In SA’s Step One, I admitted that I’m powerlessness over lust (not over a particular behavior), and the Third Tradition states that the only requirement for membership is “a desire to stop lusting and become sexually sober” (SA 209). Both the Step and the Tradition remind me that lust lies beneath my acting out behaviors.
A member with one year of sobriety recently wrote to me, asking me to describe the meaning of progressive victory over lust. He said, “I know the sobriety definition, but how can I define whether or not I’m sober with progressive victory over lust?”
Now that Roy has passed, it is incumbent on all of us to carry on his primary emphasis on recovery from Lust. Unlike other “S” fellowships, where the emphasis is on the powerlessness over acting out, we in SA emphasize our powerlessness over lust.
My initials are L. A. I’m powerless over lust without God’s help.
For me, “lust” is the key. Lust for sex, for food, for “things,” for knowledge, for admiring glances, for honors—anything that would make me feel better about myself. While each of these “lust” objects often brought temporary pleasure, none of them would or could provide long-term satisfaction.
My Dear Friend Lust: I am writing to you to finalize our relationship.
As a biologist, I have studied several different types of fungi (e.g. yeast, ringworm, mushrooms, mold, athlete’s foot, etc.). Recently, I discovered an unfamiliar form of fungus: fantasy. Fantasy grows quietly in the mind. Like the other fungi, fantasy flourishes in dark, damp, undisturbed places.
As a child, I was lonely. I may have felt love-deprived or full of harbored resentment, but I needed some sort of outlet. Then I discovered a strange pet: Lust. This little creature seemed harmless as I studied it with my wide, innocent eyes. The most convenient thing about my pet was that I could keep it a secret from the rest of the world.
The other night I had a dream which stripped my lust of its pastel pink and purple euphemisms. I have avoided the word lust in my litany—preferring to tell myself that I crave “an affair of the heart”—further dressed up by such phrases as “out of my deep loneliness and chronic disconnection from others, I have sought soul mates, persons to join me in (at worst) the warmth of romantic fervor.”
Lust is the driving force behind my addiction, and if I allow myself to lust, then I will act out, sooner or later. When I consciously harbor lust, even in small amounts, it’s the same as an alcoholic taking a drink.
