The other morning I was going out for a run. A neighborhood next to ours has a hill coming down to a stop sign. I have run past this entrance several times and noticed that people tend to drive down the hill at a high rate of speed. This leads them to roll through the stop sign without stopping.
I’m listening to a podcast with one former Heavyweight boxing champion, and a new Heavyweight champion. The two boxers are talking about how the younger man’s life has changed since becoming the new champion. Several things are discussed like the money, proving doubters wrong, all the work they both put in to achieve that title, and, of course, the excitement of the fans!
I joined the committee to plan our semi-annual retreat because I have a lot of experience planning these events. But this time I stepped aside to let others organize it. The theme was chosen over my objections, as I preferred the first idea they came up with. I let that go. They chose to not pick breakout topics, but allow the leaders to choose their topics when they signed up. I didn’t think this was a good idea. But, I let that go.
Service is a critical part of any recovery program and is one of the most poorly understood parts of Sexaholics Anonymous. For seventeen years my idea of service was flawed and hindered my ability to stay sober. I thought that service was about being of service only to addicts. I am writing in order to help those who may have a similar understanding of service.
Since childhood, I’ve had a recurring, upsetting dream where I found myself standing before my father in fear of punishment. Feeling guilty for engaging in inappropriate behavior with other kids my age, I would just freeze and stare at my dad, unable to look into his eyes, while trying not to show fear or to cry.
I am humbled by the out-pouring of love given to me on my 30th year anniversary. Sometimes I believe I am a fraud. Maybe one of those fantasies were not a fantasy and I did act out? Maybe one of those wet dreams were not really a wet dream?
I viewed men as toys or saviors but never as human beings. They filled my time until I found THE ONE who became my god. The fear of not being loved or accepted drove me into depression, misery and fear of abandonment. I believed that the ONE would fix me and fulfill my fantasies and dreams. But each time I sank deeper into a living hell, taking the abuse and telling myself that I was the problem.
There was a sexaholic walking down the street. He’d been there before, but this time, as he was walking, he met God. Now God had something in His hand and it looked good to the sexaholic.
How many times have I made that declaration? Hundreds, maybe thousands of times I have said those exact words. Recently I watched a TV survival show where 12 contestants were dumped in the ocean within swimming distance of various islands. They were required to write journals before and during the show. Everyone wrote some form of “I got this” at the beginning.
I love being in a program that cultivates both spirituality and self-development. I crave closeness to God and this program has helped me to find a spirituality that really satisfies, in addition to leading me back to the religion of my upbringing. I have found a God Who is loving and all-powerful, as described in Alcoholics Anonymous, and Who wants to have a relationship with me.
