About two years ago, not long after finishing the Steps with my sponsor and having the spiritual awakening promised in Step Twelve, I decided I could manage my own life. I became complacent, making fewer phone calls, going to fewer meetings, becoming less active as a sponsor, and reaching out less to my own sponsor.
I recently celebrated ten years of sexual sobriety in SA, so naturally I have been thinking about how I came to achieve this and what steps I took on the way. I then started to think about sobriety itself. What is sexual sobriety?
My sponsor here in Wales suggested that I write an article for ESSAY as an indirect amends for some blatant dishonesty from my past. Simply put, during my teenage years, I made up stories about having a girlfriend in order to impress schoolmates, and with the hope of attracting some female attention.
The Twelve and Twelve says that “... only through utter defeat are we able to take our first steps toward liberation and strength” (21). This is the story of how I came to be utterly defeated, and how that defeat led to liberation for me.
My friend Chris began his recovery from sexual addiction after being arrested in 2007 for a sex-related crime. In 2008, shortly after celebrating one year of sexual sobriety, he learned that he could plead guilty and receive a 15-year sentence, or he could go to trial.
I have often heard talk about the need to “hit bottom” in order to get sober. But what is this “bottom”? I’ve heard members share that they hit bottom after being arrested or losing a job, or after a spouse threatened divorce or actually filed for divorce. Yet these members continued to act out.
A few years ago I decided that I would not call myself sober if I engaged in “lust-driven use of the Internet.” My particular disease has not (so far) included prostitutes, affairs, or even masturbation, but I recognized that, at least for me, the act of clicking that suspect link is a “drink” that triggers my own disease and insanity.
I was born with a fatal kidney disease. It wasn’t diagnosed until I was 22 years old. Once it was diagnosed, my doctors could keep an eye on it and help me learn how to live with it.
Recently I had an exciting opportunity in my recovery—something I had never done before. I was invited to tell my story to a group of Russian SAs. Did I travel to Russia? Not exactly. Am I proficient in the Russian language? No way. Was this all a dream? Sort of. Let me explain.
I was born in 1947, the middle of five children in a Catholic family. My oldest brother died of a mental illness when he was 30. I don’t remember much of my childhood, except that I seemed to be in a constant state of fear.
