Confidence and Insecurity at the Same Time

Being a sex addict means living with a strange contradiction: I can feel wildly confident and painfully insecure at the same time. For years, I didn’t even realize how much this paradox was driving me. Acting out made me feel wanted. Desired. Important. The attention was a quick fix for every part of me that felt small or unworthy. For a few minutes, I could believe I was powerful, irresistible, in control.

But the truth always caught up. After the rush faded, I’d feel that old emptiness again—like I was hollow inside. The guilt, the shame, the fear of being found out. I hated myself for what I’d done, but deep down I also hated that I didn’t feel whole without it. It’s a miserable loop: I chased sex or fantasy to feel strong, then I’d collapse into insecurity when it was over, then I’d need another fix to escape how broken I felt.

Some days, I still feel both at once. I can walk into a room and pretend I’m the most confident person there—smiling, flirting, telling myself I’ve got it all together. But inside, I’m wondering if people really like me or if they’d run if they knew who I really am. I know now that this mask doesn’t protect me; it just keeps me stuck.

Recovery started when I got honest about how much I hated living in secrets. I couldn’t outrun the shame anymore. I couldn’t fake the confidence I wanted. I had to start telling the truth—to myself first, then to safe people who understood. I learned that the real strength isn’t in seducing or hiding—it’s in being seen, flaws and all, and still showing up.

I used to think if I could just fix my insecurity, I’d be fine. If I could become perfectly confident, I wouldn’t need the addiction. But the truth is, I’m always going to have parts of me that feel afraid, insecure, not enough. I don’t have to hate those parts or numb them out. I can sit with them. I can talk about them. I can share them with people who remind me that being human doesn’t mean being flawless.

Every day I stay sober, I prove to myself that I can live without that fake high. I build trust with myself one choice at a time. Some days I still feel the pull—like maybe I could go back, just once, and get that old rush. But I know where that ends. I know it’s not worth it anymore.

Real confidence for me now looks so different. It’s not about who wants me or who notices me. It’s about knowing I’m enough even when I feel insecure. It’s about showing up for my commitments, telling the truth when I’d rather lie, and letting people really see me. Sometimes that feels terrifying. But it also feels honest—and for me, that’s freedom.

I’m learning to live with both truths: that I can feel strong and scared, worthy and broken, all at once. I don’t have to fix it all today. I just have to keep moving forward, one day at a time, one honest moment at a time. That’s real sobriety for me: not pretending to be perfect, but choosing to be real, to stay connected, and to believe I’m worth fighting for—even when I don’t feel like it.

If you’re living in this paradox too, you’re not alone. Stay honest. Stay connected. Keep showing up for your own healing. The mask isn’t worth it anymore. The real you is.

Keep coming back!