recovery junkie.  In the end, it was his wife who seemingly challenged her husband (twice married to her) therein, and from there, she left (again).  Taking their unique tale into account (that's all one-sided hearsay via said podcast), perhaps they were both - at one time - recovery junkies (who were also making $$$ as a result).

To go back to the church analogy, I can tell you - for a fact - that church pews typically aren't being filled by divorcees.  And the reason for that is because those of us who've never been divorced don't want them there.  This quagmire can set up recovery to become far more to these folks than it was ever meant to be.

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There's "fun" to be had in Samson Society.  That's for sure, but if you're not of the opinion that said involvement within this ministry doesn't ultimately qualify you as a P-E-R-V-E-R-T (with all manner of gravity attached to that word), you may just be moving towards or are a full-blown recovery junkie.  

In closing, what's perhaps a little bit dangerous about these recovery junkies is how influential they potentially can be.  It's important to remember that people are sheep and sheep are low intelligence and very easy influenced.  In line with that is how often sheep look for guidance amongst those who're passionate, compelling (even if their passioned / compelled regarding a distortion) & dedicated. 

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I'll leave you with some bullet points to consider whilst moving through this ministry, in light of you too inevitably rubbing shoulders with some recovery junkies.

-  Over time, illicit behavior definitely becomes easier to admit to (story).  The more you spill your guts, the less messy it seems.  But, when Samson guys hint at a certain slyness to their past travails, know this:  Recovery junkies aren't 100% in recovery for recovery itself.  As such, the gravitas of one's past sin doesn't necessarily ring true with them (as one might expect).

-  Many recovery junkies make no effort to disguise their draw towards the spotlight (of which thankfully there're few within Samson Society), and yes, some recovery junkies will abandon Samson Society fairly quickly because there're so few means to be the center of attention / recognized. 

-  Recovery junkies are quick to leave the "chaff" behind in disgust.  What I'm insinuating here is they're loathed to come alongside "the least of these" (mentally ill, minority, overall ugly ducklings) who just happen to be Samson brothers.

-  Many recovery junkies rarely shut up.  For these, talking incessantly is their modus operandi, for they love to hear themselves twaddle.

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"The No Bull Briefing" - May 2025 Samson Society Newsletter

The No Bull Briefing The Monthly Newsletter of the Samson Society May 2025

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The Captain's Log: The Culture Behind the Fall-It's Time We Talk About Character Dear Brothers, In a recent Facebook post, Chuck DeGroat lamented about another fallen pastor, another scandal, another cycle of confession, sabbatical, and eventual re-emergence — often rebranded with a book or a new platform centered on redemption. And Chuck’s right: it’s time we talk not just about consequences, but about character. And to do that, we have to examine the culture we’ve all participated in, a culture that elevates pastors to a pedestal they were never meant to stand on. There’s an unspoken (and sometimes very spoken) assumption that the man behind the pulpit is holier, closer to God, more sanctified, less susceptible to the same struggles the rest of us face. We often treat pastors as though their seminary training somehow immunized them from sexual temptation, compulsive behaviors, or the ache of loneliness. And tragically, many pastors absorb this pressure too. They come to believe that to be seen as trustworthy spiritual leaders, they must hide their own humanity. This creates a dangerous silence, particularly around issues of sex and sexuality. When we expect leaders to perform holiness rather than embody wholeness, we drive them into hiding. We strip them of the permission to be real. And in that dark corner of secrecy and shame, isolation grows, and with it, the very behaviors we fear most. But what if we created something different? What if the pastor on the stage was no longer elevated above the congregation, but recognized as one of us, fully human, fallible, with both shadows and light? What if churches became places where empathy and curiosity replaced judgment and fear? The culture of silence can only survive when we refuse to look each other in the eye and tell the truth. This doesn’t mean that consequences disappear. When power is involved consent becomes complicated. Boundaries must exist. People must be protected. The harm done by pastors in positions of power is real, and accountability must always accompany grace. We must hold the tension: all have sinned and fall short, and some sins carry communal consequences that must be honored for the sake of justice and healing. But we also must face the system that breeds this fear. The pastor afraid that telling the truth about their compulsive sexual behavior will cost them their livelihood is not unjustified; in many churches, confession does mean exile. And so we’ve created a system where silence is rewarded, and honesty is punished. That fear drives pastors deeper into their compulsions, and the cycle continues. The answer is not more scripture memorization or longer hours in prayer closets. It is not flogging or performative repentance. It is the long, grueling, grace-filled work of telling the truth, about trauma, about coping, about shame, about unmet needs, about what it feels like to be a man (or woman) in ministry trying to be enough. And it is the work of a congregation willing to listen without flinching. When pastors can stand up and say, “Me too. I know what it's like to struggle. I’m not better than you. I’m with you.” then we will begin to see real healing. The fall won't be so far when they’re not standing on a platform built on illusion. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll stop falling altogether, because they’ll no longer have to pretend they’re not human. I think Chuck DeGroat and others like Dr. Andrew J. Bauman would agree.

Upcoming Events

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