My Story: After D-Day 1

Quick note: You can read the rest of My Story here. And make sure to at least read, D-Day 1.

The first couple weeks after D-Day 1 went seemingly well. Or so I thought.

We were being intimate. We were talking. And we were doing our normal day to day routine.

I pretty much stopped reading about pornography addiction and ignored the things I had read about what we should both be doing to get us out of this mess.

Skip ahead two months and things had gone back to what they were before.

This time I knew why. 

I was depressed. I felt isolated and like this problem was weighing me down. It was holding me back. 

I had no one to talk to about it. No one.

I still didn't do anything about it for several more weeks.

Then an answer to a prayer I'm not even sure I had specifically asked for came to me in the shape of a friend. 

This friend and I went on walks almost daily in a cemetery (joke all you want--it was peaceful, beautiful, and still my favorite place to go on a walk). We talked about all sorts of things. Our children, school, food, memories, babies, clothes, the future, our homes, people, our families, our trials, our happiness. But, I had never talked about the biggest struggle in my life. 

My husband is a pornography addict.

My friend brought up the topic actually. And I knew in that moment that I needed to tell her. I so desperately wanted to tell her.

I told her. I cried. And she walked with me for a long time as I talked about it all. 

We continued to talk about it. She has been there with me through many times of happiness and sadness. But, this time specifically I knew that Heavenly Father was utilizing her as a means to help me. To comfort me. To bless me. To show me I didn't have to do this alone.

I will never forget that first conversation and the weight I felt lift from me as I let everything out. She continues to be there for me through all of the chaos, sadness, frustration, and heartache. And for that I will be forever grateful.

At the end of August, with that same friend's encouragement, I decided to go to the bishop. At this point, my husband had not spoken a word of confessing to the bishop. Up until I made the decision, I thought I couldn't go until he had told the bishop about the addiction. I was so wrong.

I was dealing with this too. I needed help and support. I wasn't going to tattle on my husband. I was going so I could start healing.

An hour before going to the bishop, I told my husband what I was doing. He said he wanted to go with me.

The next month is sort of a blur. But the short story: My husband spoke with the bishop alone saying he had told him everything, the problem was minimized, and my husband was told he could go to the church recovery meetings if he wanted to. I started seeing a therapist, but only went a handful of times. I started going to recovery support group. My husband went to two recovery meetings and met with a therapist once. The therapist gave him a book about dealing with stress. 

A couple months after the initial meeting with the bishop I thought things were going well. 

My husband kept saying he was doing fine. 

Then things gradually started going back they were before. The meetings stopped. The conversations on the topic of pornography addiction stopped. My desire to keep attending support meetings was looked down upon by my husband.

He said he was fine, so why did I need to go? 

I believed him. And I stopped going. I stopped reading about it. I stopped talking to my friend about it saying everything was good. I kept myself in isolation.

I went into the stage of grief known as denial.

And stayed there for almost a year and a half while life flew by me.

My husband graduated. He got a job. We moved 1000 miles away. Our girls had two more birthdays. I filled my life with being a mom.

But, our marriage still wasn't what I dreamed it would be. And I knew why, but wasn't ready to confront that reason until this past June.