Today I know that I’m not in charge of my life. I know that there is a God, and that I owe my continued sobriety to my relationship with Him. But it has taken me a long time to learn those lessons, and I’m still learning them today.

I was born in northern Canada, when my older sister was 11 months old. My family moved around a lot. Eventually we settled in a small southern Canadian town of about 6,000 people.

When I was around seven, an elderly relative would visit us. He made us pray the rosary on our knees on the hardwood floor for 30 minutes or more. To a seven-year-old boy, that felt like an eternity! I once complained that my knees hurt. He said, “Why are you complaining? This is nothing!” He showed me huge calluses on both of his knees. I thought, “If that’s what it takes, I don’t want to know God.”

At the religiously managed schools I attended, I felt that I was harshly treated. My teachers taught me about God but did not help me know or understand Him. I remember once, when I had missed one word on a religious doctrine test, that I had to go home and write the whole paragraph-length answer 100 times for the next day. I had no time left to go out and play that night. My hand, wrist, fingers, and arm hurt. I felt angry and confused. I believed that I could never measure up to others’ concepts of God.

My father was my idol, my first god (or maybe second after my mother). But he was sexually inappropriate toward me, and I began to realize that he was not truly available for me as a father. I also noticed his confusing behavior while in the car with him one day, driving down the road. We were in the middle of a conversation when all of a sudden he turned his head to look out the window. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is there a fire truck going by? Did I say something wrong? Did I do something wrong?” He answered, “No, everything’s fine.” But I was confused and wondered what was going on.

When we got home, I asked my mother why my father would suddenly turn his head while driving. She said, “Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing.” From my mother, I learned to ignore what I’m feeling or seeing. I learned about denial and secrets. From my father I learned staring, lust, and fantasy. These tools served me well on the road of avoiding the painful realities of life.

My father and mother seemed unable to care for me in a nurturing way—not because they didn’t want to but because they didn’t know how. They were both orphans; each was raised in a religious institution from the age of seven. I cannot imagine what being dropped off like that would have felt like. But I felt their fears of abandonment through their actions toward me.

Most of the time they would tell me what to do regarding every aspect of my life, over and over again. Even something as simple as how to hammer a nail into a piece of wood—they would insist that I did not do it correctly. When I didn’t please them, they would ignore me. One of them might stop talking to me for months at a time.

As a boy I was fairly small. After school, five kids at a time would beat me up. Hoping to avoid the daily beating, I’d be the last to one enter the classroom and the first one out. This set me up for a lifetime of playing the victim. I had a great fear of angry and abusive people. I was unable to stand up for myself. I was completely overwhelmed by all the pain in my life. I remember making a conscious decision that lust and masturbation were the only ways I could feel good or love and care for myself.

During my teenage years I tried to have relationships with others without much success. I especially wanted a girlfriend, but I always found myself playing second fiddle to some other guy. I’d be in a relationship, and then suddenly the woman would be gone. I wondered what was wrong with me. Today I know that I hung on too tightly to relationships because I was so insecure.

As time went on, I felt I would be better off alone rather than to be intimate with anybody. I had lust and masturbation to nurture myself—so who needed a girlfriend? During this time I crossed many boundaries, including pornography, voyeurism, and bestiality. Lust was my higher power. It temporarily took away the unmanageability of my life.

Before moving away to the university, I had a girlfriend for two years. That was a record for me. When I came home to visit her during my first year at school, she told me she had dated someone else. I was afraid of losing her. My only response was, “Do you still love me?” Even though I had continued to act out at college, she was my drug of choice. She answered, “YES, absolutely.” So I said, “I don’t see anything wrong with what you did. I understand what you are going through.” This helped relieve my guilt about my own sexual transgressions (which I had not shared with her). I was in complete denial.

A few months later I got a “Dear John” letter from her. After reading the letter, I went for a five-hour walk in a snow storm. I decided I would not get hurt again. I proceeded to look for the most needy, most vulnerable person I could find—someone who would be so grateful for my attention that I could use her sexually without feeling guilty. It worked, and I got sicker.

When I married this wonderful woman (who thought I was God), I was still mourning my former girlfriend. Even after 11 years of marriage and kids, I remained attached to my former girlfriend and fantasized about her.

Over time, sexual relations with my wife became infrequent. I blamed her for the lack of sex. I started harassing her, telling her to get help for her sexual issues. That didn’t work out so well; I was eventually told it was my problem. I decided that our sexual problems gave me carte blanche to get my “needs” met outside the marriage. I crossed more boundaries and my disease got worse.

I decided to explore a friendship with a psychologist friend in order to work on my unmet needs. Unfortunately, because I was so vulnerable, this man was able to break down my defenses, and our relationship became sexual. One more line was crossed. I told myself it was not an affair because I had been advised to take care of my sexual needs. Besides, this was a man and not another woman. The psychologist wanted me to leave my marriage, but I couldn’t make up my mind to do it. I felt like an elastic band being pulled between the affair and my marriage. I was living a double life with all sorts of lies.

By this time, my resentments were killing me. Suicide seemed like the only way out of my miserable life. I thought, “If this is the only life I’m going to get, I might as well check out.” As I started making specific plans for the suicide, I began to feel happier. At last I had found a way out of the insanity.

The psychologist saw that I was becoming seriously disturbed. One day he handed me a brochure for a Twelve Step program and asked me if I would like to try going to a meeting. I thought, “What have I got to lose? I’m committing suicide tomorrow!” So I went. I was amazed to find 35 people there, all of whom were telling my story and offering help.

I thought the psychologist had orchestrated the whole thing for my benefit, and that it must have cost him a bundle to hire all of those people. I decided to postpone the suicide and go to the meeting again the next week. I thought, “He can’t afford to pay these actors to do the same thing twice.” But the next week the meeting was the same. Another member told my story. I asked him, “Did you read my diary?” I thought I had been alone in my insanity, but here I was surrounded by others just like me.

I got a sponsor and started working the Steps. I asked one of the guys who had told my story to sponsor me. I thought he would know how the story would end, but he said he did not. He said the only thing he could offer was to show me how to get connected to my Higher Power. He said that is what would work, and that God would provide the answers in due time. In 1992, I began a new life.

I started applying the Steps and Traditions to the resentments I carried. Even though I believed I had been abused, I had no other choice but to forgive. My life depended on working the Steps and Traditions, and surrendering resentments. Those actions are my responsibility, and they are the keys to getting closer to God’s will.

After two years of SA sobriety, however, I found that those same resentments were allowing me to justify continuously entertaining lust in my head. I was sober but still struggling. Then, at an international convention, in the middle of a hotel lobby, I read a Step Five to seven sober men. I was no longer afraid of who knew. I could hold my head up high and look the world in the eye.

After sharing that Step Five, I finally became sober from entertaining resentments. At the same time, a wonderful miracle occurred: by the grace of God, I was also given freedom from lust. I felt recovered, as promised on the title page of Alcoholics Anonymous: “The Story of How Many Thousands of Men and Women Have Recovered from Alcoholism.”

This wonderful way of living saved my life. I am eternally grateful to my sponsors, who helped me get over the resentments I had been carrying since childhood. I needed to be free of them.

At meetings people began saying to me, “I like what you have to say, would you say more?” I was shocked that people would want to hear more from me. Today I know that this has nothing to do with me. It has to do with the fellowship of SA, and how my SA brothers and sisters brought me into a closer relationship with God. Without the continual support of this fellowship, I would have been dead a long time ago.

Today I also believe that my sponsees help keep me alive, as well as happy, joyous, and free. Why? Because they show me exactly who I am, where I’ve been, and where I’ll go if I do not follow the Steps to the best of my ability and get closer to God. Without Him, I’m dead.

Today I have a new life. It’s not mine, it belongs to God and others. In these rooms, we are working and sweating together. Without the fellowship of SA around me, none of these miracles would have happened.

When a sponsee shares a resentment with me, I say, “Fantastic! Have you worked the Steps yet? You haven’t? Oh well, go have some more pain then.” I don’t do this out of cruelty but out of love, because I know that pain motivates change. It wasn’t until I was willing to check out of this life that I was humble enough to follow the directions of my Higher Power, and to change my thoughts through the obedience that He requires of me.

Recently, I was talking on the phone with a sexaholic who was struggling. My heart went out to him. I asked, “Have you reached bottom yet? No? Okay, give me a call when you do.” Without that change of attitude, without being willing to go to any length (even to attend a conference or marathon), recovery will be difficult. So when a guy asks me to sponsor him, I’ll say yes, and then add, “I’m going to make you mad at some point in time, because I love you and you need to hear it.” I didn’t want to face my own pain, but when I started working the program, all of a sudden a Power greater than myself showed up in spite of me and gave me some tremendous freedom. I know this can happen for others.

I’ve been married 30 years to the same woman. That’s a miracle! At first I tried to get my wife into a program because I’m a control freak. But I had to realize that I’m not God, and that I just need to work on myself. As I did that, I gained some sanity (I didn’t know what sanity and real love felt like before). What a joy!

Today I’m grateful for the five kids who used to beat me up. I used to look fearfully into the eyes of the people who abused me, but I’ve found healing from looking into the eyes of recovering SA members across the room and thinking, “These people understand me and still love me.” Letter writing and phone calls have not had the same impact on me as working with other sexaholics face to face. Today, because of this fellowship, I’m able to trust people without fear of abuse.

I’ve met many SA members who suffered as I did and survived. We all deserve a medal. The most important thing I can do is to pass the word on to other members that there is hope and the possibility for a new life.

I have given up many things because of this program—things that I wanted to hang on to for dear life! But I’ve learned to let go. I had to let go of three businesses I had owned for 22 years because I needed a change. I needed to be more accountable to others. That included having a boss. When I was my own boss, I had too much power, too much freedom, and too much control. I was acting out in all kinds of ways. Being my own boss fed my lust for power over people. So I gave my businesses away. I even gave away a building. Financial insecurity seemed better to me than having a business that encouraged my character flaws and my addiction. I would rather have peace of mind.

I got sober before my kids became teenagers. That was a blessing. At least they had somebody to come and talk to about these issues. This disease stops with me. No more denial. No more secrets. I need to get all of my “secrets” out into the open (with the right people) and keep working this new life of sobriety for everyone around me. Everyone can benefit, including my children.

Today, I’ve been sexually sober for 13 years, one day at a time. I’ve also been sober from entertaining resentments and lust for 11 years. I never thought this would be possible. Some days I still have difficulty believing that this has happened to me—but I accept this as a gift from God.

The peace and serenity I experience today are unbelievable. Amazingly, they are even increasing. This outcome is what I hope for every one of us as we all work together face to face, working the Steps, Traditions, and Concepts in this wonderful fellowship of SA.