Women Stuggle Too
When most people hear the words "pornography addiction," they picture a man. That assumption — deeply embedded in churches, counseling offices, and culture at large — is costing women their healing.
This episode of the Restoration Soul Care Podcast is different. We sat down with our friend Lindsay, a registered nurse with six years of recovery behind her, to have the honest conversation that most spaces refuse to. If you're a woman who has ever felt like your struggle is too shameful, too unusual, or too "unwomanly" to talk about, this one is for you.
The Data Doesn't Lie: Women Struggle Too
Before we dive into Lindsay's story, here are some numbers that might surprise you.
Research compiled by Barna Research in partnership with Pure Desire Ministries found that 40% of women ages 18 and older report viewing pornography on a more-than-occasional basis. That's not a one-time curiosity statistic — that's ongoing use. And non-Christian studies land in the same range.
Even more striking: the Journal of Behavioral Addictions found that women struggling with sexual addiction are four times less likely to seek help than their male counterparts — even when they know they need it.
We believe those two statistics are directly connected. The reason women don't seek help is the same reason the problem stays hidden: shame. And shame thrives in silence.
Lindsay's Story: Growing Up Without a Safe Space
Lindsay grew up in a deeply Christian home in London, Kentucky — church every Sunday morning, Sunday evening, and Wednesday night. Christian school for most of her education. Jesus was a normal topic around the dinner table.
But sex? Absolutely not.
When Lindsay was in kindergarten, she asked her mom where babies came from. Her mom told her she'd explain when Lindsay was older. When third grade rolled around, Lindsay — being a kid who doesn't forget these things — asked again. Her mom's response was to snap, say she wasn't going to explain, and walk away.
"From that point forward," Lindsay told us, "I knew that however it was that you made babies, we are not allowed to talk about it in this household."
So she did what most curious kids do: she turned to friends on the playground, to TV shows, to movies, and eventually to the internet. What no safe adult would explain, culture was more than happy to fill in.
Her school wasn't any better. Teachers literally glued the anatomy pages of biology textbooks shut — so uncomfortable were they with even discussing reproduction in an educational setting. The unspoken lesson was clear: this topic is shameful, and you are not allowed to ask about it.
How Pornography Becomes a Coping Mechanism
Lindsay's first real exposure to sexual content came around age eight — through a conversation with a friend, not a screen. But by middle school and high school, her family dynamics had become deeply unhealthy. Anxiety and depression set in. Home didn't feel emotionally safe.
That's when pornography shifted from curiosity to something else entirely: escape.
"I started using it as a coping mechanism," Lindsay explained. "Even though I didn't recognize it as that at the time, it was a safe space to numb out and go into a different world."
This is one of the most important things we want you to hear. The framework Michael and Nick use in their coaching work describes pornography addiction not primarily as a moral failure, but as an intimacy disorder — a misdirection of God-given relational needs. You're not actually addicted to the content. You're addicted to escaping the pain of real relationships.
The enemy doesn't show up with something obviously ugly. He shows up with something that feels like relief. Something that mimics connection. Something that whispers: relationships are hard and hurtful — you can go here instead.
When the Behavior Went Outward
By age 17, Lindsay's internal world of pornography and fantasy started translating into real sexual relationships and promiscuity. Looking back, she can see the direct line between what she was absorbing through media and how she began showing up with other people.
"I already had one foot out the door," she said. "So when the opportunity came for real relationships, it didn't feel like a hesitation. It felt like freedom."
But it wasn't freedom. By 22, she was caught in what she now recognizes as sexual addiction — though she didn't have language for it at the time — and it was pulling her into a deep, dark headspace. She hated herself. She was full of shame. She kept asking, what is wrong with me?
The Turning Point: God Shows Up Uninvited
Lindsay wasn't on her knees searching for God when things changed. She was angry. Exhausted. Asking the same question again — why do I keep doing this? — when something shifted.
"Even though I wasn't really crying out to God, God met me where I was," she told us. "It was almost like a supernatural moment of clarity. I understood for the first time that the reason I kept going back to these behaviors was because that's where my identity and worth came from."
And then — not with condemnation, not with a list of rules — God reminded her of something simple: Your worth comes from being my daughter. I'm not mad at you. I'm not turning my back on you. I want you to get up and live like it.
This mirrors one of the most powerful stories in Scripture: the woman at the well in John 4. A woman with a deeply complicated sexual history, drawing water alone because the shame of being seen was too heavy to face the crowd. Jesus doesn't walk past her. He sits with her. He doesn't lead with her failures. He leads with his desire for her — I have what you're actually looking for. I am the living water.
That's the God who meets women in this struggle. Not with a checklist. With pursuit.
What Healing Actually Looks Like
Lindsay is six years into her recovery journey, and she's generous in sharing what's actually helped.
Anchoring identity in scripture. When she was at her lowest, she had a significant identity crisis — she didn't know who she was apart from how she was performing sexually. Grounding herself in what God says about her, not how she felt about herself on any given day, became a lifeline.
Prioritizing mental health. Lindsay sought out a Christian counselor early in her recovery and credits it as one of the most healing decisions she made. Having a professional walk alongside her, not just well-meaning friends, made a real difference.
Community — even when it's terrifying. This one was hardest. Vulnerability felt dangerous. She didn't want to seek out community at the beginning. But she knew God was calling her toward it anyway. Six years later, she still prioritizes having people in her corner who will walk with her through the hard stuff, not just the easy conversations.
As Lindsay put it, referencing John Mark Comer: we sin alone, but we heal together. God designed us for community, and real healing requires real people who know your real story.
For the Woman Listening Who Isn't Sure She Can Do This
If you're a woman reading this and thinking, that's my story too — but I don't know where to start, here's Lindsay's encouragement:
Tell someone. A pastor, a close friend, a parent, a counselor — someone. Shame survives in secrecy. Vulnerability breeds more vulnerability. Someone has to go first, and that someone can be you.
You are not the only one. The statistics say so, but more than the statistics — the stories say so. Women in churches, women in recovery communities, women sitting next to you in the pew. This struggle does not make you unusual. It makes you human.
You don't have to have it figured out to start. Lindsay didn't know exactly what she needed when God met her at 22. She just knew she heard something, and she started walking toward it.
You Don't Have to Do This Alone
If you're a woman who doesn't have a safe space to process any of this — whether it's talking to a pastor, a small group leader, or even a family member — Michael and Nick are connected to female coaches and clinicians who can be that safe place for you. Even if it's just figuring out the next step.
You can reach out through the form at RSCKY.com.
You can also connect with Lindsay directly:
Instagram: @LindsayJoyy
And as always — don't do this alone.