Tag Archive | sexual addiction

Honey, I’m Home

I drove by my house. Unable to turn into the driveway, park my car, and take the agonizing walk across the yard and through the door. Circling around the block another time seemed like the easiest thing to do. And it was. More than once.

I have also sat in my car, staring at my house, the weight in my stomach keeping my butt firmly in the seat.

And then there have been the times that I have stood on my step, taking deep breaths and willing myself to open the door and enter my house. My house. But not always my home. And never my sanctuary or refuge.

My husband was on the other side of that door. He was always home from work before me. In the pre-recovery days, that didn’t bother me so much. It was unlikely that our paths would cross, even in our small house, for more than the few necessary moments. Most of his time was spent in the bedroom or his office with the door closed. Keeping me and our children at a distance.

But now that I knew how my husband had been spending his after work hours, now that our marriage was openly struggling and battling sex addiction and sexual betrayal trauma, the tension of his presence was in every room, whether he physically was or not.

It took time for me to adjust to him being more physically present in the house. It was odd to have him greet me at the door when I came in. To seek me out during the evening. To leave our bedroom door open. (No longer requiring me to knock and receive permission to enter to put laundry away, or to come to bed!)

This all kept me a little off balance. Not knowing what to expect next. I had learned ways to avoid the anger, soften the criticism, withstand the silent treatments, tiptoe around the perimeter to evade detection. I was fairly adept at walking on eggshells. But now the parameters were changing on me. And although it was a good thing, indeed a very good sign of the behaviour changes of recovery, I didn’t always know what to do with these offerings.

I was curious, cautious, hopeful. Watching, and not quite believing. But desperately wanting to. But mostly I was uneasy and confused. My husband’s new behaviour challenged everything I knew to be true. It left me a bit shaky and uncertain. It caused me to react and respond differently to him. It was seeping through the cracks of my carefully guarded heart. My world was changing. And that scared me. Even in the crazy, messed up life of being married to a sex addict, it was my life. It was what I knew. It was what I could trust to be true. It was him. And it was me. And now it wasn’t.

I no longer dread coming home. Home has become my safe place. My husband’s smiling face, open arms and loving heart welcome me. Every time. My spirit lifts when I know I am about to see him.

Recently, I was driving home from an outing to the city. Sadness was weighing heavily on my heart due to the painful situations of several people close to me.  My eyes were close to tears. I felt incapable of helping them all. My heart called to God, “How do I do this?”

I turned and glanced out the side window of my car. It was dusk, and a brilliant full moon was shining through the wispy pink sky around it. I was in awe of the beauty. And I heard God’s whisper telling me “You don’t. I do.” My spirit calmed. And my heart longed to get home and tell my husband about the beautiful moon and God’s voice and comfort.

My heart longed to get home and tell my husband about the beautiful moon and God’s voice and comfort. These are not words that I would have ever imagined writing. Or thinking. Or feeling. I smiled then. And I am smiling now. Although I am feeling that little lump in the back of my throat forming. The one that overwhelms me with gratitude in God’s miraculous healing of my heart, my husband’s sex addiction, and our marriage. God has taught me to trust and to love again and it is a wonderful thing.

He will once again fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy. Job 8:21

Untangling From My Addict

I stood in the doorway of my bedroom watching my husband shaking uncontrollably on the bed. His pain and anguish was palpable. This was days after he came to an understanding and acceptance that he was a sex addict, his life had become unmanageable, and his marriage was falling apart. This was the moment he told me he felt suicidal.

I didn’t react immediately. God kept my tongue still until my thoughts and emotions caught up with each other. And then I responded, “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I cannot help you. If you are truly suicidal please call our pastor or your doctor. You need help, but I have nothing I can give you.”

My words surprised me. But then they seemed right. I was in my own emotional turmoil and intense pain and somehow recognized that my first priority was looking after me. Not him. I cared about my husband as a person, as the father of my children. I did not want him to die. But there was nothing within me strong enough to pull him out of his darkness. I needed what little energy I had to keep myself functioning. I was barely doing that.

I was hurting too. For once, this was not going to be all about him. I would not comfort and console him. Try and make him feel better. That’s what our marriage had been for twenty five years. Me receiving and accepting the blame for everything at the expense of my own heart. This time would be different.

I was the one responsible for no longer allowing the invasion of pornography in our marriage. I was the one refusing to continue living in a sexless marriage. I was the one that said I am worth more than this. I was the one who shook up the status quo.

But he was the one who brought the addiction into our marriage. And fed it every day. It was he who caused this pain. Mine and his. I had finally found the courage within me to say “No more.” He was going to have to find his own strength. I had no intention of giving him an opening to steal mine away. I needed every bit of it for myself. Besides, the physical manifestation of my husband’s pain was evidence that God was breaking him. The best thing for me to do was stand aside and let God do His work.

This was a significant turning point for me. Looking back now, it was the unofficial beginning of Step One. I admitted that I was powerless over the sex addict and my life had become unmanageable.

I somehow intuitively knew that I was gaining back control of my life from the sex addict. I was broken, and the first step in my healing and rebuilding had been laid before me. I was valuing myself over the addict.

He reached down from on high and took hold of me; He drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because He delighted in me.                                              2 Samuel 22:17-20 and Psalm 18:16-19

(Mis)Adventures in Joining a Recovery Support Group

So much about recovery involves scary leaps out of your comfort zone. That safe place you are in is likely unhealthy, but it is where you are, and what you know, and that can count for an awful lot of points when your life is falling apart around you. Maybe I should be a little more personal here and replace these “you” and “your” words with “I” and “my” because it is me that I am really talking about.

Knowing how to quietly walk on eggshells and when to tiptoe around the perimeter. When to keep my mouth shut. Which is almost always because everything will come out wrong or stupidly. Learning how to camouflage into the background. Trying so hard to be unnoticed. By everyone.

This was my comfort zone. The isolation and security of me. Not letting anyone see the dark places of my soul, but also not the unique beauty of it either. Certain that it would be rejected and ridiculed. Because it was. Daily. By the person who I freely and trustingly gave it to. If my husband so thoroughly disliked me, logically, everyone else would as well. I lived in constant fear of being humiliated and rejected by everyone.

And there was my problem with embracing a recovery program. Recovery is not a “me” journey to be taken alone. At my first counselling session, my therapist introduced me to the five vital components to treatment and recovery for partners of sex addicts.

Number one, one on one counselling. I could do that. I was cautious, but desperate for guidance. It was his paid job to sit and listen to me without fleeing from the room repulsed by my thoughts and emotions. I trusted this counsellor who validated my pain and offered me hope and practical ways to achieve healing. He thought I was worth it and I began to believe that too.

Number four, reading. I was encouraged to read sex addiction recovery resources for partners and other personal growth books. Again, a reasonable suggestion. Especially with a list of recommended materials provided to me.

Number five, prayer. In the words of my counsellor, “When God is at the center of your life, long-term health and maintenance is much more likely. You can be okay no matter what happens in your relationship.” Nothing much to argue there. I believed in God so talking to Him wasn’t a stretch.

But ah, yes. Components two and three. For me, the tough, scary ones that I was inclined to skip over. The people ones. The relationships. The ones where other women will look me in the eyes, and listen to my wobbly, foolish words, and recognize instantly that I am a waste of their time.

Number two, participate in a recovery group. I was told that I would receive support, validation and strategies for recovery. That I was not alone. My counsellor’s wife, herself a recovering partner, led a weekly teleconference group that I was welcome and encouraged to join.

Number three, accountability. Meeting other women who have gone through what I am going through will help me stay accountable to a recovery and healing process. Okay. Doubtful, but maybe. But then my counsellor lost me completely by suggesting these women would become my friends. I was unconvinced. And saddened that he would say something so outlandish to me.

Nevertheless, out of my comfort zone I stumbled. Literally. On my first attempt to connect with my counsellor’s wife, (after staring at the phone in my hand for several minutes beforehand), I panicked and hung up the phone when I heard my counsellor’s voice on the line. Ridiculous, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Only minutes later, after a few deep breaths, I dialled again wondering if they had call display. He answered again. This time I identified myself. With my real name.

Later that week I bravely called in to the teleconference recovery group for the first time. It was awful. I said two words. “Cynthia” when I had to identify myself as the caller. And “no” when I was asked if I wanted to do a check-in. It was overwhelming, confusing, discouraging. It was quickly evident that I had no idea what was ahead of me. This was an unknown culture with an entirely new vocabulary. Triggers. Disclosures. Polygraphs. Boundaries. What?!?!

I hung up the phone that night and sobbed. Crushed by the overpowering raw emotions of myself and the other women I heard. Too much pain.

As my tears turned to stillness, I heard a tiny whisper. I called the group leader. Explained how much the call had distressed me. Through her words and beautiful spirit, God deeply ministered to my brokenness. A calm settled over my heart that could only come from my Abba Daddy.

I would like to say that my second time participating in group went more smoothly. But that would be untrue. I did hobble through a partial check in. Choked on the words, “Hi my name is Cynthia and I am the partner of a sex addict and intimacy anorexic.” The foreign recovery lingo was still there. I hung up in a worse state than I was in an hour earlier.

It distressed my husband to see me so upset with my recovery group. He was finding life and freedom in his support group and thought I should quit mine if it was making me miserable. He handed me an out. I was in enough pain as it was. We both wondered why I would intentionally add to it.

But I heard that tiny whisper again that refused to let my flickering hope be snuffed out. God gently nudged me forward. Drawing me through. Asking me to trust the process and path laid before me. Giving me the courage to do it. Making me brave.

The next week I walked into an in person recovery group and said “Hi, my name is Cynthia. The thing I like about myself today is that I am here.”

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing. 1 Thessalonians 5:11