I am the mother of three beautiful children and the wife to one handsome husband. I also happen to be a devout Mormon woman, a closet hippie, and an avid foodie. I love polka dots, the color red, and anything vintage/retro/antique. This is me and this is my story about healing; healing from the sex addiction of said husband.
My story is so similar to so many. But each story has its own beginning, middle and end. Each one has a unique set of characters with their own unique roles to play, complete with plot twists and cliff hangers… Our stories are all so different, and all so painful. Pain is the unifying element; something we can all relate to no matter who/what/where/how/when it was dealt. But this story is mine, and I own it.
Unlike very many, I knew before my husband and I even got engaged that he had a “problem” with pornography and masturbation. I knew because he told me. And I vividly remember making the choice (because it was mine to make) to marry him anyway. I wanted to marry him. I loved him for who he was and who I knew he could be. I saw his weaknesses as potential strengths. And we both assumed that his past struggles were simply in the past.
We've been married now for ten years. A lot has happened within these past ten years. And with each major life event, whether it was the birth/loss of a child or the application/graduation to/from school, a confession was always on its heels. That “problem” my husband had? Not so much a thing of the past. It kept popping up, threatening to destroy everything. And even though I knew (to an extent) what I was getting into when I said “yes”, I had no idea how much pain I would endure throughout the course of our marriage. Each confession was like a bomb, and our marriage was one large mine-field.
Trust was obliterated, repeatedly. Repentance, and forgiveness, was nothing more than a cliché. Nothing helped and it was NOT getting better. And through it all I had learned that I was never enough.
It wasn't until I was pregnant with our third child that things finally came to a head. We were having the usual fight over sex, and as I was walking down the stairs, he lashed out, "I'm masturbating!". I had never heard such a tone as the one he used then. It was full of scorn and blame. He might as well have kicked me down the stairs. The wind was knocked out of my lungs, and I may have stopped breathing for a few seconds. I had tolerated past confessions, but they were all sincere and remorseful. This was different. He had meant to hurt me. This was not my husband. And so I left.
I got in the car and froze. I didn't know where to go or who to talk to. So I drove to the nearest church parking lot and cried my heart out. Husband called a few times and I ignored him. He left a voice-mail or two, worried about where I was and if I was ok. His voice was full of anguish and concern. He sounded normal again.
It was really hard to drive back home. It was all I could do to not pack up the kids and head to my mom's. But I stayed. We talked. We cried. And then, we got help.
For the first time in our then eight years of marriage, and in his twenty-something years of indiscretion, our eyes were opened: Husband was addicted. An addict?! Addiction! We both now fully realized the extent of his "problem". It was not just a label, and it was NOT an excuse. Realizing it was an addiction allowed us to ask the right questions and to finally get some helpful answers. It turns out that there's more to recovery than just reading your scriptures more and praying harder… Naive no longer, we both understand what it's going to take to make this marriage work.
My husband and I are a team. His actions do NOT define me. And I have no control over his actions; I can't change him. I'm not his personal Savior. But we can support each other in our personal recoveries. Yes, there are hearts to be mended and wrongs to be righted. But we are slowly getting better. I'm getting better. And I've finally come to realize, and accept, a great and eternal truth: I am enough.
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