What I Looked for in Men, I Found in God
I used to believe I wasn’t good enough.
Growing up I was shy and reserved; people often compared me to my younger sister—confident, bubbly, effortlessly likable—and would ask, “Why aren’t you more like your sister?” She was never the problem, but those comparisons quietly shaped my self-esteem.
I began thinking I had to prove my worth to be loved.
The more I tried to prove myself, the more I lost who I was. My insecurities led me to seek validation in all the wrong places, especially through relationships that compromised my chastity and peace. I once got involved with a man who already had a girlfriend and later entered a “friends with benefits” setup. I thought being wanted, even temporarily, would make me feel worthy. But it only deepened my emptiness.
Eventually, I found myself trapped in pornography and masturbation—seeking comfort in fleeting pleasures that left me more broken each time. I would promise God it was the last time, yet I’d fall again into the same cycle of sin, guilt, and shame. Because pornography is often labeled a “man’s struggle,” I felt even more alone and afraid to speak up.
I wanted to be free, but I didn’t know how.
One night, in my brokenness, I cried out, “Lord, why do I always end up with the wrong men? Is there something wrong with me?” Slowly He helped me see that my problem wasn’t being unworthy, it was searching for love in places that could never give it.
That realization pierced my heart: I imagined facing the Lord one day, being accountable for how I lived my life, and I wept. In the stillness of that moment, I felt Him whisper, “It’s time. It’s not too late.”
By God’s grace I finally found the courage to go to confession. Beforehand I whispered to myself, “Lord, it’s all in Your hands now. I want to live for You.” When the priest said, “God forgives you,” I broke down in tears. It felt as if chains had fallen from my heart.
God reminded me that my worth was never defined by my sins, but by His unconditional love.
When I got home, I burned the list of sins I had confessed and said out loud, “You don’t own me anymore.” I remembered Jesus’s words: “Daughter, your faith has saved you. Go in peace.” (Mark 5:34).
In that moment, I understood redemption—not as a one-time event, but as a loving invitation to begin again.
Since then, my journey with God has been one of growth and grace. During the pandemic in 2020, I began to intentionally nurture my relationship with Him. I went on a dating fast to focus on my emotional, spiritual, and personal healing. I joined The WOMAN Movement—a faith-based community offering sisterhood, support, and hope—and through it discovered a dream: to someday start The Hilom Project, a mission to help women break free from sexual addiction and rediscover their dignity.
I thought I was fully healed, but God was still working in deeper layers of my heart. Healing, I learned, is never rushed.
In 2021 I joined Magdala as a small group participant. I was on fire for the Lord but still carried my pride, thinking I could handle temptations on my own. When I began dating again, I told myself, “God and I can handle this.” But deep down I was still craving affection and attention. I dated two men who weren’t sure about me, convincing myself it was okay to settle. But I was wrong.
I fell again into the same patterns of unchastity and emotional compromise. I cried to God, “Why do my friends seem happier than me? Don’t You see I’m trying?” I was tired, angry, and ashamed. The same cycle I thought I conquered returned full force.
By 2023, I was exhausted and hopeless. After another fall I wept for hours before the Blessed Mother, begging her to help me. I knelt before the altar, trembling with guilt. “Will God still forgive me?” In the silence I felt a gentle assurance: “Redemption is still My plan for you.”
That moment reignited my hope. I searched online, “Can God forgive me even if I commit the same sins?” My search led me to the story of Mary Magdalene. Reading about her journey—the slow, patient process of transformation—brought me to tears. I knew it was Mama Mary guiding me to see that holiness isn’t about perfection, it’s about perseverance.
I realized I had two choices: remain in shame or rise again with humility. So I returned to confession, started walking with a spiritual director, and sought out therapy. I stopped demanding perfection of myself and started celebrating progress instead. Healing, I finally understood, isn’t a straight line—it’s a daily surrender.
In 2025 I was inspired to serve as a Magdala small group moderator, walking with women who—like me—are longing for freedom. I learned holiness isn’t about never falling, it’s about rising through God’s grace.
In my healing, I realized God didn’t let any of my pain go to waste. He turned every broken piece into a beautiful part of His redemption for me.
Looking back, I can now see how every moment of failure was an invitation to return to Him. The same wounds that once filled me with shame are now the very places where His mercy shines brightest. I am no longer hiding behind guilt or fear. I have learned to embrace the slow and steady process of redemption: a journey where Jesus meets me in every weakness and leads me toward freedom.
Today, my life is far from perfect, but it’s filled with peace. I’ve learned that surrendering everything—my desires, my past, and even my plans—is where real freedom begins. For the first time I feel courageous and confident, not because of who I am, but because of who He is within me.
And here’s what I know now:
I am not alone on this journey.
I can be completely free through the grace of Jesus Christ.
Healing is not about speed, it’s about surrender.
So here I am: still learning, still striving, and still saying “yes” to God every day. I am His lowly yet deeply loved servant, redeemed and restored by His mercy. My story is not one of perfection but of perseverance; a story that testifies no sin is too great, no shame too deep, no past too broken for His love to redeem.
He is—and has always been—the answer I’ve been searching for.