I was scared to walk in. My hands shook. My voice did too. But I went.
I’m talking about Porn Addicts Anonymous. I went because I was tired of hiding and tired of feeling stuck. If you’re curious, the fellowship’s own official website lists meeting times and a concise overview of their approach.
I wanted a group that got it, not a lecture. You know what? I found people who knew my mess. They didn’t flinch.
For a fuller breakdown of what to expect at your first PAA gathering, you can skim my expanded review of the program here.
That first meeting feeling
My first meeting was on a Tuesday, 7 p.m., in a church basement that smelled like coffee and old books. Folding chairs. A paper sign on the door. I heard, “We’re glad you’re here.” I sat in the back, near the exit, just in case.
We read a short welcome and some guidelines. First names only. No cross-talk while someone shares. I said, “I’m Kayla, and I’m a porn addict.” My heart was loud in my ears. But no one stared. A lady across the room nodded like she knew my story even if I didn’t say much.
I also tried a Zoom meeting the next day. Camera off at first. I listened to folks talk about urges, slips, and hope. The format felt calm. Predictable. For me, that was huge.
What actually helped me
- A sponsor who texted back fast. Mine told me, “Text me before, not after.” One night at 10:43 p.m., I wanted to act out. I typed, “I want to use.” She replied, “HALT. Are you Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired?” I ate a cheese stick, took a short walk, and the wave passed. Simple, not magic. But it worked.
- The phone list. I didn’t think I’d use it. I did. On a Saturday, I called a woman named M. I said nothing smart. Just, “I’m not okay.” She told me to step outside and feel my feet on the ground. Weird, but it snapped me out of my head.
- Daily check-ins. I sent a one-line text each morning: “Plan: gym after work, no phone in bedroom, lights out by 11.” At night: “Kept plan. Craving at lunch. Walked.” It kept me honest.
- Clear rules for tech. We made a “safe tech” plan. No phone in bed. No private browsing. Screen Time limits. I put BlockSite on my laptop. On hard days, I parked my phone in the kitchen and used a $20 alarm clock. I felt silly. I also slept.
- The steps, but very simple. I wrote a list of triggers: boredom, late nights, scrolling. Then I wrote swaps: call someone, stretch, water, short prayer, or a silly dance break. Not cute—just real.
- A little ritual. When I hit 30 days, someone handed me a small chip. I cried. Not because of the coin. Because I had 30 days I didn’t think I could have.
What didn’t click for me
Not everything fit.
- Some meetings were mostly men. As a woman, I felt like a rare bird. I found a mixed group and a women’s meeting. That fixed it, but it took time.
- A few shares used words that felt heavy or too detailed. I asked for “gentle shares.” Most people got it. A couple didn’t. I learned to pick meetings that felt safe for me.
- The “Higher Power” talk made me tense at first. I was scared it meant one way to believe. But people said, “Use what works. Nature. The group. Your own idea.” I chose “the group” for a while. That helped.
- The pace can be slow. Change takes time. I wanted a quick fix. This is not that.
Little tools that made a big difference
- Covenant Eyes or a simple DNS block. I used Lockdown mode on my router. For anyone wanting built-in accountability, the team behind Covenant Eyes offers software that emails a weekly report to a trusted ally.
- A boredom kit on my desk: fidget ring, sticky notes, a stress ball, peppermint gum. Sounds like a kid, right? But my hands needed something to do.
- A “two-minute rule.” If an urge hits, I set a timer for two minutes and do literally anything else. Drink water. Ten push-ups. Wash one plate. Most urges loosen by then.
- Sunday tech clean-up. I delete apps that got sneaky. I reset limits. I plan my week. Simple hygiene for my brain.
Money, time, and how to show up
Meetings were free. They passed a basket. I gave a dollar or two when I could. Most meetings ran about an hour. I liked the ones with a short reading, timed shares, then a closing. I found meetings by searching for “Porn Addicts Anonymous meetings near me” and asking my doctor for local resources. Zoom made it easy when I felt shy.
For readers in Southern California, this step-by-step guide to getting help for porn addiction in Long Beach lays out local meeting times and counselors.
For anyone trying to understand the wider landscape of online adult content and make safer choices, I found the plain-spoken breakdowns on Wild Porn Reviews surprisingly eye-opening. To see a live example of those engagement tactics in action, you might look at the swipe-based hookup site JustBang — exploring it with a critical eye can help you recognize how instant-reward features can fuel addictive patterns and better prepare you to set boundaries.
Similarly, if you live in or around Arkansas and notice that late-night scrolling through local personals often ramps up your urges, checking the updated classifieds for Conway at One Night Affair’s Backpage Conway page can highlight just how accessible high-trigger content really is—and the visit can double as a practical reminder of why firm digital boundaries (or blocks) might be worth setting before the next wave hits.
Who this helped, in my eyes
- Folks who like clear steps and people who check in on you.
- People who want free help and can give one hour a week, or more if needed.
- Anyone who’s tried to stop alone and keeps slipping.
Who might not love it?
- If group talk makes your skin crawl and you never want to share, it may feel rough.
- If any spiritual talk is a hard no, you might prefer a therapist-only plan or a secular peer group.
For me, I did both: PAA meetings and therapy. The combo felt sturdy, like two legs on the same stool.
If you’re leaning toward a more structured clinical route, there’s a candid rundown of porn addiction treatment options in Salt Lake City that compares inpatient, outpatient, and hybrid approaches.
A real bad day, and what I did
Work blew up. I was mad and tired. I almost slipped at 5:12 p.m. I did my tiny plan:
- Texted “RED” to my sponsor. She called.
- Put my phone in the hallway.
- Two minutes of box breathing: in 4, hold 4, out 4, hold 4.
- Opened my Step work and wrote three lines: “I feel small. I want relief. I can wait.” Then I took a short, ugly jog. Not cute. But it worked. I went to bed clean.
Pros and cons from my seat
Pros
- Real people. Real stories. No shame in the room.
- Free. Many times and places. Zoom helps.
- Simple tools that work when your brain is loud.
- Sponsors. You don’t have to white-knuckle it.
Cons
- Some rooms skew male; women’s voices can be few.
- A few shares can be too graphic for me.
- “Higher Power” talk can feel odd at first.
- It takes time. Change isn’t quick.
My take, plain and simple
Porn Addicts Anonymous didn’t fix me. It gave me a path. A phone list. A chair to sit in when my brain felt like a storm. I’ve had slips. I’ve had wins. I’ve learned to tell on my urges before they tell on me.
Would I recommend it? Yes. With care. Try three different meetings. Find a sponsor you trust. Keep what helps. Leave what doesn’t.
My score: 4 out of 5. Not perfect. Pretty helpful.
If you’re on the fence, here’s a small start: pick one meeting, one person to text, and one rule for your phone tonight. That’s enough for today. And if today is all you’ve got, that’s still a lot.