The Women of the Lodge
Change takes time. Recovery is a process.
Trust and give voice to your reality.
Begin your healing journey.
Living in a society of instant gratification, with instant access to a world of information and transactions in the palm of your hand, it’s easy to show up at a therapist’s office or twelve-step meeting and expect an instant solution to all of the problems that come from living with sex addiction. But recovery is a process, not an event. It is a process with no guarantees about the relationship, but a process that does guarantee a journey to self-love and self-care.
You no longer have to tolerate the hurtful. You can trust your own perceptions and give voice to your reality. You can move forward in truth. Secrets disappear and the potential for connectedness with self, others, and the universe is fully there. You deserve to continue your life free of fear, confusion, denial, and shame. You deserve to believe in your preciousness and to have it honored from within and by those you invite into your life. This is possible when you allow others to be a part of your process, as did the Women of the Lodge. These women found a path; they have tools and they have faith. Let’s continue with their stories and see how their journeys have progressed.
[THERESE]
Why would I need my own recovery? After all, he had the problem. Now I just shake my head at my thinking I was so much better than him. Recovery has been my life blessing.
I certainly knew that my husband needed help, but I’ve had a hard time realizing that I needed help too. I believed I was entitled to say and do whatever I wanted. After all, I was the victim. When he started his recovery, I wanted him to change but I found that I was jealous about him giving his time to his recovery. I actually became more obsessive about whether or not he was on the internet once he was in recovery. I was shameless in my sleuth work trying to trap him. He seemed to feel better about himself, but I actually became angrier. I was interpreting everything to be about me. He owed me now. What was he going to do for me? What was he going to do to assure me that he wasn’t going to look at other women? I wasn’t giving him any support, although periodically for the sake of being nice.
I would go to one of his therapy sessions. I did not want to talk in front of those people. I had nothing to say to them. Then things began to crumble even more when our fourteen-year-old got into trouble with drugs and sex. I thought we were going to lose her. One night she was almost raped. I also knew that my husband was in a serious relapse. I drove myself to see his counselor. As much as I had set out to catch him in a relapse, when he actually had one I let go of my entire ego. For the first time I realized I didn’t have the answers and I was a mess.
I was so scared and numb I simply did what his counselor told me and showed up at a group with other women. For several weeks I didn’t talk, I just cried quietly. They gently accepted me, my tears, and my silence. I so respected these women; they were angry, they cried, they laughed. Feelings were everywhere, and yet they could talk about them. Slowly I began to talk about myself.
They wouldn’t let me talk about my husband. I came to really understand that his behavior was not about me. I heard that early on but didn’t truly understand it. Pornography was his answer to his fears; it was his fix and it became addictive. My issue is my lack of a strong sense of knowing myself, deriving my self-esteem from how we looked, and having control over my feelings but not being honest about them.
Today I work hard at recognizing and talking about my feelings. I’m aware when I mask them and can even laugh at myself for how readily I use my defenses. I don’t think I can say I like showing my vulnerability but I do it. And of all the people, it is my husband who most understands and accepts me. When I show him this part of me he meets me where I am. Mostly I get scared. I get scared of the unknown more than anything real. So I work a lot at staying in the here and now. I don’t schedule all of my time or the family’s time. And after months now, I can say it works. I have time to be spontaneous, to be available to others, to listen to myself. I am not running from myself anymore. And better yet, I like myself more. I like my husband more. I like life more.
I realize I have been scared a lot of my life—certainly long before my marriage started. Mostly I have been scared that I’m not good enough. I always acted like I was above everyone else and separate from them. By the time I got to my first group I was so humbled. I felt like I was crawling out from some deep hole in the ground. Maybe others didn’t see this superiority of mine, but I knew I had been hiding behind it all of my life.
Today I am proud, truly proud to be accepting and available to all the women as they come through the doors of the Lodge. As different as we are, our underbellies are the same. I have been in group with a lot of different women and I have very strong friendships with some of them. I respect all of them for just showing up. I know how hard that is. Recovery is very humbling.
In the long run I don’t know what all of this means for my marriage, but I’m hopeful. I know that being quietly angry and playing the martyr is not going to make our marriage work, and I already feel so much better about myself, him, and us.
When your partner uses pornography to act out, as Therese’s did, it is common to rationalize that your situation is very different from others whose partners’ acting out involves flesh-and-blood people. Whether it’s pornography, cybersex, or other behaviors such as voyeurism or exhibitionism that don’t involve actual bodily contact with others, the process of holding yourself apart and different only increases the likelihood that you will miss the opportunity to heal from your pain. Or you could miss the opportunity to join your partner in a coupleship based on mutual healing and recovery, as Therese almost did. While Therese came slowly to the realization that there were an incredible number of gifts for her in the recovery process, she also came to realize she had fewer differences and much more in common with the other Women of the Lodge than she anticipated.
[VANESSA]
When I first found out my husband had exposed me to chlamydia while I was pregnant, I took his minimal disclosure as yet another call to action in my life. Let’s just buckle down and fix this. We both entered our respective twelve-step programs and therapy. I was happy to have some other cause to focus on, another project I could fix. This attitude changed approximately three months later when I found his First Step document. The level of infidelity detailed in it was shocking! I was enraged and I turned into this evil, vindictive woman bent on making him pay. The next few months were hell for both of us. I felt my life was crumbling. It was impossible to be the perfect wife, perfect mother, perfect work-addicted employee, and perfect friend to all the needy people I had surrounded myself with, while my foundational belief system was being shattered in every way. It was a crisis time in my life, and luckily I chose to look at my own stuff—my work addiction and issues—and make some changes. It was such a hard year but pivotal to my recovery. I quit my high-powered job, became a full-time mom, and dug into recovery in a serious way. My life was forever altered by that decision.
My don’t talk/denial training was so ingrained I found it very difficult to share the dark side of my life with people. Twelve-step programs helped a lot because they were a safe place to share with others undergoing similar experiences and pain. Initially I found it very difficult to discuss this with my friends, partly because I had spent so much time selling my perfect life to myself and others. I had a new awareness of how emotionally shut down I was as I realized that, even though I had a ton of friends, I had become very proficient in becoming close to people by listening to all their problems and encouraging them to share their issues but disclosing very little about myself. It was a very big step for both me and my husband to come out. It was so important for me to start breaking my childhood rules—don’t talk, don’t feel—by telling on myself and becoming vulnerable with safe people.
In my recovery I did a lot of trauma work related to my childhood. I would come to confront my father about his raging behavior. The trauma work was so necessary as I struggled with slow leakage of disclosures as they dribbled out over a few years. I would let go of my need to be in control. I would let go of my perfectionism. I would embrace my beauty and that inner child who needed nurturing. I would learn to trust myself. My husband and I worked hard, not without relapse and pain. We were truly finding some happiness when another bomb dropped—I was diagnosed with aggressive ovarian cancer. Now this would be a true test of recovery.
I cannot tell you how valuable all those trite adages of recovery became to me during this time: One day at a time. Let go and let God. You’re never given more than you can handle. Those incredible lessons became lifelines for me, and I became vulnerable in a way I had never known. I was so broken; I was truly fighting for my life. I finally learned to reach out, to ask for help. In the darkest time of my life, I actually found what it was like to seize life. Looking at my son, I really understood how important it was to seize every single moment. I believe that recovery was instrumental in saving my life because my physical death sentence became a spiritual and emotional growth period. In facing death, I became more alive. I believe my husband walked with me on this journey. In an act of solidarity he shaved his head so I wouldn’t be bald alone while I underwent chemotherapy. My many friends supported us with vigils of prayer and friendship before every major treatment, whether it was surgery, chemo, or major testing. He was there for every one of those, seemingly invested in the whole process. But the Jekyll and Hyde of addiction was clearly at play again. One year after my diagnosis (and bleak prognosis), he was called to come clean to me at an intensive treatment center. Apparently the whole time he was holding my hand through cancer, he was also engaging in sexual relationships with escorts, having affairs with other women, and soliciting sexual relations with adventurous couples. As I sat in the therapist’s office listening to his full disclosure, still bald from the chemo, I felt a part of me die inside. I had never felt such brokenness, such blatant and deceptive betrayal, in my darkest hour. It was then that I knew my recovery journey was far from over. I had some serious relationship/recovery decisions to make.
Right or wrong—there can be no second guessing—I made the decision to stay. And though I labored over that choice with therapists, I realize looking back that I was simply not strong enough to leave at that time. I was only then starting to look at what drove me to be in such a hurtful relationship. Until I cleaned up the baggage in my soul, I would never be able to truly look at the dis-ease in our relationship. I was still operating inherently from that place of not good enough.
The good news is we both went to new levels of healing. Things seemingly smoothed out. Then another painful life event occurred. My sister, who had been in remission for many years, found out she was now dying of her cancer. She was in terrible pain and needed constant assistance. I faced my sister’s death and my own mortality with a new level of healing.
Vanessa’s situation speaks to comments I made in Chapter Two about factors that influence the depth of trauma. For Vanessa, in addition to chronic sexual betrayal, the types of behavior her husband engaged in exacerbated her trauma. Her childhood trauma and the trauma associated to her own health issues as well as being confronted with her sister dying all influenced the impact of her traumas. She found that she would benefit using a variety of trauma modalities to aid her in her healing.
Vanessa continues her recovery practices and in that process she grows emotionally and spiritually strong. She moves in and out of active cancer and remission. She is at a place of calm in her life and she is feeling strong in her marriage when, to her surprise, her husband decides to leave the marriage to be with another woman.
I wish that I could share with you a “happily ever after” ending that I spent most of my life fantasizing about.
Alas, though recovery has been one of the greatest gifts of my life, it did not have the ability to save my marriage. Addiction is cunning and baffling; it’s a prickly thing that takes a lifelong commitment to avoid relapse. After seven years in recovery together, my husband went back out.
I pray for him as a human being and the father of my child. I have finally learned the meaning of letting go. It is through the hardships I have encountered in my life that I learned about the need to surrender, to live in the now, and to focus on me and a journey of self-love. I make a commitment daily to operate from a place of gratitude, authenticity, and congruency so that I can truly live life and strive to make a difference in this world.
Sadly, even with recovery practice, there are no promises of marital bliss. Vanessa’s husband made various choices along his path and in his journey he wasn’t honest with her about his feelings or his behavior. He made the choice to leave the marriage. Steeped in her recovery process, Vanessa would come to an inner peace, knowing that her recovery is not based on being in this marriage.
This journey of healing has been painful and arduous. It has also been so rewarding and life-changing. And it’s far from over; recovery is a journey, not a destination. Every day I look into my soul for toxic messages and unhealthy behaviors. Every day I look for the beauty in every moment, for the joys of my relationships, and for the gifts of my recovery. I live the paradoxes. My spiritual and emotional paths are so rich and authentic. I talk, I feel, and I love. I know that this is yet another step on my journey and that I have lots more to learn. I also know there is no happily ever after, but there can be peace and joy in the moment. And now is all we really have.
As a woman who strongly identifies with her culture, Maite has chosen to confront the rules of silence that fuel addiction as well as the societal rules of being a Latina. With the support of other women, she embraces a newfound freedom to let go of social and familial constraints and find intimacy with herself and her husband.
[MAITE]
I have found I need support and I need therapy, not as a punishment for his behaviors but as a way of understanding and healing. I deserve recovery, too. I spent a lot of years in my good/perfect/saint role: someone who saw herself as better than my husband in my saintly behavior. Like many Latinos and Latinas, I am a very proud person. But I see how this disease affects everyone involved. I see it affect coworkers, family members on both sides, and friends. It certainly affected me. It pains me to see women who don’t want to be in recovery for themselves, who choose to hang on to that false pride, who prefer to stay in the “better than” thinking. Not for me, no longer.
Before recovery I had walls of fear to control and protect me from others. Today in my recovery I have the gift of knowing I don’t need to control. In fact, by letting go of my controlling behaviors I have found a freedom I’ve never known. In that freedom I don’t have to hide my fears or my shame; I feel love for myself and my husband. And I’ve learned about boundaries. I’ve discovered that boundaries are about honoring and respecting me and others physically, emotionally, intellectually—the spiritual sacred spaces—living honestly and with integrity.
In my family and in my culture, everyone is into everyone else’s business. I was trained never to question authorities or loved ones, even when my intellect or my intuition knew my truth. Enmeshment brings a lot of abuse. If someone has a pain, I am supposed to cry. If you have a need, I am to meet it. If you are fat, I am to be fat. If a neighbor is sad, I am supposed to be in mourning too. That is no longer okay with me. Today I am learning I have the right to say no, I have the right to my own feelings, I don’t have to caretake to be a good human being.
I am fortunate because my husband wants recovery.
He doesn’t want to keep living his secret life. But I know I can have my recovery with or without him. I am no longer willing to live with the dishonesty, the lying, and the craziness where I doubt myself when the truth is not spoken. Now my healthy self knows what it knows and I honor it. It doesn’t matter who gets upset.
My husband is a businessman and many people know us. I used to participate in everything. People in our community, people in our family, and people in other families asked us for all kinds of help, from money to jobs to assistance with visa paperwork for new immigrant families. I used to give money, time, write letters, and lots of things to anyone when asked. Now I say no when I want to. I don’t think I have to do what they want in order for me to be a good person. I know I am a good person. We have a good, economical life so I thought I was obligated to caretake our many family members, friends, and employees. I gave and gave and gave, and it was never enough. I felt guilty, angry, and used. Now I choose. Today I find myself saying no to anything that interferes with my spiritual life, my interior life.
Today I have much laughter in my life. By not trying to control and manipulate everything and everyone, and by not being vigilant about the rules of perfection, it’s so much easier to find the laughter and humor in everyday life. Laughter gives me a freedom to be myself, to know my feelings, to be imperfect, to let go of judgment, to find serenity. I don’t live a role anymore. I wear fun, colorful clothes. At times I know my kids might prefer I be a bit less colorful, but I simply find humor in that as well.
My kids have the typical young adult challenges, but my recovery tools have made me a better mother.
In addition to being with other women in recovery groups, I make a point of socializing with some of them outside of group. We go to movies, we go to the mall, we have coffee, and we spend a lot of that time laughing. I don’t live all bound up in other people’s expectations—my husband’s, my family’s, or my culture. I have come to a place in my recovery where I love myself. I nurture my body, my spirit, and our relationship. As difficult as reality can be and as frightening as honesty sometimes is, living in truth has been so freeing. As for what happens in my marriage, for now we each practice our recovery. Learning to communicate has been vital and at times still awkward. I think I sometimes overwhelm my husband with my openness. I’m sure that it’s shocking, given that early in our marriage I learned to be very silent. There is no hiding from each other. I trust that whatever it is, if we talk about it, it will be okay. When I feel like I just want to attack him, I ask myself, “What are my intentions?” Healthy intention is not to make him feel bad, not to control or manipulate, but to seek the truth. The truth is the path to healing. Living in reality is necessary. He is a mirror of my reality; when he lies or just doesn’t tell me something then the reality gets distorted. I am not preoccupied with his recovery, but I know he has to be in recovery for us to be a couple. We love each other no matter how sick we are, but we need to heal this sickness.
We are not the perfect family; perfect is an illusion, perfect is crushed, and perfect is not real. The fairy tale is not there. Today we are a family—a family with a lot of love and a lot of good communication.
After years of seeking the help of multiple therapists who basically told her the problem was in her head, Maite challenged the gender and cultural teachings that had been so strongly ingrained into her being: your needs are not important, discount your perceptions, defer to the man, don’t question, look good at all costs, never complain. This was quite a fight for her, but while waging it she found a path that led to self-love, self-care, and true joy by living in the truth. And in that process, her husband joined her in the journey.
[JACQUE]
When my husband and I finally named what was happening in our lives, I wanted to know everything there was to know about sex addiction and what to do about it. I wanted it all tied up in a neat little box so I could have control of my life again. I wanted a promise that we would work it out. I wanted recovery for us, not so much for me. Little did I know that what I really needed was to let go completely and give it all up to see what would come back to me. I would ultimately need to walk through my life with a sifter to bring the fine and delicate pieces of my life back together and to toss away the chunks that really didn’t work for me (the control, resentment, anger, fear, lack of trust, and misplaced trust) no matter how much I hung on to them. I felt so broken I wanted to be with others who maybe knew how it was, if that was possible.
I found other women who had walked in similar shoes. I listened and began to talk about my experiences. I had so much shame about my behavior, our behavior, and my husband’s behavior. But I felt such acceptance and love from these other women. I wanted what I saw some of them had: a voice. They could talk about their feelings. They had a sense of how to take care of themselves. They were struggling for sure, not knowing what was totally real in their own relationships, confused about whether or not to go or stay, and angry about the betrayal, the consequences. Together we would heal. I had a lot to learn about the power of being with other women and how to be good to myself in a nurturing way.
In spite of the incredible struggle to confront and change old beliefs and behaviors, I discovered so much about me. But I can’t say it came easy. My insides often screamed in protest of what I had to let go of to get to a greater place of wholeness. I discovered the only way to trust again was to learn to trust myself. I learned to be honest in all areas of my life. I learned nothing could ever be the same again. All of my interactions would be different because I was different. I learned to let go completely, to trust in God. I learned the power of supportive women in my life. I learned to trust women. I learned to speak up for myself in an empowering way. I learned to share the hard stuff: the pain, fear, anger, and resentments. I learned to tell on myself, my mistakes and fears. I learned the power of laughter and fun. I learned to listen. I learned to honor myself as a woman; to hold on to that and never let it go. I learned I am controlling and judgmental, not perfect. I learned to honor that part of me too. I learned to trust therapy. I learned I couldn’t do it on my own, no matter how hard I tried. I needed the group. I needed a sponsor, and I needed friends.
Much of my recovery has come from being willing to talk about the sex abuse in my childhood, from grieving the loss that came with not being able to have children, and from breaking my denial about how men have chronically abused me. I have worked to transition from sex abuse victim to survivor. I read numerous books, but one in particular, called The Courage to Heal, spoke to me, and I spent the next year working the exercises. I felt such shame the day I purchased it. I wanted to hide it and pretend I was buying it for someone else. Then I told my parents about the sexual abuse my brother performed on me. I have no real memory of the time frame other than knowing about when it started and about when it ended, somewhere about five years. I do have some specific memories, and through my recovery I have discovered I have a very strong case of post-traumatic stress disorder related to the abuse. I also used the incredible therapy tool of Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing (EMDR) to lessen my anxiety and reframe loving beliefs about myself as well as allowing myself to be heard, allowing myself a voice, allowing myself to grieve, and then to be held safely by wonderfully caring women.
I learned to “do” recovery, to have a plan as to what my recovery could look like. I was looking at me and not living in reactivity to my husband. I would go to meetings and share. I found the courage and support to start my own twelve-step group for partners since I lived in an area where there were no groups. I learned that I am a part of the whole, that my part is just as important as any other woman in the group. I feel whole and believe in myself.
I quit feeling less than, and I stopped comparing myself to others: I stopped competing. I have begun to use the other half of my brain, to allow my artistic side to rise to the surface, to let what was there flow in the way it was intended. I listen and accept feedback. I discern what will and will not work for me. I’ve stopped defending myself, stopped giving my power away, and stopped giving myself away. I hold myself as precious. I experience the power of women, the power of tradition and ceremony.
I have had to get therapy to help me get to a place of healthy anger. I have ripped up my share of Kleenex. I have beaten the bed. I also kick things, and I walk hard, and I air box. I have a great time with my anger and it’s empowering. But having been a major peacekeeper in my life, I can still go there when I get scared. And my husband’s anger can scare me. So I always work at boundaries, knowing whose stuff is whose. I don’t take on his blaming. I am not willing to be abused. Today I recognize it early on and I have learned to stick up for myself verbally and remove myself from the situation if that is necessary.
My best boundary is in knowing I cannot do his recovery. Today in his work he still travels some so I talk about any fears I have. I no longer bury my head in the sand. If he chooses not to follow his recovery plan, then I really believe it will be a short amount of time and I will know. And then I am free to make my own decisions. Today I stay because I feel hope for us. I feel hope because I see a change in behavior. We communicate so much better and so much more than before. I am more trusting of myself with him, more willing to be genuinely vulnerable and he so with me. Today I have learned to ask for assistance to allow people to be of support.
In the early stages of our relationship I had this desperate need not to be abandoned. The love I had for him morphed into not wanting to be alone. As we moved into our recovery and I began to value myself, to get my own esteem. I knew I didn’t want to be in a relationship if he could not be present with me. I do remember what it was like to love him with all my heart and want to be with the kind, loving, fun man. And as he got working more and more on his recovery, I know this man is a man I do want to be with; he’s kind, caring, fun, adventuresome. I was wounded long before I met my husband and he was the product of woundedness before his sex addiction. We are two wounded people tapping into our strengths and learning to be in this world in a way we never were before.
Jacque has worked hard in her recovery and, as you have just read, she talks about herself more than she talks about her marriage or her husband. This is what she takes to her marriage now, her recovery. With two therapeutic separations behind them, she and her husband are together and both of them are actively engaged in their recovery processes.
[JENNY]
For so many years I lived in denial and fantasy, beginning my marriage with a façade of seeing myself as righteous, capable, and having the world by the tail, yet having an inner world of self-loathing, terror, and confusion. After fifteen years of marriage and my husband acting out his many addictions, I was operating at a minimal level, experiencing severe depression and two nervous breakdowns. It was at this time that I began to seek my spirituality in Jesus. I prayed and prayed for my circumstances to change, but it wasn’t until I took the Lord at His word that things did start to change! “There is none righteous, no, not one.” I guess that meant me, but I thought I was so much better than my husband. “Take the log out of your own eye before you try to remove the speck from your brother’s.” Wow! It was me who I needed to ask the Lord to change!
This was hard. I saw myself totally as the victim and he an abuser. I began to be present with my prayer and came to realize that I had things I needed to address about myself. The style of my prayers changed. I asked for direction. I asked for courage and strength.
A few years into my spiritual journey, when I started to pray, “Lord change me,” is when my husband actually began to change. At first his acting out became worse. Finally after a heartfelt disclosure he started looking for treatment centers. At this time I knew nothing about sex addiction. I was so naive that I didn’t even know what a treatment center was. He said he was going for his drug addiction, but he took painstaking steps to pick out just the right one, and today I believe it is because he knew his sexual acting out was controlling him and severely hurting his family.
At the encouragement of the treatment program staff, I began therapy with a specialist in sex addiction so I could focus on my trauma issues. I didn’t know what was wrong with me or even what had happened to me in my life, but I was willing to look at anything in my life that needed changing, anything. The scriptures told me, “Know the truth and the truth shall set you free.” I knew I wanted to be free but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be freed from. I just knew I wanted to get out of the hell that I had been living in.
I would discover the shameful self that I had been trained to cover up and eventually forgot was there. It was buried alive, always nagging to come out, and actually coming out sideways in everything I did: how I related to my children, what I thought and felt about myself, and how I related to my husband. Judgment, condemnation, and control oozed from the pores in my skin.
I was working with a therapist to address my childhood history and my addiction to a sex addict. That is when I joined a support group at my church with other women whose partners acted out sexually. I also joined a codependency group at my church. The individual therapy would keep my head above water. It was in group I felt the validation I needed to move from a victim mentality, a childlike person, to trusting myself and asking for what I needed. It was in group that I would learn how to connect with other people and not be so afraid of them.
I have no doubt that the single most powerful tool I had in my healing was my support groups. Without those women I could have never experienced the love and acceptance that Jesus wanted me to experience. I had never been comfortable in groups and didn’t make friends easily. I was afraid of people, especially women. But in the group I learned to trust safe people; I learned to tell my story. I learned to confront my husband and I learned to tell him what I wanted and needed. I acquired incredible courage and conviction. As I healed spiritually I began to heal emotionally and relationally as well.
Then I was led to another group where I would go deeper into my recovery process and I could be more explicit about my abuse and my marriage. It was here I would work a lot on how much I was dissociating, not able to stay present. This had been going on for years. It was here I allowed myself to be seen, meaning I was able to share the self-loathing I often felt. And it would be in this group that I would become open enough to receive from others, to receive their caring, and with that, to come to really accept my worth. This healing process was essential for me because it helped me shatter the toxic shame that I carried. One of the more profound experiences I had in this group was that no matter what I had to say about what I had done or about what had been done to me, I experienced a sense of unconditional love and acceptance. The facilitators would guide me to look deeply into the eyes of each group member. They’d have me hold that gaze for a significant amount of time before looking to the next person. This process helped to turn the lies that caused me self-hatred and shame into the truth of acceptance and my true value given to me by my Creator.
I would come to realize that my healing was the most important thing in my life, and to believe that my husband was standing in the way of my being able to fully heal. I decided I could not be with such a controlling and fearful husband. I wasn’t strong enough to survive that, and I was committed to my healing. I really didn’t know how I could support myself. I had not worked outside of the home in years. But I put one foot in front of the other, I prayed, and I was practical. After a couple years in recovery, as scary and financially difficult as it was, I chose to divorce. I didn’t see my husband’s recovery behavior as consistent with mine, and our differences were too great. I am not very confident in myself when it comes to relationships today, but I think that will pass. I know I am still fragile. But today I also feel my strength. I am grateful for what I have with my children; I recognize that I am smart. I am learning how to have fun, how to take care of me, and how to know and honor my feelings. Each day I feel stronger within.
I can actually feel my insides smile—this is a long way from my depression and nervous breakdowns.
Ultimately, Jenny’s faith led her into a recovery process, and as she said, it gave her “the courage and foundation to come out of denial and into reality.” She was readily able to embrace how the teachings of the Bible, together with her therapy process, offered a path to healing. Like many partners, she prayed, bargained, and pleaded with her God, and in time Jenny heard and listened. She approached therapy willingly, she followed direction, and she read all she could find about codependency and trauma. As scared as she was of allowing herself to open up to other women, she came to blossom in their strength and support.
[SARA]
Sara came into betrayal recovery after several years in Al-Anon. It is very likely her participation in a twelve-step program led her to trust in the group process and believe in the power of sharing with others with similar experiences.
I came to this group to meet other women with husbands who were acting out. I was so angry—angry that this is where I was in my life. I was not sure what I was hoping for. I had one foot ready to head out of this marriage, yet I came and am forever grateful for that.
Today when I think about my recovery, I see it so far in three levels. My first level began in Al-Anon; that was the beginning of my path. My husband had just gotten sober, but I was having trouble sleeping and eating, I was worried about money, and the kids were acting out. There wasn’t a corner of my life that was peaceful. The concept of being responsible for the results of my own life despite what happens to me was a beginning, a big beginning.
The second level was the recovery more connected to sex addiction. Here again I was in crisis, not just from the knowledge my husband had been continuing to act out sexually and it was addictive, but I now had breast cancer. Also at this time three of my family members and friends passed away. While all levels of recovery begin with crisis, at this stage the crises were so much deeper, threatening, and terrifying. I needed to be led, supported, and comforted. I knew enough that I knew I couldn’t do this alone. I sought out several professionals—counselors experienced in addressing codependency, sex addiction, and loss. I found medical help I trusted. Together they were my team; they helped me put one foot in front of the other. I was hurting and scared, and I needed to call upon every internal strength I had at a time of incredible brokenness. I listened to my host of guides, I followed direction, and I honored myself.
I had so much loss—loss of illusion, loss of health, loss of family and friends—and so much fear. I grieved and grieved, moving up and down and through all of the stages they talk about—anger, sadness, bargaining, guilt—sort of like in staccato fashion, with a lot of starts and stops. I would come to understand the generational repetitions in my family. This would offer me a framework to understand I wasn’t crazy, I wasn’t defective. I was simply wounded, and from that I could heal. I would put into practice healthy boundaries. I would learn to take down my walls and to be vulnerable but hold on to my integrity and esteem. I would also learn to listen and, more important, to hear. I learned better communication and problemsolving skills. I would constrain that part of me that wanted to lash out in my pain. I would also lighten up and not take myself so seriously all of the time. I practiced gratitude and laughter in my life a lot at this stage.
The third level of recovery, which would come within two to three years of beginning what I call level two, was to know myself differently than ever before. No matter what on earth happens to me, I will be all right. My being all right is not about his sobriety with alcohol or sex. I know I can get through whatever is there in front of me. I trust myself. Never again is it okay for someone to mistreat or abuse me. I realize when we first got together we were both desperately in love and saw ourselves as soul mates, star-crossed lovers. Then my love became conditional in the height of our addictions. Today I can say I love him, and I love him forever. Now that does not mean he can live with me forever. If he acts out and doesn’t do anything about it that is mistreating me. I realize today I had my husband on a fairy-tale pedestal from the day we met; then, with his acting out, he crashed down from that pedestal. Today I am very aware of his faults and they can irritate me, but now I don’t need him to be an illusion for me.
Being in recovery means every day belongs to me to express who I am in each thing I do. It means when I make the inevitable mistakes in that day, I have a way to set my conscience straight, no matter what the rest of the world says or thinks about my behavior. I know my heart and I know who and why I love. It is because of honesty and trust in my judgment and motives. I know my job is not to save anyone. I can’t. I don’t want to interfere with their beautiful but sometimes painful path. I do take great delight in being of loving service in this world. I sometimes quake in my boots from fear, but I know it can be shared with God and my trusted friends. I swirl and delight in the delicious joy and challenge of life. I play. I cry. I hurt. I laugh. I am beginning to trust that what I put out into the universe comes lovingly back to me. I am in partnership with those I choose, including my spouse. If any relationship becomes toxic for my well-being, I will be there for myself and take care of this precious life of mine.
People ask me how I live with knowing he could relapse. Well, there have been relapses and he could have more. I hope he doesn’t. What I do know is that whatever comes about, it is not about me. His behavior is not about me. And I will handle whatever comes my way. Nothing is guaranteed.
When old habits and fears arise, there are friends whom I talk with through situations, disagreements, and challenges. Being in recovery means reaching out for this support when I feel myself lapsing back into the old patterns that made my life so miserable. My recovery friends are willing to call me on my stubbornness and control issues, or point out when I’m being self-righteous or self-centered.
The one area I think I have needed to stay most vigilant is my jumping to an emotional response. When I feel misunderstood or threatened, I go from neutral to an immediate fight-or-flight response. If we have a really heated argument, or worse, a disagreement that never gets expressed, my mind will quickly jump to thoughts of leaving and finding a more peaceful life. But I recognize that is old, fear-based behavior. Today I use my tools to work through feelings, to communicate, to own my needs, and to value them. We talk. We listen. We work toward the win-win.
My greatest strides have come with being with other women in recovery and twelve-step groups. It is a privilege to be able to go and tune up. The truth is what I recovered. I don’t need to hide anymore.
As Sara said, she came to the Women of the Lodge group incredibly angry, but her Al-Anon experience had taught her that she would be safe with other women. In that safe environment she vented and ultimately owned her own shame and fears. She was able to make the connection and see how her early life abandonment was perpetuated in her adult relationships with men. The internal shift that propelled her life into one of laughter, connection, and peace occurred when she recognized that her healing was predicated on the commitment to no longer abandon herself.
The Invitation
The personal crises that Therese, Vanessa, Maite, Jacque, Jenny, and Sara experienced led them to pursue recovery specific to living with sex addiction. Therese began her journey a couple of years after her husband had begun his. Vanessa embraced recovery after being exposed to a sexually transmitted disease while she was pregnant. Just when Maite was ready to leave her marriage, she and her husband began their recovery journey. Jacque and her husband began their journey together as he was walking out the door to be with his girlfriend. Jenny began recovery when her husband sought treatment for his drug abuse and when his sexual behavior was also identified. Sara and her husband began theirs when she discovered a book on sex addiction in his car.
It may be discouraging to read about women who put their heart and soul into the healing and recovery process and still their relationship or marriage did not survive, as is true for two of the six women of the Lodge. Yet in spite of the present-day outcome of their relationships and what their partners did or didn’t do in recovery, all of these women continue their healing journey. While their relationship problems got them into a recovery process, they stayed to heal themselves. This journey transcended the issues of betrayal and deceit and became one of personal healing never before imagined. They learned to trust their perceptions, listen to their feelings, recognize their needs, and establish respectful boundaries. They addressed their childhood trauma issues, recognized the signs of generational repetition, developed esteem, and found their voices.
It was a long road paved with an overwhelming amount of internal dialogue such as “How could he? Why am I not enough? How will I live? How will I manage?” “I’ll never trust again.” But these women discovered an inner strength they had never before experienced, and in that strength they found esteem; the skills for genuine emotional intimacy, joy, and laughter; and inner peace. The Serenity Prayer became the staple of their life.
God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change, The courage to change the things I can, And the wisdom to know the difference.
Although others have walked before you, this is your very own unique journey. You are to be congratulated for coming this far, reading this book, and facing your truths. It takes courage, and you have it within you.
The journey of self-discovery will offer you many gifts. You don’t have to live in the shadow of someone’s addiction or be manipulated and controlled by anyone else’s behavior. You can learn to trust yourself—in essence, to listen and trust “your worms.” This is your opportunity to learn about healthy boundaries, who is responsible for what, and what gives you a sense of safety. As you begin this journey, remember that it’s all about honoring and respecting yourself. You can move from immobilization or reactivity to a life of hope, greater esteem, and greater choices. While no one can walk the road of recovery for you, there are others who have traveled a similar path who will assist you. When all seems dark, there are people out their who will shine the light that helps you to continue moving forward. As you begin your healing, you will find an inner strength that allows you to transcend the pain; you will learn to trust in yourself and find meaning from the experience.
You don’t have to come to recovery knowing what you want for your relationship; you don’t even have to be in a relationship. You don’t have to come eagerly. In truth, I suspect that you will come haltingly; you will be angry, sad, and very confused. I simply encourage you to come and begin your journey.
We are sisters and together we heal.
Reflective Thoughts and Questions
• Underline or highlight the parts of the women’s stories with which you identify.
• What can you take from the different women to inspire your own healing and recovery process?
• What you are willing to do for yourself in your healing process? Be specific.
• What gifts are you already aware of receiving in this healing process?
• What potential gifts do you see for yourself as you continue?
• What was important for you to learn in this chapter?