Cancer. I hear the word and cringe. I’ve known people who have suffered the wrath of this relentless disease. Some have survived using prayers, surgeries, radiation, and chemo. Some survived one bout to suffer a miserable relapse (or even two or three relapses) years later. Loved ones suffered with them, spending long nights in desperate prayer for the parent, spouse, sibling, or child to be spared. Some never made it. The cancer took their lives and ensured pain-filled memories for those left behind.

Sexaholism. When I hear the word, it sounds like an interesting subject to study or a mild personality disorder. The painful, brutal truth is that it’s not one of these. Sexaholism is another form of cancer: a cancer of the soul. It’s that simple. Just as cancer might destroy a person’s ability to breathe, sexaholism can cripple a person’s ability to make the Real Connection with God and others. Like other cancers, sexaholism has no known permanent cure that would guarantee a life free of relapse. The only solution for sexaholism is persistent and sometimes aggressive treatment. Just as a cancer survivor must make serious lifestyle changes, take daily medication and vitamins, and undergo regularly scheduled checkups, recovering sexaholics must also make changes: take daily doses of prayer, meditation, reading, and Step work, and attend regular meetings to receive checkups by others. Just as a cancer patient relies on his doctor for advice on how to stay cancer-free, a sexaholic gets suggestions from his or her sponsor and other program members on how to stay lust-free.

Those of us who have chosen to submit to treatment by God and others know that this program of treatment is not an option. The program is our chance for a life free from a vicious relapse. Each of us knows that the next relapse is the one that could kill us, land us in jail, or destroy our marriage or career.

My wife is sometimes jealous of the time I spend in meetings, working the Steps, and reading. This is just another reminder that I’m a sexaholic; and a reminder of the hurt I’ve caused her because of my addiction. She sometimes complains, “You’re going to another meeting!” She does not want to be married to a person with my addiction. “I’m going for chemo,” I explain. As I get in my car, I overcome any feelings of guilt for leaving her alone with the kids by reminding myself that I’m not going to “hang out” with my friends and talk about our golf game. I’m not reading a fantasy novel to escape from reality. I’m not writing letters to pen pals around the world. I’m treating my cancer! I’m going to any length necessary to ensure that my cancer does not relapse. I’m expending energy to build my relationship with God so I can be healthy—spiritually healthy enough to be of value to my family and friends. Let there be no mistake about it: my life depends on this daily treatment. My life depends on the support of my Higher Power. I depend on Him. This is my treatment. The closer I am to Him, the better the chances for my survival.