The Big Book says that “resentment is the number one offender” of alcoholics (AA 64). I can’t help but think that ego is also the number one killer of sexaholics.

A bruised ego and entitlement seem to go together for me. This is where “cunning, baffling, powerful” (AA 58-59) rear their ugly heads—often before I am even aware of it. I have a chain reaction that I’m now learning to interrupt.

I will think I have something figured out, or I know just the right way to say it, or I’m right and I can prove it—and then the bottom falls out. I don’t get what I want, or I am not understood, or I find that I’m not right. Then my ego feels bruised, and I feel angry and hurt. Then comes the feeling of entitlement. In the past, acting out would have been a forgone conclusion at this point. I would manipulate situations and give myself permission to enter the masturbation-escape module. When all else (or everything, or nothing in particular) fails: Masturbate.

Like everything else in recovery, breaking this cycle has proven to be a progressive journey. Arresting the compulsion to act out came first, and, thank God, masturbation fell by the wayside. Resentment came next. There was a slow and sometimes painful transition from feeling entitled to masturbate to feeling entitled to resent. Ah, the drunk-killer emerges from the darkness. It wasn’t until I learned (through much practice) to look in the mirror that I could progress beyond resentment. Seeing myself rightly has been one of the hardest parts of recovery for me, but also one of the most critical. Nobody wants to look, sound, or feel this bad.

In our local groups, we begin each meeting with short shares, during which we each share our principle forms of acting out and our length of sobriety. Regularly putting all that on the table in front of others provides me with a continuous reminder for me of the level of offenses and harm I have committed. That acknowledgement is the starting point in my progressive victory. If I am clear and honest about my offenses, then the motivation to do the right thing is there every time. It’s called the “gift of despair.”

So now instead of masturbation or any other form of acting out—like resenting, smoking, drugging, or eating—I look in the mirror and see myself rightly. And what do I see? A big black-and-blue bruised ego! And what do I want to do about it? I want to make it go away. I want to hide it. It’s ugly. And what’s different now? Today I know that there is only One who has the power to make it go away, and that One isn’t me. So I pray. Thank God.

I don’t know how I made it this far through life without prayer. Like turning on the water faucet, when I turn the prayer handle it just flows out of the tap and the relief—a cool stream of crystal clear water, my life source—flows.

Practice, Practice, Practice: I don’t want to die from this disease.