The Eternal Song and Breaking Free from Shame

I recently watched The Eternal Song, and I can’t overstate how deeply it affected me. I highly recommend checking it out, though I should warn you—it’s not easy to watch. While the film captures breathtaking scenes from sacred places around the world, the stories are heavy with grief. As I watched, I saw so much of what’s broken in our world and why so many people carry unresolved pain.

The film reveals a simple truth: we are only as sick as our secrets. Only what we bring into the light can be transformed.

This truth hit me particularly hard because it reminded me of my own story—one that was buried in shame and secrecy for far too long.

Growing Up in the Deep South

Speaking of secrets, I grew up in the deep South, where sexuality was wrapped in shame and secrecy. I heard a statistic this morning that pornography addiction is worst in the religious states in the US. This didn’t surprise me at all, but I decided to dig into some actual data.

According to AddictionHelp.com, the United States leads the world in porn viewing. When you break it down by states, Maryland tops the list, while Alabama—where I grew up—ranks at number 11, with the average user spending 11 minutes and 4 seconds per visit. Tennessee, where I live now, sits just below at number 12.

Here’s what’s interesting: according to Wisevoter.com, Alabama ranks as the most religious state in America, and Tennessee comes in at number 3. Maryland (number 24) doesn’t even make the top ten most religious states.

So religion clearly doesn’t prevent porn viewing, but neither does the lack of it. When it comes to this particular struggle, religion is not the root cause, but I can say from experience it certainly doesn’t help. In my case, religion actually made everything worse.

I have vivid memories from third grade—sneaking into a friend’s garage to giggle at her father’s magazines, or another friend sharing a book her parents had given her about healthy sexuality. Even now, thinking about these moments brings a deep sense of shame. I’d learned that these things were gateways to evil itself.

I believed my sexual desires were wrong. Sit with that for a moment. We actually believed that the desire to do the thing that creates life was bad.

I need to be clear here—I’m not encouraging anyone to do whatever they want, because that’s not freedom either. Pornography addiction IS addiction. Sexual addiction is real. But here’s what I’ve learned: anytime we use pleasure to avoid pain, it can become addictive because we’re not meant to avoid pain. We’re meant to understand it and pay attention to what needs healing.

Neither religion nor the absence of religion solves porn addiction on its own. I’ve seen deeply religious people struggle in secret for decades, white-knuckling through shame cycles that only make the problem worse. I’ve also seen people who reject religion entirely, thinking freedom means having no boundaries, only to find themselves just as trapped in compulsive behaviors. The real issue isn’t about having the right beliefs or the right level of permissiveness—it’s about understanding what’s driving us to seek escape in the first place. What pain are we avoiding? What connection are we desperately seeking? What shame are we trying to numb? Until we’re willing to sit with those deeper questions and feel those uncomfortable feelings, we’ll keep reaching for whatever promises temporary relief, whether that’s porn, sex, food, work, or even religious performance. The healing happens when we stop running from our pain and start listening to what it’s trying to tell us.

The healing happens when we stop running from our pain and start listening to what it’s trying to tell us.

Think about diabetic neuropathy. A diabetic loses feeling in their feet, steps on something sharp, and doesn’t notice until gangrene sets in. Pain—physical or emotional—serves a purpose. We can’t just cover an infected wound with a bandaid and hope for the best.

So when we turn to sex to avoid the empty feelings inside, that’s not a solution. When we look at porn to feel connected to another human being, that’s not a solution either. We were made for connection and love—that’s not evil at all. But when toxic religion tells us it is, it creates unnecessary pain that grows like cancer cells of shame.

The Church’s “Solution”

I didn’t even realize how much I was hurting when I went to the church for help. Sexual sin was labeled as one of my BIG problems. I needed to confess and ask forgiveness. The pastor was more than happy to tell me what was wrong with me, and I followed his instructions faithfully.

Confession brought some relief, but then something happened that should have been a red flag. He decided to “confess” to me too. See the problem? He said the solution was confession and forgiveness, but he was still struggling with the same issues.

Here’s the thing about vulnerability: when someone shares their struggles, it creates connection—which is actually one of the underlying needs we’re trying to meet through sexual addictions. Predatory people understand this. They know how to create false connection through selective vulnerability. As humans, we feel safe when we feel understood, and safety is another need many of us try to meet through toxic relationships.

It’s complex and tremendously confusing—and that’s the point. People get lost in fog filled with shame and secrets. I was lost in it for a decade. All kinds of painful things happened in that fog, to myself and others in my life. And I wholeheartedly believed I was following God.

Let that sink in.

How many things are being done in the name of God these days that lead to more suffering, less empathy, more power and control, lies, hate, and division? It grieves me deeply.

The Cost of Lost Years

I look at my own losses—years that could have been different, where I could have grown into who I was supposed to be. But I didn’t, because my parents were surviving themselves, carrying their own unhealed wounds and unspoken secrets. Of course I feel sorry for myself. Who doesn’t grieve this kind of loss?

But here’s what I’ve learned about generational patterns: these losses need to be grieved to heal and move forward, because if we press this pain down, it doesn’t disappear—it remains and gets passed down to our families. And it can progressively become worse. Secrets that don’t get healed don’t just stay hidden—they grow and mutate, often manifesting as abuse. The parent who was sexually abused as a child but never dealt with it may become overly controlling about their child’s sexuality, or conversely, may fail to protect them altogether. The father who struggles with porn addiction in secret may shame his children for normal sexual curiosity, or worse, may cross boundaries he never meant to cross. The mother who learned that her needs didn’t matter may teach her children the same through neglect or emotional unavailability.

This is how secrets become weapons. What we don’t heal, we pass on—sometimes as the exact same wound, sometimes as its twisted opposite. The sexually repressed parent may raise a sexually rebellious child. The parent who was abandoned may become suffocatingly overprotective. The cycle continues until someone is brave enough to stop running from the pain and start feeling it, naming it, and healing it.

In The Eternal Song, Dave Belleau, a counselor and cultural leader from Esk’Etemc, Canada, shared: “Being exploited and watching other young boys being exploited by people who had an addiction to touching and hurting you – that was the hardest part.”

Healing ourselves is sacred work. When we do it, we heal not only ourselves but our bloodlines. We break chains that have bound our families for generations.

Finding My Ancestors

Two years ago, I reconnected with a distant cousin from the country where several generations of my ancestors lived. It’s been the most amazing experience of my life. I’m only beginning to scratch the surface of the wisdom in my ancestral soil.

I’ll never forget the words of a woman who was far more than a massage therapist—she was a sacred healing prophet. She told me that my ancestors wanted it to be well with me. At the time, I thought she might not be in touch with reality. But I never forgot her words. The blood in my body soaked them in, and years later, I understood.

When I stood on the soil where my ancestors lived for hundreds of years, I remembered her words and I felt tremendous sadness and loss, but I also experienced more life and love than I ever dreamed possible. I felt it in my DNA—there’s no other explanation.

The more I understand, the more I realize my ancestors have been with me every day, waiting for the right moments to speak. Maybe that sounds unbelievable, but I’m convinced it’s not magic—it just is. We never really die. We change and live on.

I’ll never forget the first night my daughter and I spent in our cousin’s home in Newfoundland. He’s studied ancestry most of his life. I could see my great-grandparents looking at me from the bedroom wall before I went to sleep. I don’t think I’d ever felt so loved.

Our ancestors truly want it to be well with us. They long for us to heal so they can live on through us. They whisper to us when the pain becomes too much because they know it’s through the cracks that light gets in. They tell us to keep going, to listen to our hearts, to feel our feet on the same ground where theirs walked.

I found a home in Newfoundland, but I realize that even when I’m not there, my home is with me—in the very blood that flows through my body, carrying my ancestors’ DNA.

A Simple Invitation

Today, I encourage you to stop and slow down. Give yourself permission to feel the pain you’ve been avoiding—the pain of disconnection that sends you searching for connection in all the wrong places, the pain of shame that keeps you cycling through patterns that promise love but deliver more hurt, the pain of not belonging that sends you into the arms of people who can’t truly see you.

Slow down and listen. Sit in nature, even for just a few minutes. Give your soul and the souls of those who lived before you a chance to speak about what matters most. If we don’t learn from history, we’re bound to repeat it, and who better to teach us than our own bloodline?

Your needs are simple and sacred—to be loved, to belong, to be safe, to be truly known. Don’t let anyone tell you these needs are sinful or shameful. Don’t let religion create pain that shouldn’t even exist. True faith takes care of needs; it doesn’t pile on heavy burdens of shame. If your religion doesn’t make you feel more loved than you ever have before, it’s time to find a new one.

The whispers of our ancestors have always been there, waiting for us to slow down enough to hear them. They’re telling us what that healing woman told me years ago—they want it to be well with us. They want us to heal so they can live on through us in wholeness rather than woundedness. When we do this sacred work of healing ourselves, we don’t just change our own lives—we change the trajectory of every generation that comes after us.

That’s the eternal song calling us back home to ourselves. Our ancestors and our Creator want it to be well with us.