[40 days]
Below is a post that I briefly put up on Palaverist before thinking better of it. I remembered that I haven't discussed the issue of sex addiction yet with my parents, and that my therapist recommended I give it 90 days before I do, so I'm sticking with that. But I like what I wrote, and I think it might be helpful for some new readers.
*
Today is the 40th day of my recovery, and the skies have opened up in Biblical fashion. I suppose it's as good a time as any, then, to open a different sort of floodgate and explain more of what it is that's got me dancing the Twelve-Step.
Along with marijuana addiction, the serious issue that I'm confronting is sex addiction. Now, I know that that term conjures some frightening images — it certainly does for me — so let me ask up front that you keep your imagination in check and try to understand that this kind of addiction can be about relatively mundane activities. I haven't physically hurt anyone or engaged in non-consensual activities. I have, however, gone beyond the generously liberal bounds of what was permissible in my marriage, and I've done so in two ways. First, I have, on occasion, engaged in certain activities that I find morally problematic. Second, I have engaged in activities that were permissible within my marriage, but done them secretly, which was not acceptable.
I don't believe that misbehavior of the sort I engaged in is necessarily addictive behavior. In my own case, however, it's less the specific behaviors than the underlying obsessions and patterns, including activities that didn't break my personal rules or the agreements of my marriage, that have made it clear to me that I have a problem. The framework of addiction has been helpful to me in understanding that problem and in working out what to do about it. I want to make it clear that I do not intend to use the concept of addiction to absolve myself of responsibility for my actions, but rather as a tool to help me take responsibility meaningfully.
Most Twelve-Step fellowships have some kind of introductory material that describes the addicts who are their members, and in the case of what are known as S-fellowships, those descriptions have fit me all too well. S-fellowships are Twelve-Step programs devoted to sexual addiction or compulsion in one way or another. The granddaddy is Sexaholics Anonymous, or SA, which takes the rather extreme position of discouraging any and all sex outside heterosexual marriage, including masturbation. Sexual Compulsives Anonymous (SCA) is a breakaway group that was founded by gay men who felt excluded by SA, and it's the most active of the S-fellowships in New York City. Sex Addicts Anonymous (SAA) and Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous (SLAA) are similar. These latter groups all encourage their members to find their own definitions of abstinence, sobriety and healthy sexuality, recognizing that a given activity might be perfectly fine for one person but deeply compulsive and demoralizing for another.
I have been regularly attending an SCA meeting each Tuesday night, and that's where I found my sponsor, who has been in the program since 1983. It's called a Beginner's Meeting, but its core group consists of a number of men who've got years of sexual sobriety. I'm also a regular at a Thursday night meeting of SAA, which has a very different flavor, attracting a high number of newcomers. That was my first Twelve-Step meeting, and I was one of five first-timers that night. Beyond those two meetings, I've also attended meetings of other programs, including Marijuana Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous.
I am deeply grateful for the experience of the last 40 days. In many ways sobriety has been difficult, and it has thrown my life into turmoil. Certainly it's been humbling to admit that I can't manage my own desires — my own life — without help from a Higher Power (more about that in another post).
But I have felt an enormous sense of relief and a freedom I didn't know was possible. For the first time in my life, I am being honest with myself and with others. In admitting my powerlessness over my addictions — by admitting that my life has become unmanageable — I have freed myself from the endless obligation to defend my every action and way of being. I feel like my ears have been unplugged. I babble less and listen more (though I still babble plenty and have a lot of work to do in terms of learning to listen better). I can dance.
That last one matters. For years Jenny has wanted to take a ballroom dance class with me, and I've always waved it off as one of those things I just don't do. I was unathletic as a child, and compulsory Israeli folk dancing at summer camp when I was, like, nine years old was such an unpleasant and awkward experience that I have written off organized dancing ever since. Until I admitted my addictions and my secrets, a part of my mind connected dance with exposure — I would be shown up and humiliated — and I recoiled. In the last few weeks, though, Jenny and I have been enjoying a ballroom dance class each Saturday, and I can now swing, rumba, foxtrot and waltz with varying degrees of skill and complexity. That I could not do these things before is baffling, and I am having a blast with them now. And it would never have occurred to me, before going into recovery, that a good way to make amends for broken promises is to practice my promenade and my box-step.
Time and again in my life, I have discovered that I know far less than I thought I knew. This happened when I went to college, and again when I went to India. (Looking back on who I was before that trip, I wonder sometimes how I could even walk down the street without having my head explode from ignorance and prejudice.) It happened when I began to practice Buddhist meditation, and it's happening with a vengeance now. Zen masters talk about the wisdom of no mind, and I'm starting to see what they're talking about.
In the last 40 days, I have been hit hard once again with the realization of how little I know and how much there is to learn from others. I sit in rooms full of addicts now because I need to, and I'm no better than anyone else in there, and they all have something to teach me. I pray each day for the courage to keep listening.
*
Today is the 40th day of my recovery, and the skies have opened up in Biblical fashion. I suppose it's as good a time as any, then, to open a different sort of floodgate and explain more of what it is that's got me dancing the Twelve-Step.
Along with marijuana addiction, the serious issue that I'm confronting is sex addiction. Now, I know that that term conjures some frightening images — it certainly does for me — so let me ask up front that you keep your imagination in check and try to understand that this kind of addiction can be about relatively mundane activities. I haven't physically hurt anyone or engaged in non-consensual activities. I have, however, gone beyond the generously liberal bounds of what was permissible in my marriage, and I've done so in two ways. First, I have, on occasion, engaged in certain activities that I find morally problematic. Second, I have engaged in activities that were permissible within my marriage, but done them secretly, which was not acceptable.
I don't believe that misbehavior of the sort I engaged in is necessarily addictive behavior. In my own case, however, it's less the specific behaviors than the underlying obsessions and patterns, including activities that didn't break my personal rules or the agreements of my marriage, that have made it clear to me that I have a problem. The framework of addiction has been helpful to me in understanding that problem and in working out what to do about it. I want to make it clear that I do not intend to use the concept of addiction to absolve myself of responsibility for my actions, but rather as a tool to help me take responsibility meaningfully.
Most Twelve-Step fellowships have some kind of introductory material that describes the addicts who are their members, and in the case of what are known as S-fellowships, those descriptions have fit me all too well. S-fellowships are Twelve-Step programs devoted to sexual addiction or compulsion in one way or another. The granddaddy is Sexaholics Anonymous, or SA, which takes the rather extreme position of discouraging any and all sex outside heterosexual marriage, including masturbation. Sexual Compulsives Anonymous (SCA) is a breakaway group that was founded by gay men who felt excluded by SA, and it's the most active of the S-fellowships in New York City. Sex Addicts Anonymous (SAA) and Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous (SLAA) are similar. These latter groups all encourage their members to find their own definitions of abstinence, sobriety and healthy sexuality, recognizing that a given activity might be perfectly fine for one person but deeply compulsive and demoralizing for another.
I have been regularly attending an SCA meeting each Tuesday night, and that's where I found my sponsor, who has been in the program since 1983. It's called a Beginner's Meeting, but its core group consists of a number of men who've got years of sexual sobriety. I'm also a regular at a Thursday night meeting of SAA, which has a very different flavor, attracting a high number of newcomers. That was my first Twelve-Step meeting, and I was one of five first-timers that night. Beyond those two meetings, I've also attended meetings of other programs, including Marijuana Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous.
I am deeply grateful for the experience of the last 40 days. In many ways sobriety has been difficult, and it has thrown my life into turmoil. Certainly it's been humbling to admit that I can't manage my own desires — my own life — without help from a Higher Power (more about that in another post).
But I have felt an enormous sense of relief and a freedom I didn't know was possible. For the first time in my life, I am being honest with myself and with others. In admitting my powerlessness over my addictions — by admitting that my life has become unmanageable — I have freed myself from the endless obligation to defend my every action and way of being. I feel like my ears have been unplugged. I babble less and listen more (though I still babble plenty and have a lot of work to do in terms of learning to listen better). I can dance.
That last one matters. For years Jenny has wanted to take a ballroom dance class with me, and I've always waved it off as one of those things I just don't do. I was unathletic as a child, and compulsory Israeli folk dancing at summer camp when I was, like, nine years old was such an unpleasant and awkward experience that I have written off organized dancing ever since. Until I admitted my addictions and my secrets, a part of my mind connected dance with exposure — I would be shown up and humiliated — and I recoiled. In the last few weeks, though, Jenny and I have been enjoying a ballroom dance class each Saturday, and I can now swing, rumba, foxtrot and waltz with varying degrees of skill and complexity. That I could not do these things before is baffling, and I am having a blast with them now. And it would never have occurred to me, before going into recovery, that a good way to make amends for broken promises is to practice my promenade and my box-step.
Time and again in my life, I have discovered that I know far less than I thought I knew. This happened when I went to college, and again when I went to India. (Looking back on who I was before that trip, I wonder sometimes how I could even walk down the street without having my head explode from ignorance and prejudice.) It happened when I began to practice Buddhist meditation, and it's happening with a vengeance now. Zen masters talk about the wisdom of no mind, and I'm starting to see what they're talking about.
In the last 40 days, I have been hit hard once again with the realization of how little I know and how much there is to learn from others. I sit in rooms full of addicts now because I need to, and I'm no better than anyone else in there, and they all have something to teach me. I pray each day for the courage to keep listening.
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