STD’s and Stirrups on a Monday

“I’ve hit the ground. Gone right through it. Never in my life have I felt this. Nothing like this. I’ve felt shame and cowardice, weakness and strength. I’ve known terror and indifference, self-hate and general disgust. I’ve seen things that cannot be unseen.

And yet I’ve known nothing like this terrible, horrible, paralyzing feeling. I feel crippled. Desperate and out of control. And it keeps getting worse. Every day I feel sick. Empty and somehow aching.” ~ Tahereh Mafi (Destroy Me (Shatter Me, #1.5))

There have been many traumatic moments in this journey as a sex addict’s (ex) wife; this one took me completely off guard.

On a Friday night, my husband revealed to me that he thought he “might be a sex addict”. By Monday afternoon, I was up in the stirrups at my gynecologist’s office being checked for sexually transmitted diseases (STD’s). I’d borne 2 babies by this point in life, so a little pelvic exam/pap smear was nothing to me. I had no reason to think this would be any different, but it was … this time it was very different.

As I lay there in the most vulnerable of positions, I felt deeply violated – not by the doctor, but by my husband and the hundreds of strangers he had secretly invited into our bed. As I was probed for the germs of men and women I’d never chosen nor even met, I began to feel filthy and used and worthless.

The reality and gravity of my situation crashed in on me, and I began to sob convulsively. For the first time in my adult life, I couldn’t pull myself together. The doctor finished quickly, sensing correctly that I needed to crawl back into the safety of my own clothing.

And then, somehow, I drove myself home, where I got into the shower, sank to the floor, and wailed while frantically scrubbing my body. I couldn’t get clean enough.

If you discover that your spouse is a sex addict, please know that getting tested for STD’s in a timely fashion is extremely important, but it is not an emergency. You’ve likely been unknowingly at risk for years, so it’s okay to take the time necessary to arrange for someone to accompany you to the appointment. This is not the time to prove how strong you are by going it alone.

One Shot at Truth

“A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.” ~ Winston Churchill

From talking to dozens of wives of sex addicts, I’ve come to a conclusion: you are likely to get exactly one shot at truth. Even then, you must remember that this “truth” has likely been decorated like a Christmas tree – all shiny and pretty, but underneath all the glitter, the tree is actually dead.

I remember insignificant details from that day; it was midday -cloudy and cool. He wore a blue plaid shirt and a tan jacket. I sat alone on the sofa. He sat across from me on the leather chair I’d purchased with my tiny inheritance from my mom. I worried that if he cried he would stain the chair with his tears, and it made me mad.

I wanted my dad, who had died when I was young, to hold my hand and look this man in the eye. I felt so very small and alone, and would later come to understand that it had been orchestrated that way – there would be no witnesses to this truth.

And so it began. He read, without emotion, a long list of his deviancies, starting from early childhood and cruising thru to the present. I went numb. My head buzzed and I couldn’t move. I didn’t cry; I just sat there. The depth of the betrayal was beyond anything I could imagine – he’d been playing in an underworld I didn’t even know existed, then coming home to perfect his hypocritical role as “Godly man”.

I asked only one question: “How do you find these people/places/things?” to which he replied “I just have to show up.” Those words chill me to this day. He left quickly, taking with him his notes – and leaving behind a traumatized woman with a broken soul and no trace of his having been there.

I instinctively knew I hadn’t gotten the whole truth, but I mistakenly thought I would get another chance. I thought once he opened up, he would continue to be honest. I  was wrong. I also knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that I was married to a very sick man.

You, too, may only get one shot at truth. Here’s what I wish I’d have done:

  • Have a witness, preferably a counselor trained in PTSD and knowledgable about the damage done to spouses of sex addicts. I could never have imagined that he would spill these truths, then later call me a liar for even saying he was a sex addict. I had no idea he could and would, for years, confuse my children by denying even the simplest of truths.
  • Consider a lie detector test. Remember, these men are gifted liars, and you will need the test administered by someone who knows the word games played by sex addicts. They often use the old Bill Clinton “it depends on what the meaning of the word “is” is” and “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” thing.
  • It is his responsibility to tell the children, appropriate to age and with counselor’s help, that he broke the marriage. It’s part of owning what he’s done. If he doesn’t do this in the immediate aftermath of disclosure, don’t expect it ten years later. Ain’t happening. To take this responsibility on yourself is to cast yourself as the whistleblower – and if history has taught us anything, it’s that whistleblowers don’t fare well. I should know, I am one.