Aaron Adams

I’ve been working on this one since tearing my ACL on the field in 2014.

“You are most qualified to help the person you used to be.” — @EdMylett That quote has stuck with me for years because it explains so much of why I’m wired the way I am. I’ve always felt called to help men who are walking paths I’ve already been down. I’ve leveraged my experience in professional sports, weight loss and athletic training to make a real impact on the lives of the men I’ve worked with. I’ve seen physical transformation change confidence and direction. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t the full calling. Those versions of “the person I used to be” are easy to point to as credentials because I’m proud of them. It’s easy to talk about and captivating for many. I know success I know discipline. I know pain. I know surgeries, setbacks, and what it feels like to have everything you worked for taken away overnight. Those experiences matters—but they don’t necessarily apply to the man that I’m most qualified to help. There’s another version of me that I don’t get to leave out. One that qualifies me to speak truth and hope into the millions of men ensnared by the same insidious vice. That man struggled mightily with a p*rn habit that started way too young and extended into the first couple years of my marriage. A gradual deterioration of my integrity that led to a mastery of secrecy and justifications to excuse my actions. Inner turmoil and conviction were shrouded by external successes. My sins were concealed from everyone except the one I claimed to be a follower of—Jesus. My sins weren’t hidden from Him, nor was my failure to honor Him with the platform he had given me as a professional athlete. I was a fraud. I neither followed Him nor knew Him in the ways that I professed. I was pursuing my own glory and holding fast to sin through it all. Worldly accolades and the opinions of man defined me. Then God intervened. In March of 2015, while still recovering from ACL surgery with the Packers, I was notified that the team would be releasing me that very day. No backup plan. No leverage. No purpose. I was crushed. But God knew exactly what He was doing—He knew I’d finally stop running, turn to Him, and begin the process of real repentance and real change. I took responsibility. I dove into the Word. I sought wise council. I embraced accountability. I set boundaries. I made vows. I gave up p*rn a decade ago and began walking the path toward the man God called me to be. I found healing. I found freedom. I found peace. That man—the one who was broken, ensnared by an insidious vice, and desperate for freedom—is the man I’m most qualified to help now. And if you’re honest, you know whether or not that’s you. Not the version of you everyone sees. The private one. The one who’s disciplined and successful in public but compromised in secret. The one who keeps telling himself, “I’ve got this under control,” while quietly losing ground. Here’s the truth I wish someone had confronted me with sooner: You don’t drift into freedom. You decide your way into it—and you pay for it with honesty. Freedom cost me my pride. It cost me secrecy. It cost me the illusion that I could fix this alone. But it gave me my integrity back. It gave me peace in my own home. It gave me clarity before God and confidence as a man, a husband and a father. If you’re still hiding, still managing, still making excuses—hear me clearly: This doesn’t get better on its own. But it can be overcome. I’m living proof. The world needs men of character and integrity to step up and lead. Consider this your confrontation and your invitation. Stop minimizing. Stop justifying. Stop pretending this isn’t shaping the man you’re becoming and decaying your integrity. The next step isn’t perfection. It’s honesty—with yourself, with God, and with a trusted friend who will hold you accountable. Bring your vices to light and they lose their power over you. You’ll find healing. You’ll find peace.

I rarely comment on current events, but I couldn’t hold this one back. Take action, men!