This is Me Finally Following Up, Part I

I guess when I publicly share my ugliest secrets on a blog, I require a few months before follow up. 

Or maybe I'm still just emotionally overwhelmed with gratitude for the immense and, to be honest, unexpected positive response that I received from many people. It is a real blessing to be surrounded by such wonderful people. Thank you all for your loving kindness and understanding!

Several of you who read my last post (in which I tell my story of pornography addiction) had asked that I respond to some truly thoughtful and fantastic questions, so I do apologize for shelving my response for so long. 

Writing is therapeutic for me, especially when I am depressed or experiencing some shame (self-loathing or worthlessness, not guilt). So I'm going to be vulnerable right now—shocker, right?—and say that I am, at the moment, experiencing some significant inner turmoil related to depression and shame. My mind can be really good at tormenting me sometimes even if I'm continually practicing a healthy response to it all. I'm an addict, folks. It's part of my life. That's perfect though, because it will help me write this post!

As I illustrated in my previous post, I grew up in a culture whose fear-based negativity towards sexuality plays a primary part in the foundation for a life of shame, self-loathing, and denial. This compounded the shame that I had already developed around my own sexuality because of trauma. Often I am asked:  How could conversations about sexuality and shame have gone differently for you? What advice do you have for ecclesiastical leaders and parents?

To answer this question, we must first be real about what pornography addiction is. It is a mental illness. It is a disease. For example, my mind is literally trying to work against me right now to cause me to feel shame and self-loathing about opening myself up to you all in such a public way. Annoying, right?! At the same time, though, part of me does recognize that these shame-based feelings are actually symptoms of an illness. Recognizing this mental breakdown and shame-dance for the illness that it is has helped me to begin a real recovery. Viewing my compulsive, morally-incongruent, pornography-viewing sexual behavior as part of a mental illness was a necessary first step for me to begin the recovery process. 

Part of the social dialogue that needs to change is that we need to stop talking about pornography addiction as something that results from sin. The addiction itself actually has very little to do with sin and almost everything to do with the shame, brain chemistry, and faulty core beliefs that lead to rationalization and denial. Sinful behavior is what often results from the compulsive behavior and that's as far as the connection between the sin and the disease goes. Jesus Christ's infinite atoning sacrifice, in my experience, applies to both the illness of addiction and the sexual sin in different—but equally beautiful—ways. Relying upon God, a higher power, to aid in my recovery process has been so much more meaningful to me as I understand more clearly the difference between the illness and the sin.  

Another part of our social dialogue that needs to change is our fear-based emphasis on sexuality as sin. Fear is the archenemy of true recovery and mental health. We do place a great deal of emphasis on sexual morality in our religious culture. However, instead of a balanced approach that emphasizes both the boundaries and beauties inherent to healthy human sexuality, we generally—with a few noteworthy exceptions from past discourses and also from some very recent instructional media resources—teach avoidance and fear of it. In my experience, this fear-based focus on sexuality is just as bad, if not worse, than that of popular media's morally relativistic approach. 

The reason why our religious society's fear-based approach might be worse than popular media's approach? S-H-A-M-E. 

Growing up, I rarely ever heard anyone talk about the beauty of sexual intimacy and the realities of sexual development and exploration in adolescents without in some way attempting to instill a fear of sexual immorality in my heart and soul. I felt like the adults in my life—on occasion even my own parents, who generally taught out of pure love and with openness about sexuality—were teaching me this fear of sexuality because they themselves were afraid that I would make mistakes. I felt like they didn't trust me to be able to make moral decisions about my sexuality without fearing it. This consistent placement of fear into sexuality compounded with the sexual trauma I had experienced as a child and then later on with the shame of pornography addiction. To be completely honest, I still struggle quite a bit to convince myself that my own sexuality and desire for sexual intimacy with my companion is not disgusting, wrong, or even abhorrent. 

What if every ecclesiastical leader or parent—when approached by a confused and guilt-ridden youth who, in a moment of raw vulnerability, confessed that they were having some immoral thoughts and were masturbating  because they saw a pornographic image on their friend's smart phone and couldn't stop thinking about it—said the following. "I'm sorry you've been some experiencing some confusing struggles. I've been there. I've seen pornographic images, too, and I know what it's like to struggle with inappropriate thoughts. And nearly everyone, including me, has experimented with masturbation at some point in their lives. It's a part of growing up and being human. There are boundaries that God has given us for sexuality, though. Let's talk about that. What do you understand about..." Coupled with a loving discussion of our understanding of the boundaries God has set for us regarding our sexuality, this response would reinforce spiritual self-reliance and discovery, self-validation, and a realization of self-worth all at the same time! 

They are few and far between, but believe it or not, I intimately know a couple of individuals who have experienced this kind of response from a leader or a parent and guess what!? THEY AREN'T ADDICTS! These people don't talk about sexuality in fear or shame. 

I have been asked how my experience with recovery from addiction and shame has changed how I communicate with my children about pornography and sexuality. The hypothetical response that I just outlined is my answer to that question. I do my best to be appropriately open and vulnerable about my own experiences with sexuality. I acknowledge the moral boundaries that a loving God has placed for me and as I teach my children about these boundaries, I try to not to be shaming nor to teach through fear.

I think I understand why parents and youth leaders experience fear when we teach sexual morality. We are afraid that if we give our children the slightest bit of freedom to experience normal human sexual development and exploration—teaching them correct principles without striking fear into their hearts—they will make those "big" mistakes we are all so afraid of making ourselves. What is terribly ironic about all this is that the fearful way that we teach our youth may likely become part of the force in their lives that drives them into the very errors that we are so desperate for them not to make. Why can't we trust our youth and trust the God who put them here? Why can't we be confident that as we teach our precious children correct principles by connecting with them in love and understanding, they will grow in strength, knowledge, and virtue? Our children will make some mistakes. They won't be perfect, but they will be able to recover from their mistakes in such a healthier, better way without the barriers of shame and fear. 

We can have strict moral standards and still treat human sexuality as something to learn and to develop, not something to fear. We can have conversations about the consequences of sexual immorality without attempting to hammer the wedge of fear into each other's hearts. 

My experiences over the last few years have led me to believe that if I want to be a positive influence on my children I need be vulnerable with them. My children and I need to develop a real connection and that requires patience, vulnerability, understanding, and courage. 

The New Testament apostle John the Beloved received the revelation that "...perfect love casteth out fear..." (1 John 4:18). I'm trying not to be afraid when I teach my children and when I share an open dialogue with those around me. I want profound, healthy connectivity with my family, my friends, and my God. I want that perfect love, free from fear. This is the power that forces the shame and addiction out of my life. This is how I heal. 

This is Me being Authentic

I am writing this because I feel the need to be more authentic.
I have some things that I need to share with those that know me because I want you to know me better.

When I was nearly five years old something happened to me that was traumatic. It shattered my innocent five-year-old world. I was sexually assaulted by a stranger in a public bathroom. After a very ugly and life-threatening experience, when my abuser exited the bathroom, I was left alone. I was scared for my life and the life of my family, and I was utterly confused about what just happened to me. Unable to process those feelings fully, I left the bathroom believing that something must be wrong with me. I came to the conclusion that I must be disgusting. I felt gross; worth being denigrated and used. I felt like a monster.

I am telling this story because this experience--and my reaction to it--is at the core of many of the struggles that I have had throughout my life with my self-worth. I am finally now at a point where I can share this experience and how it has affected me throughout my life.

My experience with abuse has impacted me in many ways.

--I experience feelings of deep self-loathing
--I sometimes have trouble forming healthy attachments to people I love
--I have had trouble trusting that anyone could possibly love me if they really knew everything about me

This experience led to something very challenging in my life. It is something that is challenging to many in my religious community. It is something that has brought me shame throughout most of my life.

I was exposed to pornography as a teenager, and quickly formed an addiction. The circumstances created by the abuse were a perfect set up. The moment I saw an erotic image and felt a very normal physiological response to it, my brain freaked out. Truly, it was as if a secret switch inside me had suddenly been flipped on. I immediately launched into shame and felt the same exact feelings of self-loathing, disgust, and worthlessness that I had felt on that horrific day when I was five years old. I felt dirty. I felt like a monster again. The shame was so overpowering that I couldn't respond in a normal, healthy way. A normal response upon encountering an image like that would be to perhaps tell an adult or to simply move on with my day having experienced a new and unexpected event. What happened instead was that my mind told me that I was evil.

I am part of a community that does not celebrate vulnerability about sexual things. It seems to me that we hide our authentic selves out of shame or fear. Maybe we just hope that as we become more perfect, those ugly things we are ashamed of will just go away and we won't have to share them with anyone at all. Instead of sharing our burdens with one another, lifting each other up in time of need, we keep our ugliest and heaviest burdens hidden. I believe that this is exactly what author of evil, the devil, wants.

Unfortunately, this cultural norm only increased my own shame and isolation. How could I tell anyone about such a "disgusting" thing when I felt so isolated? It took all the courage I could muster to talk to my Dad about only the tip of my addiction iceberg. When I spoke to him about it, he was very loving and encouraging. He told me that sexual feelings are a part of growing up and explained to me the reason why it is so important to keep ourselves chaste and pure. His concluding remarks, though, were what really stuck with me. He said that there are many, many people who overcome inappropriate sexual desires. He told me that as I avoid putting myself in situations where I could view pornography, and have faith, and repent, I would be able to control these urges. This advice, while very common in our culture, ended in disaster for me and does so for many others.

I went to ecclesiastical leaders as well to engage in the repentance process. They lovingly told me variations of the same message I had been given: pray, repent, have faith, choose to change, and change can and will happen. Because I'm not a quitter, I applied this "formula for success" over and over and over. I gave my very best effort to stop and to change. Instead of success, though, what I kept experiencing was failure. These well-intentioned promises made to me by people I trusted did not hold true. The proposed formula was not enough.

Because of my repeated failure to make a permanent change, every word that I heard or read about having enough faith to change my pornography-related behaviors only fed the part of me that told me I was an evil monster. When people in my community talked about overcoming the desire for viewing pornography with faith and spirituality they even sometimes mentioned, as an aside, that if it was bad enough I could go get help from a therapist. Correspondingly, I felt even more isolated from my peers. I felt like if I was the "one" kid who truly needed help, then my belief about being less-than-human must be true. This contradicted all that I had been taught by my family and ecclesiastical leaders about having a divine potential and about how special I am as a person. So I sank further and further into denial and addiction. Part of me was desperately hoping I wasn't that "one" extreme case and part of me was craving things that might tell me I am worthless. I was very confused.

This was all an endless feast for my shame and my addiction.

I feel like I need to make something clear:  I am in no way trying to defame or defile my family or religious community.

My family has consistently offered me an overwhelming amount of support and love. They are, and always will be, a precious gift and a balm for my wounds. My family has always been there for me and treated me like I were the most celebrated human on the planet. They teach me how to love and give me hope and happiness in ways I can't enumerate. I love them dearly and I'm deeply honored to be a part of my family.

My ecclesiastical leaders taught me so many wonderful things throughout my youth and they were all such great examples so me. They taught me the value of diligence and hard work. They helped me learn to be self-reliant and to learn the importance of spirituality. I'm so thankful to be a part of my community.

I'm sharing my feelings and reactions to the cultural dialogue and instructions given to me because those things all profoundly affected my experience with denial, shame, and addiction.

My life, of course, was not all darkness and gloom. There were time periods when I was able to clench my fists, grit my teeth, and fight the addictive impulses. With what I believe was divine help, I did hold off my addiction long enough to complete two amazing years of volunteer missionary work for my church and to be worthy to be married in a holy temple thereafter. What I was never able to control, even at the best of times, was the part of my mind that kept telling me I was worthless. The shame game that my mind was so used to playing never really ended. My addict brain had nearly four years to slowly and carefully set me up for another prolonged relapse into addiction after I was married.

From before I can even remember, the role of husband and father has been my most valued and anticipated role. As a married man, I did my very best to live up to the ideal of a husband--and later on, as a father--that I had created from my youth. What I didn't expect was the complexity of my relationship with my wife. I expected her to be physically affectionate like my parents were, but that's just not who she is. My expectations for physical affection and sexual intimacy were unrealistic. I was confused and frequently felt a very real pain because I felt rejected by my most treasured companion. My wife was also confused and felt manipulated by my addictive drive. Understandably, her desire for physical affection and intimacy gradually decreased.

My wife has a firecracker personality. My perception was that the more I tried to be dependent on her to fulfill my perceived "need" for physical affection, the more she treated me like a child in other areas of our relationship. It seemed to me that the smallest of mistakes would elicit a response of frustration or anger. This, of course, only fueled my shame. I even found myself sometimes craving her punishing words because they pierced my soul like nothing else could ever do so.

My life's most valuable relationship became my greatest source of shame and worthlessness and about a year after we were married I was right back into my pornography addiction.

Now, I don't believe I was led to my wife by chance. In many ways, she is the kind of spouse that the mind of an addict truly needs. She is independent, not co-dependent. She is confident in herself and doesn't really struggle with her self-worth. My wife's determination is close to the top among a myriad of characteristics I adore. She has confidence in me, as her husband, and she loves me the very best way she knows how.  The way she fills my heart means more to me than life itself. She maintains her dignity and her self-respect as well as her confidence in me and in my ability to control my addiction. She is my eternal companion. Simply, she is the best.

Because I value my marital relationship over all else, there was a limit to how far I would go to hide my compulsion from my wife. So even at a time when I was in denial about being a pornography addict, I couldn't stand the burden of keeping my wrongful sexual actions from her. The few times throughout our marriage that I had the courage to honestly tell her about my "habits" absolutely destroyed my self-image. I had to accept that I truly was a devil, destined for failure. Those events were so explosively shaming that they led to depression and suicidality.

After opening up to my wife, my compulsive behaviors soon took on a newer and darker dimension:  cutting. I soon discovered that if I cut myself in the moment when I had a sexual impulse, that urge would dissipate. I didn't succumb. I was immensely relieved. I had already tried everything suggested to me previously, so I thought I had finally found the solution that I had been so desperate for. I never anticipated that my "solution" would not only fail, but drive me deeper and deeper into depression and shame.

A little over a year ago, I had arrived at a point when the cutting had escalated. I sat in a room, bloodied, and with a blade in my hand. I had a horrific thought. I thought I had to make a choice:  either live as a struggling porn addict who cuts himself or end my life right then and there. The thought frightened me. I sort of realized what was happening and I thought of the hope that my family and faith tried so hard to instill in me. I tossed my blade across the room in fear.

I decided to share my burden. I told my wife what was happening. I told a close friend who gave me a spiritual blessing, during which I was told that I would meet someone whom I could trust and who would be able to help set me on the right path. Not two weeks later I met a man who would become one of my closest friends. During one of our introductory conversations I learned that he is a sex addiction therapist. I felt like I could trust him and I started to tell him about my struggles. I started to talk about my compulsive habits as what they truly were:  addictions. My self-image began to improve as I started to recognize that I was just as valuable to my new friend as he was to me because he placed the same confidence in me regarding his own life burdens. He referred me to a psychologist that has helped me to process through not only the sexual abuse that started all of this, but other events related to my shame and worthlessness.

Deciding to trust others with my secret burden propelled me out of denial and gave me the space to start counteracting my shame. As I educated myself I started to see my addiction as a mental illness and not as a reason for shame and self-loathing. I started to accept that addiction is a part of my life. I realized that this is ok; that it doesn't mean I'm a monster or a devil. It is a part of who I am, even a gift. Coupling this more academic perspective on the illness of addiction with repentance and spirituality has given me more strength than I had ever considered possible.

I know what addiction is, where it comes from, and how to treat it. I know what shame is and how damaging, even dangerous, it can be. I know that my God is watchful over me and that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ I can repent and move on with a bright hope that I'm going to reach my goals. I have learned that I must treat my addiction-related illness separately from my sins and that the Atonement applies to both the illness and the sin in beautiful, unique ways.

I know that I am enough; that I'm worth everything I am and everything I am given.

I know that I'm not alone.

My friends, I love you.

And in case I haven't made it clear yet, I trust you to know who I am.

I am trusting you right now to know all of me.

Because right now I’m telling that terrified little boy inside me that it will be ok. I’m telling him that it’s not his fault and that he is beautiful and precious.

If you are struggling with anything like this--with abuse or addiction or anything that has brought you shame or makes you feel worthless or isolated or gross inside or like God and others could never love you--I hope that my openness in such a public place will allow you to feel like you are not alone and that you are loved. Please feel free to message me if you need to talk about anything. My door is open.