What Repentance Feels Like

Disclosure: The following letter is intense, and may be triggering for some. It is a confession of the thoughts, feelings, and actions that drove me throughout my life, when I was acting out in addiction. It is also a manifesto of the beliefs and actions I am committing to as part of my restitution for those acts. I am finally able to face the dark parts of myself, and accept that they are a part of my past, and by so doing, allow the Atonement to heal them, and turn them into information, and lessons that I am able to share. The practice of Belief Breakthrough, and the support of my wife, friends, and mentors, has been instrumental in my recovery and repentance. 

As you read this letter, understand that it has been a heart-wrenching process. I cried as I relived the emotions of what I was describing, and for the first time realized the magnitude of, and felt regret and sorrow for, the harm I caused. Also, know that I am OK.  I am powerfully, and continually, moving forward in righteousness, and bringing myself, and my family, closer to God with each day. 

Please share this letter with those you believe it will help. I want others to know they are not alone in their fear, sadness, and feelings of isolation, and I want them to see what it looks like to get out, and get better. 


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A Proclamation to the World. My Apology, and My Commitment.

Dear Queens of the world,


    I address all women as Queens, because I see each of you as royal and divine. Every woman falls into this category because you are each created by our Heavenly Father, the King of Kings, and it is He whom I serve as I protect each of you. When I speak of women as Queens, it is to appreciate and celebrate who you truly are, and the literal life you bring into the world, through your joyful and nurturing spirit. 

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    I am sorry. I am sorry for how I have treated you for the past 27 years. I have abused you, in person, in print, on screen, and in my mind, and I was wrong. In my shame, my lack of self-confidence, and fear of being alone,  I turned to sexual addiction for comfort. I believed what movies, music, the media, and even my friends and family told me you were, even though I knew inside that you are so much more powerful, honorable, gentle, kind, and brilliant than I was being told. I used images, text and videos to create a world that I wanted to live in, a world where you wanted to be looked at, used, and taken advantage of, even though I knew that world was false and created, by our enemy, to destroy me. I know that every website, magazine, and video I frequented was authored by the destroyer, the one who by nature is the representation of all evil, for the purpose of trapping me in the belief that women are objects to be used for my gratification. I knowingly walked into those traps. I chose each time to ignore what I knew was right, and I chose, instead, to believe that you were meant to be looked at and lusted for, and that you were attractive only because of your size, weight, and figure.  For most of my life, I have been untrue to you, myself, and to the God that made you beautifully in His image. 

    As a result, I have viewed you, and used you, as objects. I have used images of you as tools to relieve my sexual need, and to numb myself from insecurity, loneliness, and fear.   I used you in a horrible, abusive, and vain attempt to make myself feel better, and to convince myself that I was wanted and important. And powerful. I wanted to be liked, I wanted to be loved. I wanted power over the fear and sadness that I felt in my life, and I tried to gain it by abusing and gaining power over you. By using you. By convincing you of my sincerity and affection, when all I really wanted from you was to feel good, and receive your approval and desire. Instead of being liked, loved, and becoming powerful, I only experienced greater separation, isolation, and increased fear and loathing of myself as you drew away from the dangerous and hurtful experiences I had created for you.  

    Instead of beauty and strength, I saw sexuality and sensuality. Where there was purity and virtue, I was excited by the idea of corrupted innocence. I wanted to be remembered as the first time, and, if not the first, the best. I sought you out when you felt weak, alone, unloved, ugly, and vulnerable, and I took advantage of you. I practiced the way I spoke, the way I behaved, the language I used, so that I would be seen as "the nice guy". I wanted you to trust me, so that I could get close to you. Once I was close to you, I told you that you were special, unique, and that I was committed, using language and tone and setting to convince you it was true. Many times, I was the first man to ever say those things to you, and I used the trust you had in me to get you to let down your guard, and let me into your heart, and your clothes. You did things with me that you never had, and sometimes things you didn't want to, because you believed me. I did my best to make sure that you believed that I was the best, if not the only, source of those feelings. I ignored you when you said no. I ignored the signs that this was hurting you. I manipulated the most sacred parts of your mind, body and heart for my own carnal gratification. I knew what I was doing was wrong, and still I pushed you, until you gave me what I wanted. 

    And when I was done with you, I walked away. I turned off the charm, and walked away without explanation. I completely ignored you, and I left you hurt, lost, and alone again. Over, and over, and over. If I ever felt guilty for it, I convinced myself that you would get over it. You would be OK, because it happens all the time; there will be another guy. You were replaceable, and so was I. 

    Over and over, I flat out ignored the pain I saw in your eyes, and refused to see the wounds that you would carry because of my deceit. I didn't want to see the pain I had caused you, because I didn't want to be reminded of the pain in myself that I was trying to drown. I always just walked away, moving on to the next person, the next experience, leaving so many wounded minds and spirits, and so many broken hearts.

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    As I write this, my stomach churns at the thought of the person I was. I see the face of each woman I have hurt, through every grade of school and through the years of my marriage. I want to hide from it. I want to curl up into a ball, and not have to face these things I have done. I don't want to take ownership of those horrible actions, or admit that I trained my mind and body in the science of deception, all with the intent to manipulate and use God's beautiful daughters for my own pleasure. 

    I don't want to remember the wounded little boy, who felt so alone. I don't want to remember how much he hated himself for what he was doing, and how he numbed that hate by hurting others. I don't want to remember the tear-filled nights that he spent, praying that tomorrow would be different, and knowing it wouldn't. Admitting, and owning, all of the things I have done means that I have to face that little boy, and tell him how much I have hated him. How much pain I blame him for, and how I have wished that he was not my past. I want to bury the sadness, and forget about the loneliness, the anger, and fear that drove me. I want to believe that that little boy is not who I am. 

    You know what? That fear, that wanting to hide and bury those emotions, is exactly what created the hell I lived through, and have put so many others through. So, in this moment, I choose out of fear. I choose out of hiding. I choose into honesty, integrity, and purity, now and for the rest of my life.  

     I have felt the pain of this wound, both as it festered and then as it healed. I suffered through the feelings of anxiety and loneliness when my transgressions became public; months of hiding and not wanting to be seen, even when surrounded by people who love and support me. I felt the new pains of regret and remorse, sobbing into my wife's shoulder as the magnitude of what I have done finally became real to me; every memory replaying in my mind, with all of the guilt, shame, embarrassment, and sorrow that I had once buried. I experienced the aching, emotionally and physically draining experience of battling my body as I trained it into a new way of responding to the world. I had incredible moments of overcoming, and devastating moments of relapse.  Through all of this, no matter how painful I thought it was, I kept moving forward. Even if it was a crawl, I kept moving forward. I listened to the loving words of my wife, the trusted counsel of mentors, and I listened to the Spirit. I never gave up, and because I didn't, I learned something that changed everything I understood about healing. 

    I love myself. I forgive myself, for everything; always, and in all ways. I accept and love that hurt little boy, in spite of the pain he caused, the women he hurt, the lies and the deceit. I forgive him for the pain he has caused me, for the anxiety, the fear, and the sadness. I forgive myself for all of these things. I forgive myself, and in doing so I allow myself to acknowledge and accept everything I have done. I give myself permission to let this wound be healed, and let it become a scar I will carry for the rest of my life. I have felt the comfort of forgiveness. I trust myself, and so trust others. I am worthy of trust, which I had once thought impossible.

    As I heal from this, as I repent and allow the atonement into this part of my life, I realize that I am not the only person who needs to heal from the things I have done. I get to make restitution for breaking your hearts, and wounding your emotions and spirits.  

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    I cannot take back the things I have done, nor the words I have spoken, even though I remember every one. For me, restitution is a process that consumes the rest of my life, and it begins with me changing the way I live, act, and think. Restoring what I damaged consists of me committing, every day, to live and defend purity and virtue in every way. 

I commit to protecting all women in my social media circles from those who post degrading and objectifying media and comments. 
I commit to using the technology at my disposal to proclaim your virtues, speak out against your victimization, and to build support systems in defense of womanhood and motherhood. 
I commit to restoring the damage I have done by telling my story of recovery, in person, digitally, and in print, and, by so doing, rally as many of our brothers and sisters as possible to the defense of Virtue and Purity.
I commit to championing and protecting the cause of Virtue for the rest of my life, because you Queens are worth every effort I put forth. 
I commit my thoughts, words, and actions to honoring and protecting your divine nature as daughters of God, because I see you as perfect spirits, each beautiful in a unique and celestial way. 
I commit to training my daughters and my sons to view and protect womanhood as divine and pure, and to follow me as I live the example of purity and virtue. 

Sisters, I am clean. I am pure. I stand in integrity, and I protect and defend who you are, and the inherent modesty and virtue that you represent. I protect and support you in each role you fill - wife, mother, daughter, sister, professional, artist, mentor, leader, and every other. I act powerfully in your defense, in every situation I find myself in. 

Thank you for forgiving me, and for giving me the opportunity to serve and protect you. 

I am Warrior of Power.
I am a Warrior King.
I protect the Queen. 
I act in Defense of Virtue and Purity. 

I am Your Brother in Virtue and Purity, 

Anthony James DeNovellis

The Reason for the Scar

Why does my body have scars? If my body has healed, why can I still see where I was hurt? When will I be free of this memory of my wounds?

I don't remember every wound I have ever experienced, and not every wound has left a scar. With smaller injuries, my body heals completely and moves on, without a sign of what happened. Sometimes, my body experiences such trauma that I am left marked by it for the rest of my life. Some of the scars that I have, I tell stories about. They have become a part of my life, not to remind me of the pain I have experienced, but as a reminder of what I learned by getting, and healing, them. They have healed, and have revealed who I am, and how far I have come. 

I think there is sometimes a misunderstanding about scars - if it still hurts, then it's not a scar yet. There is still healing to be done. 

Scars are not wounds. A scar is a wound that has healed, and HAS LEFT EVIDENCE OF THAT HEALING. And, often, the scar that has grown is made of stronger stuff than was there before. 

Spiritual and emotional scars are the same. 

I don't remember all of the transgressions I have made, or have been made against me. Most of them, my spirit and mind have healed perfectly and they show no sign of the struggle. 

There are experiences in my life, however, that I do still remember. Sins that I have forgiven, and been forgiven for, about which I remember everything. I remember the people, the places, the details that were involved. I still remember them, and I remember the damage that was caused. 

And I know that I have healed from them, because the pain is gone. When I think of these experiences, that is all they are. Experiences. Information. Having healed from them completely, they have been reduce to stories.  

So if I have healed from them, why is their memory so clear? Why are they still a part of me? Why do the scars remain?

Sometimes, the trauma to my spirit is of such magnitude, that I am left with a memory of it, even after it is healed. It is a reminder that I have been hurt, and that I have out-lived the pain.

I am grateful every day for that reminder. Like Paul in the New Testament, "Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." (2 Cor. 12:9)

There is no way for me to undo what I have done, or what has been done to me. I can, and do, heal from every experience. And because everything happens for a reason, there is a purpose for the scars that remain. 

As I said before, every scar is a story that gets to be told, a lesson that I get to share. I have been through a lot, and my scars remind me why I am still standing. They remind me that I am strong, and that I heal from every trauma, every injury. 

I have done things in my life, that while I have healed from them, the people involved have not. The scars from these experiences remind me that restitution is a life-long process, and I am responsible for helping them to heal from their experience with me. 

Things have been done to me, from which I have healed. The scars from these experiences remind me that others have been, or are being hurt, and what I have learned will help them navigate their way out, and gain their own healing.

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If thinking about the experience brings pain, it is still a wound. 

If talking about it hurts, there is still healing to experience. 

Seek out the mentors who can help you. Have those breakthroughs, and release your emotional pain. Let those experiences become the stories you share, and the lessons you teach.

If you have scars, it means you are stronger. You are healed. You have out-lived the pain. 

And others are waiting to hear how you did it.