Recently, I have begun to recognize a change over time in the nature and quality of my own desire for sexual sobriety and recovery.

I’ve always had a large ego, which never allowed me to acknowledge that I needed God. I looked down on people of faith, thinking they were foolish or weak, and that they used the notion of God as a crutch.

When I first got into SA recovery, I had been attempting for a month to recover—on my own—using a popular Twelve Step study guide, but I was slipping constantly. I happened upon an online SA meeting and posted my complaints about the triggers that were overwhelming me.

For me, honesty is the basis of a sponsorship relationship. I’m honest with my sponsor right away if a behavior is becoming a problem. I’m honest with her about what situations I must avoid. I also know what I am able to handle without problems.

I’m battling a disease that is much greater than I am, and which needs no rest. My disease is focused on driving a wedge between me and everything I hold dear. It is intent on killing me. It knows that by isolating me it can make me believe its lies—but as long as I have others to talk with, I can keep my addiction at bay.

My initials are L. A. I’m powerless over lust without God’s help.

I experienced something new at the International SA/S-Anon Convention in Newark, NJ, this past January. One of the morning sessions had to do with fetishes and obsessions. There had been some contention as to whether to include such a topic at an SA convention but the room was packed.

Morning Surrender Prayer
Lord, I surrender my lust and ask you to keep me sober from my lust today because I cannot; but by your strength, I can.

Since my disclosure to my wife, I’ve lied to her only once. It was meant as a prank—but it was a bad idea. It really set us back because it brought up all the feelings of distrust that she had in the beginning, and it was hard for her to believe that there weren’t other lies.

I just came back from an open AA meeting. I’m not an alcoholic, but I do sometimes go to open AA meetings when there isn’t an available SA meeting. These meetings are usually difficult for me in a way that SA meetings are not, because I don’t share.

My husband and I were talking about intimacy recently. We agreed that intimacy must be based in truth, and that I need to be totally honest (without gory details) about the big stuff.

“I’m Art, a sexaholic. I’ve been sexually sober since January 3, 2004.” That’s how I’ve introduced myself in every meeting I’ve attended. Today, exactly four years later, I have several strong impressions.

When I first came to SA, I was one of those people who wanted to control and enjoy my lust, but not stop lusting altogether. I wanted to work my own program. I thought I was smarter than the other members and smarter than my therapist.

I’m Larry H. from Pittsburgh, PA. I’ve been elected as Chair of SA’s General Delegate Assembly. This fellowship is very important to me and my recovery, as well as to my family. I’ve been a member of SA for over 19 years. My sobriety date is 9/1/88.

Dear brothers and sisters in SA,
I’m writing today to check in with many of you whom I have known in the fellowship over the years. It has been a beautiful and long journey since I first began attending meetings 10 years ago in Detroit, then hit my bottom and got sober in Columbus, OH and continued with SA in the mid-Hudson region of NY.

I recently read a book that describes how our consumer society works. The author suggests that we are manipulated into believing we have personal value by what we own. Our identity is linked to what we possess and by how others judge us through these objects.

I started sex-addiction recovery in 1994 in another sex-addiction fellowship, and spent the next eight years in a state of chronic relapse. Sometimes I couldn’t even get one day of sobriety, although a couple of times I reached six months. But five years ago something changed, and I have been able to stay sober.

Recently I met with a newcomer who was inquiring about SA. He had identified five different fellowships dealing with sexual addiction. He wasn’t quite sure where he belonged. He wanted a fellowship that would support his involvement in a same-sex relationship.

I was 18 when I first went to a gay bar. I had to wear a wristband to get in. I stood in the corner on the edge of the dance floor nursing my virgin Rum and Coke. My hair was unkempt. I wasn’t manicured. Every time I tried to connect, all I could say was, “God this music sucks.” I was desperate to make friends, but I couldn’t seem to break through.

In 1998, I believed I had a good life. I was 50 years old and satisfied in my marriage of 25 years, secure in my job, and content to have raised two grown children who were now out of the house. At the time, computers were the latest technology, and the Internet was an intriguing way to spend time talking with people from all over the country.