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Sex for a porn addict

Sex for a porn addict

We all smiled and stared at each other. I tried to focus on her kind eyes, the tiny wrinkles that formed as she smiled, the beads of sweat that glistened between her brows.

Focus had become a mantra for me. Having spent two decades as distractible and destructive, especially when it came to naked bodies, focusing on something other than the pull I felt between my legs had become my mission.

At 30 years old, I had finally admitted to myself and to a few trusted others that I was a sex and porn addict. The realization had led me to a study of yoga and meditation in Bali, a few twelve-step meetings in a Los Angeles church basement, and eventually to this Thailand tantra retreat at a place fittingly called The Sanctuary. Nestled between jungle and beach on the Gulf of Thailand and only accessible by boat, The Sanctuary is a place of yogis and wanderers, many of them willing to do things like strip down to nakedness and eye-gaze with a stranger if it meant accessing even a sliver of enlightenment.

Maybe we were jaded, we thought. But I wanted to try. Starting a new decade and a new relationship seemed reason enough to do better.

Love, intimacy, friendship, commitment—what were these things? Terrified of people finding out the real me, I sabotaged relationships whenever I felt myself caring too much, flaked on potential friendships, obsessed about my appearance, and moved from city to city and bed to bed hoping to outrun the loneliness. It always caught up with me.

The woman with the microphone talked about the tragedy of most budding female friendships. She said that many of us were quick to knock each other down in order to be the best, the most beautiful, the most desirable, the winner. Socially awkward and in a back brace for scoliosis , I thought the other kids would like me more if I looked and talked like her.

Not only did she stop hanging out with me, she turned all the other kids against me, too. The only refuge available at the time was late night softcore porn and my hand down my pants. Later, in high school, I sought another kind of refuge—sex appeal. But nobody ever saw the true me and I performed as I thought I should—porn helping me to be both adventurous in bed and emotionally detached. I never fully invested in non-romantic relationships and the romantic relationships I did invest in were riddled with secrets and lies.

Solitude always felt safer. What are you proud of? Not only was I already revealing my body for these women, now I would have to articulate the complex relationship I had with it? There was nowhere to hide. We divided into small groups, sitting in circles.

Each woman took her turn entering the circle and telling her story, pointing out the muscles that made her feel strong, the marks that symbolized her motherhood.

Another woman raised her arms up like a champion for she was finally comfortable in her skin for the first time in her life. She was in her sixties. When it was my turn, I took a deep breath before I told them all my secrets. That underneath my big smile, my talk of spiritual awakening through travel, and my happy new life, I still hated things about myself.

And I probably never would be. Each secret I told felt like a sigh of relief, and a step closer to them. Nobody laughed or ran away. I left the room feeling lighter for having been seen. Though the experience had been uplifting, my boyfriend and I left the retreat before it ended. This was the nature of being new to recovery. I was determined to try as many unique experiences as possible to keep me from straying back to my old destructive habits.

Then we moved to another island where I trained Muay Thai kickboxing. I needed to keep searching. So we left Southeast Asia for my native California where I enrolled in the Hoffman Process —a weeklong residential retreat where participants can identify negative behaviors that were conditioned in childhood. Using Gestalt therapy , guided meditation, writing, and group work that reminded me of that hot room in Thailand, Hoffman is said to condense a lifetime of psychotherapy into one week.

The effects were profound. I realized that my addiction had much less to do with sex and much more to do with trying to heal the back-braced girl that was so scared of being seen, to bring her out into the open, imperfections and all.

When the week ended and I moved on, I kept trying new things—Myofascial yoga, traditional talk therapy, more twelve-step meetings, self-help books, writing—all the while searching for the perfect solution while not realizing how much I was changing along the way. Slowly, habits loosened, my mind quieted, and I began to feel more connected with those around me. I became a better friend, a loving wife, a devoted mother. I still loved to travel.

I still allowed myself to experiment sexually. But I no longer felt the need to run away, to destroy, or to give up. My magic solution was the search and the stumble, the not knowing but trying it anyway, the naked truth of being scared but being seen.

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Married Couple Survives Sex Addiction and Porn Addiction - Katie Couric Show



Sex for a porn addict

We all smiled and stared at each other. I tried to focus on her kind eyes, the tiny wrinkles that formed as she smiled, the beads of sweat that glistened between her brows. Focus had become a mantra for me. Having spent two decades as distractible and destructive, especially when it came to naked bodies, focusing on something other than the pull I felt between my legs had become my mission.

At 30 years old, I had finally admitted to myself and to a few trusted others that I was a sex and porn addict. The realization had led me to a study of yoga and meditation in Bali, a few twelve-step meetings in a Los Angeles church basement, and eventually to this Thailand tantra retreat at a place fittingly called The Sanctuary.

Nestled between jungle and beach on the Gulf of Thailand and only accessible by boat, The Sanctuary is a place of yogis and wanderers, many of them willing to do things like strip down to nakedness and eye-gaze with a stranger if it meant accessing even a sliver of enlightenment. Maybe we were jaded, we thought. But I wanted to try. Starting a new decade and a new relationship seemed reason enough to do better.

Love, intimacy, friendship, commitment—what were these things? Terrified of people finding out the real me, I sabotaged relationships whenever I felt myself caring too much, flaked on potential friendships, obsessed about my appearance, and moved from city to city and bed to bed hoping to outrun the loneliness.

It always caught up with me. The woman with the microphone talked about the tragedy of most budding female friendships. She said that many of us were quick to knock each other down in order to be the best, the most beautiful, the most desirable, the winner.

Socially awkward and in a back brace for scoliosis , I thought the other kids would like me more if I looked and talked like her. Not only did she stop hanging out with me, she turned all the other kids against me, too.

The only refuge available at the time was late night softcore porn and my hand down my pants. Later, in high school, I sought another kind of refuge—sex appeal.

But nobody ever saw the true me and I performed as I thought I should—porn helping me to be both adventurous in bed and emotionally detached. I never fully invested in non-romantic relationships and the romantic relationships I did invest in were riddled with secrets and lies. Solitude always felt safer.

What are you proud of? Not only was I already revealing my body for these women, now I would have to articulate the complex relationship I had with it? There was nowhere to hide. We divided into small groups, sitting in circles. Each woman took her turn entering the circle and telling her story, pointing out the muscles that made her feel strong, the marks that symbolized her motherhood.

Another woman raised her arms up like a champion for she was finally comfortable in her skin for the first time in her life. She was in her sixties. When it was my turn, I took a deep breath before I told them all my secrets.

That underneath my big smile, my talk of spiritual awakening through travel, and my happy new life, I still hated things about myself. And I probably never would be. Each secret I told felt like a sigh of relief, and a step closer to them. Nobody laughed or ran away. I left the room feeling lighter for having been seen. Though the experience had been uplifting, my boyfriend and I left the retreat before it ended. This was the nature of being new to recovery. I was determined to try as many unique experiences as possible to keep me from straying back to my old destructive habits.

Then we moved to another island where I trained Muay Thai kickboxing. I needed to keep searching. So we left Southeast Asia for my native California where I enrolled in the Hoffman Process —a weeklong residential retreat where participants can identify negative behaviors that were conditioned in childhood.

Using Gestalt therapy , guided meditation, writing, and group work that reminded me of that hot room in Thailand, Hoffman is said to condense a lifetime of psychotherapy into one week.

The effects were profound. I realized that my addiction had much less to do with sex and much more to do with trying to heal the back-braced girl that was so scared of being seen, to bring her out into the open, imperfections and all. When the week ended and I moved on, I kept trying new things—Myofascial yoga, traditional talk therapy, more twelve-step meetings, self-help books, writing—all the while searching for the perfect solution while not realizing how much I was changing along the way.

Slowly, habits loosened, my mind quieted, and I began to feel more connected with those around me. I became a better friend, a loving wife, a devoted mother. I still loved to travel. I still allowed myself to experiment sexually. But I no longer felt the need to run away, to destroy, or to give up. My magic solution was the search and the stumble, the not knowing but trying it anyway, the naked truth of being scared but being seen.

Sex for a porn addict

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3 Comments

  1. Terrified of people finding out the real me, I sabotaged relationships whenever I felt myself caring too much, flaked on potential friendships, obsessed about my appearance, and moved from city to city and bed to bed hoping to outrun the loneliness. Women often self-soothe by taking hot baths or shopping.

  2. I still allowed myself to experiment sexually. Women's Fears Many women feel differently.

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