“The internet has discipled your soul to expect immediate answers. You inquire and you are answered immediately. Three million results in 0.003 seconds; there is no waiting. The saints of ages past would be aghast at that. Waiting was considered formational for the soul.”¹

John Eldredge, Experience Jesus. Really.

After moving into our Northwest Missouri home last June, my wife and I quickly realized we’d inherited a serious, year-round landscaping commitment. The centerpiece of our property is a massive Pin Oak sitting right in the middle of the front lawn. Rising roughly 30 feet, there is hardly a humid summer day where it doesn't provide a much-needed reprieve.

These trees are famous for their pace; in the right conditions, a Pin Oak can grow two to three feet a year, eventually topping out at 70 feet. It is a prestigious addition to any yard, but its presence immediately sparked my curiosity. I had to know: How many years of growth were required to create such a giant standing before me?

It is a question that echoes directly into my clinical work where I walk with men learning to outgrow their unwanted sexual behaviors.

“So, how long is this going to take?”

It doesn’t surprise me to receive questions such as these within the therapeutic space. Unraveling the brain, body, and soul connections of our process addictions is hard work. If we are honest, most of us—myself included—would prefer to take any path other than the narrow road ahead. It would be far more advantageous for both myself and the patient if I were to provide quick, easy answers. But as Bauman wisely notes, “It’s difficult to entrust anything that comes too easily, including your healing.”² Outgrowing our unwanted sexual behaviors is fundamentally about healing a dysregulated nervous system. This process depends on our ability to stay within what Dr. Dan Siegel calls the “Window of Tolerance.”³ If we move faster than the nervous system can process, we risk triggering a survival response—fight, flight, freeze, or fawn—which often leads us back to the very behaviors we are trying to outgrow.

In addition, outgrowing our unwanted sexual behaviors is also fundamentally relational, a truth that can be uncomfortable to accept. Because relationships are inherently messy and complex, many men understandably search for a path to recovery that avoids that complexity altogether. However, as my colleague often reminds me, “Connection is key.”

We are born in relationship, we are wounded in relationship, and it is only within the context of relationship that we can truly be healed.

With that foundational truth in mind, my colleague and I launched the Ascent Recovery Group. A therapeutic community helping men move out of isolation and join others in the messy, transformative work of outgrowing their unwanted sexual behaviors. In a culture that demands instant results, therapeutic groups ask for something different.

Patience.

Much like trees that grow slowly to build deep, resilient roots, our work must focus on foundational healing rather than quick fixes. To cultivate this kind of slow growth and build the deep, resilient roots necessary for lasting change, our healing must be anchored in three core pillars:

Relational Connection (The Mycelial Network)

German forester and conservationist Peter Wohllenben found that trees can actually communicate with each other through what is known as the Mycelial Network, or often referred to as the “Wood Wide Web.”⁴—A vast, subterranean, and symbiotic partnership is found between fungi and tree roots. This hidden network beneath the surface acts as an intelligent communication system between trees, allowing the sharing and transfer of nutrients and resources, and providing a warning system for nearby predators and insects that might feed on their leaves. Peter Wohllenben cites, for instance, “Oak Trees can carry bitter, toxic tannins in their bark and leaves. These either kill chewing insects outright or at least affect the leaves’ taste to such an extent that instead of being delicious and crunchy, the leaves themselves become biliously bitter.”⁵ Such defense mechanisms, of course, take significant time to surface for the Oak Trees; therefore, a combined approach through the “Wood Wide Web” is crucially important for arboreal early-warning systems.

Beneath the forest floor, the Mycelial Network acts as a lifeline, allowing trees to nurture one another and even pump life-saving nutrients into the stumps of felled companions. Group recovery offers this exact same architecture for relational connection. Addiction takes root in the fallow soil of isolation and shame, but a recovery group breaks through that uncultivated soil. When a member's emotional reserves run dry, the group instinctively recognizes who is “low on nutrients” and surrounds them with a surge of empathy, support, and encouragement. They lend their own vitality until the struggling individual has developed the resilience to stand firm in their own recovery. Furthermore, this interconnected web acts as a crucial early-warning system. Just as trees send distress signals to warn their neighbors of approaching threats, group members help illuminate blind spots, alerting each other to potential pitfalls and triggers. By grounding themselves in transparency, rigorous honesty, and a commitment to vulnerability, members cultivate a vibrant, thriving ecosystem of relational connection.

Foundation of Regulation (The Deep Root System)

Wohlleben’s research reveals a profound truth: trees actually learn stability through adversity. "Trees don’t like to make things unnecessarily difficult," Wohlleben observes. "Why bother to grow a thick, sturdy trunk if you can lean comfortably against your neighbors?"⁶ As long as the surrounding canopy remains intact, a tree is shielded from the harshest of elements. However, whether through the natural death of an older "mother tree" or the sudden disruption by commercial harvest, gaps will begin to form in the canopy. Trees that once leaned comfortably on their neighbors suddenly find themselves wobbly, forced to stand entirely on their own root systems. In the natural world, this adaptation is not a quick fix; it often takes three to ten years before a newly exposed tree can stand firm against the wind once again.

This process of regaining stability is painstakingly slow and, biologically speaking, quite painful for the trees. Wohlleben describes how the wind will begin to rock these newly exposed trees aggressively, causing "painful micro-tears" in their trunks as they are pushed back and forth. Yet, these exact points of tension signal to the tree precisely where it must reinforce its structural support. While the loss of the canopy provides a small consolation in the form of additional sunlight, even this requires painful adaptation. Leaves accustomed to the gentle shade of the “mother trees” are often scorched by the sudden exposure before new, sun-adapted foliage can take their place. Slowly, by enduring a series of aches, tears, and environmental stressors, the trees begin to build thicker trunks, deeper roots, and resilient limbs.⁷

Similarly, the widening of our Window of Tolerance—the foundation of our regulation — happens over time, built through our conscious responses to the inevitable adversity life brings our way. The Window of Tolerance isn’t some static, fixed box; it is a capacity that must be continuously stretched and expanded. For men working to outgrow unwanted sexual behaviors, this process directly mirrors the adversity experienced by the swaying trees in the wind. The deeply uncomfortable experience of feeling the urge to act out (hyper-arousal) or numb out (hypo-arousal)—and making the conscious choice to remain present with that dysregulation in a non-judgmental manner—is how we build our own internal architecture of regulation.

Ultimately, the pace of our healing is dictated by our nervous system. Every time we successfully remain present in the face of our distress—whether through self-regulation or the vital co-regulation found in community—we are repairing our own micro-tears. We are actively building emotional distress tolerance, ensuring that with every windstorm we encounter, our root system grows just a little bit deeper.

Role of Co-Regulation (The Protective Canopy)

“Slow and steady wins the race.” This ancient wisdom rings true both for the forest and for men learning to outgrow their unwanted sexual behaviors. In The Hidden Life of Trees, Peter Wohlleben notes that young saplings are so eager to grow that they could easily sprout eighteen inches in a single season. If exposed to full sunlight, these saplings would binge on the light, shoot up rapidly, and develop large, air-filled cells, resulting in soft, brittle wood.⁸ What prevents this rapid, unstable growth is the canopy of the “mother trees.” Looming over their offspring, mature trees intercept the harsh, blinding sunlight, allowing a mere three percent to reach the forest floor. What might look like deprivation is actually a protective filter. By absorbing the sun's intense energy, these mature trees regulate the environment, forcing the saplings to grow slowly and develop incredibly dense, unbreakable wood.

In recovery, experiencing traumatic triggers, deep-seated shame, or intense urges is much like being blasted by that unfiltered, blinding sunlight. When suddenly exposed to this level of intensity, a man's nervous system is flooded with more energy than it can metabolize within his current Window of Tolerance. Overwhelmed by these intense somatic sensations and emotions, it is human nature to resort to the “rapid growth” of a quick fix—numbing out, white-knuckling, or acting out. While these fast responses might offer immediate relief, they ultimately build a brittle emotional foundation that snaps under pressure.

Co-regulation, therefore, is the canopy. When we bring our dysregulation into the therapeutic space, the grounded, regulated nervous systems of the other men act as those mature mother trees. The group cannot remove the trigger; however, their calm presence, empathy, and non-judgmental attitude create a protective "shade" against the searing intensity of shame. Together, the collective group absorbs the glaring pressure to find a quick fix, down-regulating the emotional environment to a manageable, healthy pace. Within this shaded, safe container, a man can slowly process his distress. By remaining within his Window of Tolerance, he builds the deep, structural resilience required to cultivate the “dense wood” of lasting character and integrity.

As I stand in my front yard this evening and look upon the towering Pin Oak, the answer to my question—“ How many years of growth were required to create such a giant standing before me?”—carries a much deeper and richer meaning to me now.

In a culture that demands instant gratification, choosing the path of slow growth feels incredibly countercultural. When men begin the hard work of recovery, the desire for a quick fix is natural. We naturally want to bypass the wind, avoid the micro-tears, and instantly sprout into a fully mature, unbreakable tree. But skipping the slow-growth process bypasses the very process that builds resiliency.

Outgrowing our unwanted sexual behaviors requires us to redefine what it means to be strong. It means allowing ourselves to be supported by the Mycelial Network when our reserves are low. It means feeling the painful micro-tears of a triggered nervous system and choosing to stay present rather than numb out. And it means allowing the co-regulation of a trusted community to act as our canopy when the shame becomes too much to bear. My colleague and I built The Ascent Recovery Group to be that forest. Healing takes time, and the growth is slow, but you don't have to weather the wind alone.

References:

Bauman, A. J. (2018). The Psychology of Porn: Essays on Pornography, Objectification & Healing. Independently published.²

Eldredge, J. (2025). Experience Jesus. Really.: Finding Refuge, Strength, and Wonder Through Everyday Encounters with God. Thomas Nelson.¹

Siegel, D. J. (2007). The Mindful Brain: Reflection and Attunement in the Cultivation of Well-being. W. W. Norton & Company.³

Wohlleben, P. (2016). The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate—Discoveries From a Secret World. Greystone Books.^4-8