It was the hardest thing I'd ever done.
Not the crying.
Not the repenting.
Not even the fasting.
It was *confessing*.
I remember holding my phone, typing, deleting, typing again. My hands were sweating. I wanted to talk to someone who wouldn't judge me, someone who wouldn't look at me differently once I said it:
*"Felicia… I used to struggle with masturbation."*
There. I said it.
There was silence for a while. I almost regretted it. My chest felt tight. But her reply came:
*"Thank you for telling me. You're brave. And I love you."*
I broke down in tears. Not because of shame this time, but because of *relief*.
See, the enemy works best in *secrecy*. He thrives in silence. But the moment I exposed the struggle, he lost his grip. Darkness can't survive when it's dragged into the light.
Felicia prayed with me. She didn't pity me. She didn't preach at me. She just reminded me of truth:
*"You're not the only one. And you're not less of a Christian. You're growing."*
That day, I realized that healing doesn't always come in a flash. Sometimes it comes in *conversations*. In community. In love.
And if telling my story could help even one girl feel less alone, then every tear was worth it.