Confession

A Story of sexual Misinformation

It was during a long, quiet bath, lost in the simple comfort of warm water and solitude, that my mother’s sharp voice suddenly broke the calm.

“That’s enough now. You’ve been in there far too long. Others are waiting.”

Her words startled me out of my private world of sexual fantasy. I stepped out, a towel loosely wrapped around me, unsettled in a way I could not immediately explain. Looking back, that moment marked the beginning of a strange and persistent anxiety about my own sexual urge to express it.

Around that time, I had read an article by a well-known psychologist in a popular magazine. It warned that interrupting certain natural bodily processes, such as masturbation could have serious effects on mental well-being. According to the article, unexpressed physical energies might travel upward through the body, disturb the nervous system, and eventually affect the mind itself, leading to obsession or imbalance.

Whether factual or not, the idea took hold of my imagination.

Gradually, the fear grew larger than the thought itself. I began to view my body as a fragile system where misunderstandings could turn harmful. Myth and memory began to mix freely in my mind. Ancient stories I had heard of serpents, sacred waters, and forbidden acts seemed to echo my inner turmoil.The wish of Adam to eat Eve’ s half apple.

Ordinary people and everyday situations started appearing symbolic, as though my fears were projecting themselves onto the world around me.

Still, curiosity and habit are difficult to abandon, especially in youth. My thoughts continued to wander, fed by imagination and incomplete knowledge.

Then came another moment that deepened my distress, as I was mis informed that semen was produced from blood. One day, while my mother was busy in the kitchen, she glanced at me and remarked that I seemed thinner, less energetic, no longer quite myself. She meant no harm, but her words struck me deeply.

By then, my mind was already filled with ideas from spiritual and philosophical writings that spoke of bodily vitality as something rare and precious. One particular line stayed with me, suggesting that the body expends enormous effort to produce even the smallest measure of vital essence, semen. Suddenly, my mother’s casual remark felt like confirmation of an irreversible loss.

Overwhelmed by fear and guilt, I turned toward faith.

In the quiet of the church, behind the screen of the confessional, I spoke to the priest with trembling honesty. I shared my confusion, my shame, and my growing fear that I had somehow damaged myself.

The priest listened patiently. He did not scold or condemn. Instead, he asked a simple, gentle question. Who had taught me to fear my own body, bodily urges so deeply? Was this fear truly rooted in faith, or had it grown from misunderstanding and imagination?

He offered reassurance, a few prayers, and a reminder that peace begins with kindness toward oneself.

I left the church without all the answers, but with something just as important. I began to understand that much of my suffering came not from my body, but from fear, misinformation, and silence. And if fear can be learned, perhaps one day it can also be unlearned

— Dr. Laingikananda💙