Why I Don’t Use the Term “Porn Addiction”
If you’ve worried that you might be addicted to porn, you’re not alone. It’s a phrase that shows up everywhere: on social media, in church groups, in podcasts, in late-night Google searches, and even by some therapists. Many people feel ashamed, scared, or confused about their porn use.
As a sex therapist, I don’t use the term porn addiction when working with clients concerned about their use. That doesn’t mean your concerns aren’t real. It just means the addiction language isn’t the best way to understand what’s going on.
By the way, as you read through this post, you may see that I use some humor here. It isn’t to minimize the struggle, but to help take the heaviness out of a topic that tends to be laden with enough fear and shame as it is.
Why the Term “Porn Addiction” is Problematic
The concept of porn addiction is usually connected to anti-masturbation. Men often use porn to increase arousal when masturbating. Once the masturbating is done, so is the viewing (surely, we’re not watching porn for the storyline… right?). Sometimes the moral conflict is not the porn; rather, it’s the purpose for viewing porn.
It’s not an official diagnosis, nor is it supported by science. The American Psychiatric Association does not recognize “porn addiction” in the DSM-5, the manual used by mental health care professionals to assist with determining diagnoses. The World Health Organization’s ICD-11 includes a category called Compulsive Sexual Behavior Disorder, but that requires clear evidence of serious impairment, not just guilt or frequent use. Research shows that self-described porn addicts don’t have any less self-control than others. What they often carry is shame or conflict between certain religious or conservative values and their behavior, and not a brain disorder.
Frequency isn’t the problem. Watching porn, even daily, is not automatically harmful. What matters more is whether it interferes with your relationships, mood, or goals.
What Might Be Going on Instead
When people come to me saying they feel their use is uncontrollable, it often has less to do with porn itself and more to do with what’s underneath. Some common themes:
Shame and guilt. Porn use can feel like a moral failure even when it’s completely normal.
Coping with stress, boredom, or even avoidance. Masturbation, sometimes colloquially described as a “stress fap,” can become a quick way to manage difficult feelings, much like scrolling on your phone or emotional eating. But, like other coping strategies, it can also be used to avoid a task. After all, that college paper that is due next week can wait another 17 minutes while you stall with a little stress relief.
Increased feelings of anxiety or depression. Studies indicate that masturbation frequency, thus porn viewing frequency, can increase in men who are coping with heightened depression and anxiety.
Relationship concerns. Porn is sometimes used as a stand-in when there’s conflict with a partner or partners, or in seasons of being single. Because masturbation is often the main reason people view porn, it can feel like an easier outlet than navigating the relational dynamics. Research shows that men who feel less satisfied in their relationships or sex lives are more likely to feel out of control with porn use.
Neurodivergence. Conditions like ADHD may make it harder to regulate habits, including porn use.
Naturally high libido. It should be no surprise that our libido will drive sexual behavior. It may be a nice problem to have for some, but for others who might be comparing their frequency of use to a perceived norm, they may feel they are out of control.
Why I Don’t Subscribe to the “Addiction” Frame to Treat Distress About Porn Use
The language of addiction might sound straightforward way to explain the issue, but it often does more harm than good. Here’s why:
It reinforces a shame cycle. Once someone believes they’re addicted, they often swing between abstinence and “relapse.” That cycle can increase hopelessness and keep people from building healthier coping strategies and a healthier relationship with their sexual selves.
Pathologizing normal behavior. Calling it an addiction turns a very typical behavior into a disorder, which, again, it isn’t.
Context matters. For many, especially LGBTQ+ persons, porn has been one of the few places to safely explore desire. Framing it as addiction erases that context and reduces it to a problem to “fix.”
Porn is a symptom, not the primary issue. Labeling porn as the problem often keeps people from exploring the deeper questions, such as unmet needs in relationships, the role of stress, or the impact of cultural or religious shame.
Instead of asking “Am I addicted?” the more useful questions are:
What role does porn play in my life?
Does it feel aligned with my values?
Does it leave me feeling connected, or disconnected?
Are there healthier ways I want to handle stress, loneliness, or desire?
A Note on Religion and Culture
Religion itself isn’t the enemy. Many people draw strength and meaning from their faith. But when teachings about sex create shame, fear, or secrecy, it’s worth looking at how those messages shape your relationship to porn. And it’s worth remembering that the idea of porn addiction is mostly an American phenomenon, and many cultures don’t frame sexual behavior in quite the same moral terms.
Moving Forward
If you’re entering therapy because you’re distressed about your porn use, the goal isn’t to slap on a label like “addiction”. The goal is to understand what’s happening in your life, what feels out of sync, and how you want to move forward. We look at porn use as a symptom, not a diagnosis.
In therapy, we can talk openly about porn without judgment. For some people, that means cutting back. For others, it means finding ways to make porn part of a healthy sexual life. Sometimes it’s learning more about ethical porn content. And for many, it means loosening the grip (pun 100% intended) of shame so that desire, intimacy, and pleasure can be experienced with more freedom.
Therapy can’t erase sexual desire, nor should it, but it can help you build a relationship with your sexuality that feels more intentional, less shame-heavy, and more authentic to who you are.
You’re a sexual being. And you don’t need the label “addict” to start making sense of your sexual self.
If you’re on Instagram and want to see more reflections like this, you can find me at @relationalbodies.