I’m Kayla. I’m not a doctor. I’m just a person who had a rough time with porn. I kept relapsing. I felt small. Tired. Numb, then wired. I promised myself, “One year. Track it. Treat it like a product test.” So I did. I tested tools, rules, and habits. Some worked. Some flopped. Here’s my real timeline and what helped.
Want another perspective? Check out this detailed week-by-week recovery timeline from another former addict—it helped me see common patterns and prepare for what was ahead.
You know what? Recovery is not neat. It’s a bit sticky. But it moves.
Before Day 1: Set the stage
I made a plan, not a wish.
- I told one friend. She was my “call me first” person.
- I installed Covenant Eyes on my laptop (more on Covenant Eyes). Freedom on my phone. I set Screen Time blocks. Harsh, but needed.
- I put my phone charger in the kitchen. Not by my bed.
- I made a short list: walk, journal, shower, tea. When urges hit, I’d pick one.
I also booked therapy with a CBT counselor. Once a week. I felt silly at first. Then I didn’t.
Week 1: The shaky start
Day 1 was loud. My brain yelled, “Just once.” I drank water. Took a quick walk. Sat in the sun. It helped a little. Not a lot. But a little counts.
- Sleep was choppy. I woke up at 2 a.m. and stared at the ceiling.
- I kept my phone in another room. It felt weird. Like I’d lost a hand.
- I wrote one page each night: What triggered me? Mostly boredom and late-night scrolling.
I ate simple food. Eggs. Oats. Soup. I know that sounds basic, but when I got hungry, I got cranky, then risky.
Weeks 2–4: Urges plus rhythm
By week 2, cravings came like waves. Short, then gone. Then back.
Real example: On Day 13, I almost broke my block. I typed a search, then stopped. My friend texted me a dumb meme at that exact time. It snapped me out of it. I laughed, then went for a 10-minute jog. Saved me that night.
- I set YouTube to restricted mode. I muted suggestive channels. The explore page? Off limits.
- I switched my phone screen to grayscale after 8 p.m. Less shine, less pull.
- I tried cold showers. It didn’t fix me, but it gave me a reset button.
Mood swings were real. I cried during a dog food ad. No joke.
Month 2–3: The first slip and the pivot
At week 7, I relapsed at a hotel. Alone, free Wi-Fi, tired. Classic setup. I felt gross right after. Old me would hide. New me sent a simple text: “I slipped. I’m safe.” My friend called. “Walk to the lobby,” she said. I did. I drank mint tea under a bright lamp. That small move helped me break the spiral.
I added two rules:
- No TV or phone in bed. Bed is for sleep and reading old paper books.
- If I’m alone in a hotel, I sit near the window. Daylight keeps me honest.
Another unexpected pitfall came from location-based classified sites; halfway through that hotel relapse I almost clicked into a city-specific backpage clone out of sheer curiosity. If you’ve ever wondered how enticing those listings can look, peek at Backpage Danville—understanding the layout and language beforehand can make it easier to pre-emptively block or avoid them when you’re vulnerable.
Therapy note: We talked about “urge surfing.” It’s like riding out a wave. It peaks. It falls. You don’t have to fight it; you can float and wait.
Month 4–6: More stable, but sneaky triggers
This phase felt calmer. Not easy. Just calmer.
- I took a Saturday morning run, same route, every week. Routine is boring. Boring is safe.
- I tried to remove one blocker (Freedom) to “test myself.” Bad idea. I reinstalled it the same day. Pride is sneaky.
- I cut caffeine after 2 p.m. Late coffee made my brain buzz at night, which led to scrolling.
One digital pothole I kept tripping over in this period was casual Instagram browsing; even “harmless” explore-page surfing can flood your feed with suggestive shots. For a clearer picture of how fast seemingly innocent follows can turn into a soft-core rabbit hole, check out this in-depth exploration of Instagram nudes — it pulls back the curtain on the platform’s hidden spicy side and offers pointers for keeping your scroll safe.
Real example: At month 5, a stressful work email hit at 9:30 p.m. I wanted a quick escape. Instead, I did 20 slow push-ups and washed dishes by hand. Not cool or fancy, but the urge dropped from a 9 to a 3.
Month 7–9: Boredom and boundaries
Here’s the thing—once the drama faded, boredom showed up. Big time.
- I joined a Saturday bakery class. I made sourdough with a cranky starter named “Bean.” Baking took time and used my hands. Hard to watch porn with sticky dough on your fingers.
- I set a content rule: no “sexy” thumbnails, no “try not to look” clips. If it smells like bait, it is bait.
- I started dating again. I told one person the truth, gently. “I’m rebuilding healthy habits.” Honest, short, and kind.
SMART Recovery meetings helped too. Hearing other people use simple tools made me feel less odd.
Month 10–12: Fewer spikes, more life
By month 10, urges showed up like random pop-ups. Quick and small. I could see them, name them, and let them pass.
- I had one rough night after a family fight. I took a long walk. I called my friend. I cried a bit. Then I slept.
- Morning energy felt steadier. Not a buzz, just steady.
- I cleaned my room. I tossed old tech junk. Less clutter, less noise.
On my one-year mark, I bought new sheets. Clean start, clean sheets. Small ritual, big meaning.
Tools I used (and how they actually felt)
- Covenant Eyes: Good for accountability. The check-ins kept me honest. Sometimes annoying, which is the point.
- Freedom app: Blocks sites and apps on a schedule. Set it and stop thinking.
- Screen Time (iPhone): App limits. I used a hard passcode and gave it to my friend.
- Brainbuddy: Daily check-ins and simple lessons. Worked best for the first 90 days. (Brainbuddy app)
- Therapy (CBT): Helped me spot patterns. “Trigger -> Thought -> Action.” Simple map, big help.
- SMART Recovery: Skills over shame. I liked the tools, like urge surfing and cost/benefit notes.
One side note: While researching, I came across Wild Porn Reviews, whose deep-dive breakdowns of popular porn sites opened my eyes to the persuasive design tricks that kept me scrolling.
What didn’t help:
- White-knuckle willpower at 11 p.m. My brain beat me every time.
- “I can handle it now” thinking. That’s how I slipped.
- Endless scrolling. Even if it wasn’t porn, it warmed up the same path.
The quick timeline, if you like checklists
- Week 1: Messy sleep. Loud cravings. Keep phone far away. Write one page a day.
- Weeks 2–4: Waves of urges. Add grayscale and blocks. Move your body a little.
- Months 2–3: Expect a slip or scare. Text a trusted person fast. Adjust rules.
- Months 4–6: More stable. Keep blocks on. Set a steady routine.
- Months 7–9: Watch boredom. Add a hobby that uses your hands.
- Months 10–12: Fewer spikes. Clean up your space. Mark the win with a small ritual.
Real-life triggers I learned to spot
- Late nights plus loneliness
- Travel and hotel rooms
- Stress from work, then doom scrolling
- Thirst and hunger (yes, really)
- “I deserve a reward” mood
I now ask, “Am I hungry, angry, lonely, or tired?” If yes, I fix that first.
Slip vs. spiral: How I paused the fall
- I named it out loud: “This is an urge.” Not me. Not truth. Just a wave.
- I changed rooms. Light on. Curtains open.
- I did one tiny “move”: shower, walk, or dishes.
- I texted one person. “I’m struggling. Just saying it.”
Shame says hide. Relief comes fast when you speak.
A small digression about kindness
I thought I needed to be harsh. But harsh didn’t hold. Kind did. I used gentle rules. Clear and simple. I messed up, then tried again. That rhythm kept me going.