How Daily Mass Rescued Me from Sexual Sin

How the Eucharist Saved My Soul

When I was embracing my paraphilia after detransition vs me now embracing my natural masculinity

If you’ve been following my story, you know I’m a recent Catholic convert who experienced a powerful spiritual wake-up call—one that revealed to me the full depth of my sexual degeneracy and ultimately led me into the Catholic Church.

The root of that degeneracy was a paraphilia known as autogynephilia—a male’s propensity to become aroused by the thought or image of himself as a woman. It’s a deeply disordered desire, and in most cases, it’s the primary driver behind the transgender trajectory. That was certainly true in my life. When I was 28, my lifelong fetish escalated beyond fantasy and into full-blown transgender identity. I began taking cross-sex hormones and lived as a “transwoman” for eight years before finally detransitioning in 2023.

But even after detransitioning, I had no real understanding of how to manage the paraphilic obsession that had led me down that path in the first place. In fact, when my testosterone levels normalized, my paraphilic desires came roaring back with new intensity, and I was once again forced to confront them.

I had first been exposed to transgender pornography at a young age, and after detransition, that addiction returned in full force. I used it as a supposed “outlet” for my paraphilia—telling myself that since I wasn’t transitioning again, it was harmless. I bought into the lie that as long as I kept my kink confined to the privacy of my bedroom, it was perfectly healthy to indulge in crossdressing, pornography, masturbation, and even sodomy, which had become central to my sexual fantasies.

But like all paraphilias, indulging desire only inflames it. It doesn’t satisfy. It never satisfies. It builds tolerance. It escalates. You begin seeking out ever more extreme forms of stimulation just to chase the fading echoes of the initial euphoria. All of this was compounded by my lifelong addiction to weed—a substance I had long used as an aphrodisiac to enhance the sensations of pornography and anal sex.

For years, I believed that my problem wasn’t the paraphilia itself, but simply how to “integrate” it into my identity as a man in a way that removed the shame. I thought the shame was the real enemy—that it was just “internalized stigma” imposed by society. After all, I had spent nearly a decade publicly living as a transwoman, gradually numbing myself to the natural shame of feminization.

But now, in the light of Christ, I see that shame for what it truly was: the voice of my conscience. The moral law written on my heart by God. And instead of listening to that voice, I had done everything I could to silence it. I blamed society. I surrounded myself with affirming voices. I received endless praise online for “embracing” my paraphilia. People admired my public crossdressing. I was told how “beautiful” I looked as a feminized male. That kind of external validation is intoxicating—and it’s a powerful accelerant for escalation.

Then, back in February, I had a sudden and profound crisis of conscience. God pierced my heart. In that moment, I knew I had to repent completely. I vowed to get right with God. I vowed to never again get high, never crossdress, never watch porn, never engage in any behavior related to autogynephilia. I threw out every last remnant of my old life: the girl clothes, the sex toys, the kink paraphernalia. I purged my home of anything that could act as a trigger.

That Lent, I entered fully into the life of the Church. I received the sacraments of Confession, Confirmation, and Holy Eucharist at Easter. The graces were real. They were transformative.

But receiving grace does not instantly make you a saint. I still had weak moral habits. Deep psychological grooves carved by years of sin. And because of that, I relapsed—both into weed and into my paraphilic compulsions. Not just once, but multiple times.

Before these relapses, I had been faithfully attending daily Mass. I loved the morning ritual—7am Mass became the bedrock of my day. It fixed my mind on heavenly things. I fell in love with Jesus in the Eucharist. I began to crave Him, the Bread of Life. I longed to be in communion with Him.

And yet, I still fell. But what brought me back, every time? The Eucharist.

It was my desire to return to a state of grace. To make a sincere act of contrition. To truly repent. Because real repentance isn’t just about feeling bad—it’s about turning away from sin and committing to a transformed life of holiness.

I wanted to be a saint. I wanted to become the virtuous Catholic man God had always called me to be. But even more than that, I wanted to kneel at the altar rail again—to receive Jesus into my body, to become one with Him, so that He could sanctify me, divinize me, and draw me closer to the final telos of human life: union with God in the beatific vision.

It is this longing for the Eucharist that continues to save me—day by day.

When I feel tempted by the flesh, I ask myself: Is the fleeting, shallow thrill of carnal pleasure really worth losing the opportunity to receive Jesus in a state of grace? Is that moment of euphoria—which always ends in emptiness, self-disgust, and spiritual death—really worth more than the chance to be united with the living God?

I ask myself this constantly. Because the Enemy is cunning. He knows how to sneak into your imagination, how to plant thoughts, how to promise comfort, stress relief, pleasure. He whispers, “Just this once. You need it. You deserve it. There won’t be any consequences.” But that’s always a lie. The consequences come. Tolerance. Escalation. Shame. Despair. Alienation from God.

The demons will do anything to distract you from your true purpose. Anything to convince you that union with God in the Eucharist isn’t the highest goal of human life. But it is. The Eucharist is the source and summit of all reality.

“Give us this day our daily bread.”

The Greek word used in the Our Father for “bread” is epiousios—literally, “super-substantial bread.” The Church Fathers understood this as a reference to the Eucharist.

Could it be any clearer? Jesus gives us daily bread in the most literal, glorious, miraculous way possible. Every single day, He makes Himself available to us in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Every day, we can receive the glorified Body of Christ into our mortal bodies. Every day, the miracle of transubstantiation occurs before our very eyes.

This is astonishing. This is world-shattering. Why aren’t more people excited about this? Why do so many Catholics treat Mass like a chore or a burden when it is the most beautiful and generous gift ever given to mankind?

Jesus gave us Himself. He established His Church to distribute this daily, supernatural nourishment to His people. And all He asks is that we turn from our sins, confess them, and remain in a state of grace.

When you compare the empty thrill of sin with the life-giving glory of the Eucharist, the choice is obvious. It’s not even close. The pleasure of the flesh is counterfeit and fading. The Eucharist is true, eternal, transformative.

As St. Paul wrote:

“Those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.” (Romans 8:5–6)

Amen.