When I had been dating my husband for about three months, I told him I was getting concerned about our relationship. I was feeling like he wasn’t listening to me as much as I was listening to him, and I was wondering if we could address this so we could work things out.

He told me, “Well, everyone else tells me I’m a good listener.”

Having been raised as the family scapegoat by both of my lust-addicted parents, I had been trained well for this turn of the conversation: when people say that my reaction, and not their behavior, is the problem. I had been taught that I must be the problem, and it’s time to apologize. 

So I did. I didn’t want to lose this relationship, after all. We seemed to get along so much more calmly than I had in any of my previous relationships. There was hardly any fighting. We agreed on just about everything. 

What a relief! I thought. He must be the one!

I had no idea that his calm agreeableness was a façade propped up by his self-medicating with chronic masturbation. 

It would be decades before I would learn that the covert symptoms of lust addiction festering in his life were destroying any chance we had at a true, intimate relationship. The deception that accompanies this addiction might keep the behaviors secret for years, but addiction is a progressive disease. The truth presses its way out eventually, even if just through quiet clues. 

I eventually experienced more and more cracks in his false calm. I was baffled by his placating lies, gaslighting, and blame-shifting. I was intimidated by his passive aggression and eventually by his outright aggression. 

Wanting to be a good communicator, I brought up these problems and how they were affecting me. Instead of admitting he was being chronically unfaithful to me both alone and in his online relationships, he accused me of being too sensitive, too demanding, too controlling. 

I apologized. Then I read every book, blog, and magazine article I could find on becoming a better wife. I watched every YouTube video and listened to every podcast on marital communication and intimacy. I prayed every prayer, tried every fast, and collected novenas and deliverance prayers like they were baseball cards. 

I begged for couples counseling. When he finally agreed, I sat in the therapy room, shocked out of my mind when I heard the man I loved lie about me to the therapist while I was sitting right there next to him. 

I spent as much time with him and on our relationship problems as I could, desperate to fix what was wrong. Over two decades went by, and things only got worse. I spent less time with my friends and, God help us, less time with my children. My career suffered because instead of doing my work, I was focused on trying to change myself so that my husband wouldn’t have anything to accuse me of anymore. 

None of it worked. I found myself feeling betrayed, worthless, invisible, and lonely, no matter which direction I turned. I was exhausted. I had tried everything, and it wasn’t enough. 

That’s where recovery came in.

I finally found a relationship trauma therapist for myself. She recommended a secular 12-step group for spouses of sex addicts. When I attended my first meeting, I knew immediately I was home. There I was able to talk about what was going on in my marriage without anyone telling me I was too sensitive. I could talk about wanting to be treated with respect without being told I was being too demanding. In these meetings, I could share how unsafe my husband’s behavior made me feel without being told I was too controlling.

Through the lust addict’s deception of both self and others, trust erodes. Self-worth breaks down. The addict’s isolation envelops his loved ones, until those loved ones choose otherwise for themselves, regardless of what the addict himself chooses. In meetings for the family and friends of lust addicts, I get to experience the opposite of the degradation I was receiving in my marriage. I developed friendships with my sisters in fellowship. There I could trust safely, receive affirmation, and live in the solution instead of the problem. 

I learned to share what I needed to rebuild trust, and I learned to let my husband choose how he wanted to respond to those needs without my begging, pleading, cajoling, or yelling. Living without those degrading behaviors of my own, I began to experience my own calm: a real, deep, sustained calm that we in recovery call “serenity.” 

I thought that finding out my husband was a sex addict would be the worst thing that could happen to me. I was wrong. 

Looking back over my relationship, I can see that his incremental disclosure of his addictive behavior isn’t the thing that broke my heart. It was the daily, sometimes hourly, discouragement that came from trying to connect with someone who gets high off of the objectification of women. 

In 12-step fellowship, I am seen, heard, and believed as a real, whole woman. In the rooms, I am surrounded by good listeners. I can say without apology that I need a meeting because that’s where I am rebuilt, resurrected, and reborn.

Could you use the healing that only comes in a truly supportive community that treats you like a whole person? Make room in your schedule to try the CIR Family & Friends of Lust Addicts meeting on Tuesday nights at 9pm Eastern/6pm Pacific.

Catherine A. Quinn is grateful to be recovering from the effects of lust addiction in loved ones. She writes about both the pain and the healing and hope that are available to those harmed by all aspects of this addiction.