I was twelve when hell came home.
My stepfather, an abusive, alcoholic cop, deliberately brought pornography into our house. He didn’t stumble—it was calculated. He aimed to shatter innocence. He succeeded.
I was never a leader in church.
I didn’t carry spiritual authority or walk in light.
I carried shame, fear, and a silent darkness that grew deeper every day.
The porn didn’t just corrupt the flesh—it fractured my identity. It told me I was worthless, dirty, hideous—and it said no one would hear me if I spoke it out loud. So I buried it. I bleached it. I made prayer circles and wore Christian badges… but I was a board marked “Wounded” trying to sell a healing story.
And the truth is: I didn’t want healing. I didn’t want to die to the lies. I just wanted someone to care enough to pull me out.
I fought alone—against the shame, the night scrolls, the voices telling me I was unlovable. It nearly killed me. So let’s not mince words:
> This was spiritual warfare.
But then Jesus found me—not as a Sunday-school Savior, but as a wounded Warrior, skin scarred by the suffering I couldn’t face alone. His voice came not through bumper stickers, but through raw, biblical confrontation:
> “I know where your hurt came from… and I came to carry it. Let Me destroy it.”
He didn’t offer a Band-Aid. He offered a catalyst.
He didn’t soothe me. He seared me with conviction, with His Word, with the cross.
> “The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the devil.” — 1 John 3:8
That was war. And in the smoke of that battle, the boy died. Not erased—but crucified, along with his shame, his addiction, his hiding.
What rose wasn’t a veneer of faith—it was a watchman:
I don’t lead prayers at church
I don’t speak from pulpits
But I wield truth like a sword
Through music that confronts evil. Poetry that confesses brokenness. Forum posts that warn of deception. I do this because silence is not an option.
To anyone still in the ashes:
You don't need to be clean yet.
You don’t need to have it figured out.
You just need to bring your wound into His hands and let Him burn the darkness out.
> “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” — John 8:36
I’m Shane.
A survivor.
A watchman.
Not perfect—but free.
> “They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony.” — Revelation 12:11
My stepfather, an abusive, alcoholic cop, deliberately brought pornography into our house. He didn’t stumble—it was calculated. He aimed to shatter innocence. He succeeded.
I was never a leader in church.
I didn’t carry spiritual authority or walk in light.
I carried shame, fear, and a silent darkness that grew deeper every day.
The porn didn’t just corrupt the flesh—it fractured my identity. It told me I was worthless, dirty, hideous—and it said no one would hear me if I spoke it out loud. So I buried it. I bleached it. I made prayer circles and wore Christian badges… but I was a board marked “Wounded” trying to sell a healing story.
And the truth is: I didn’t want healing. I didn’t want to die to the lies. I just wanted someone to care enough to pull me out.
I fought alone—against the shame, the night scrolls, the voices telling me I was unlovable. It nearly killed me. So let’s not mince words:
> This was spiritual warfare.
But then Jesus found me—not as a Sunday-school Savior, but as a wounded Warrior, skin scarred by the suffering I couldn’t face alone. His voice came not through bumper stickers, but through raw, biblical confrontation:
> “I know where your hurt came from… and I came to carry it. Let Me destroy it.”
He didn’t offer a Band-Aid. He offered a catalyst.
He didn’t soothe me. He seared me with conviction, with His Word, with the cross.
> “The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the works of the devil.” — 1 John 3:8
That was war. And in the smoke of that battle, the boy died. Not erased—but crucified, along with his shame, his addiction, his hiding.
What rose wasn’t a veneer of faith—it was a watchman:
I don’t lead prayers at church
I don’t speak from pulpits
But I wield truth like a sword
Through music that confronts evil. Poetry that confesses brokenness. Forum posts that warn of deception. I do this because silence is not an option.
To anyone still in the ashes:
You don't need to be clean yet.
You don’t need to have it figured out.
You just need to bring your wound into His hands and let Him burn the darkness out.
> “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” — John 8:36
I’m Shane.
A survivor.
A watchman.
Not perfect—but free.
> “They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony.” — Revelation 12:11
