by Meg Wilson
Adapted from Hope After Betrayal: Healing When Sexual Addiction Invades Your Marriage
Betrayal by the one I love left me in utter darkness. Suddenly I felt completely alone, or as if loneliness had taken me hostage. If this has happened to you, the first thing I want you to know is you are not alone. The very fact that you’re reading this means that others are out there, unseen. They are in your church, neighborhood, and circle of friends. Some don’t yet know the truth, many are still in hiding. That feeling of being isolated in the darkness, though powerful, is based on a lie. At this moment there may be no one in the flesh you feel you can talk to, but Jesus stands ready to listen.
Over the past few years I’ve heard many heartbreaking stories from wives who have learned about their husband’s secret sexual lives. This discovery, or its disclosure, is what I refer to as blackout. It’s like sitting in a friendly, familiar room and suddenly having all the lights go out. The familiar surroundings take an unfamiliar form. Well-known objects become obstacles that trip us up. Fear shrouds us as we grope in the dark, searching for something to orient ourselves by.
Some would say the above descriptions are overstated. You may have family or friends who say that you’re overreacting. After all, looking at pornography is “harmless” adult entertainment. Fantasy doesn’t harm anyone. Such opinions, though, are made out of ignorance and denial. Sexual addiction typically begins with the habitual use of porn combined with masturbation. This selfgratification conditions men to experience sex in isolation, moving them into what I call “the world of me.” I’ve experienced firsthand the devastation a wife feels when she realizes the most intimate area of her heart has been betrayed. I’ve seen over and over the same pain in others, and only those who have been there truly understand it. But well-meaning onlookers, because they lack this understanding, often make comments that create additional wounds.
Blackout occurs in different ways and at different levels. Sometimes disclosure is quick, and it seems like someone flipped the off switch. More often, a bit of information starts a dimming process that, over time, ends in complete darkness. One reason for the slower progression is the way many men are discovered. Often, they’re caught—a bill, note, or Web site gives them away—which leads to a partial confession. Even husbands who desire to come clean leave out critical information in the face of fear. Add to that an angry and hurting wife, and to many men, complete disclosure seems impossible.
The result for the wife is like candle flames being snuffed out one at a time, as he discloses or she discovers more and more information. But, in a diabolic twist of irony, a partial confession turns out to be worse than none at all. Husbands must confess everything in order for real healing to begin. Lies of omission are still dishonest even if well intentioned. Anything left in the darkness leaves a noose the Enemy can tighten at the opportune moment. Inevitably the rest of the story comes out later, increasing the wife’s pain and making blackout complete.
While confession—what and how much to disclose—is addressed later in my book, for now I suggest you use great caution in demanding too much detail from your husband. Morbid curiosity has left many a woman with too many images that are difficult to erase. The best thing is to get only the general facts needed, not the gory details.
When my husband got tired of running from the truth—and from God—he finally confessed everything. I took advantage of his desire to be completely honest. Looking back, I realize I asked some questions that crossed over the line of what I needed to know. Plagued by images I didn’t need, the war raged in my head every time those images came up. Thanks to the teaching in my husband’s men’s group, there were times I’d ask questions and he would say, “I’ll answer that question, but are you sure you want me to?” This was a good check. Realizing I had all the information I needed, I stopped asking for unnecessary details.
You may cringe at this next statement: If your husband has come to you and confessed all, you will eventually come to see that as fortunate. I was one of the fortunate few—my husband did come to me, though at the time I couldn’t see how anything good could come out of it. Eventually, though, I recognized my husband’s coming completely clean was the first truly positive step even though the further disclosure caused more pain for me. It was God’s way of giving me a fresh perspective, and it was the real beginning of healing. Dave’s complete disclosure helped me to realize I wasn’t the only one hurting. It began to sink in that God was showing me Dave’s years of pain. He was a broken man and God had let him hit bottom.
My anger cooled. Dave wasn’t having fun. On the contrary, he’d been living a double life and battling demons since he was eleven years old. In addition, with his full confession he had to be willing to accept all of the potential consequences, including losing his marriage. He realized nothing could be worse than remaining where he was—in spiritual bondage.
I’ve encountered many wives who’ve had to deal with this same heartache of sexual betrayal, and I’ve repeatedly witnessed that once the whole truth has been revealed, even by accident, healing can start—for the husband, or wife, or both. Most men want help out of their bondage but are too ashamed to ask. Many have cried out to God in agony asking Him to release them from it. Every man believes, however, that if others knew fully what he has done, they wouldn’t forgive him. This lie keeps him in hiding and away from healing.
His being discovered, then, can be a husband’s first step on the road to freedom. But just as important, his being discovered can be a catalyst for the wife to get help—if shame doesn’t keep her in hiding. Yes, I hated what I’d learned from Dave, but finding and dealing with the truth, though painful, was still healthier than living a lie. Accepting this reality, though, takes time. Part of me wanted to go back, to live in blissful ignorance. There was, of course, no going back. I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t know.
The potential for positive change started in those moments when the darkness shut out any light. Growth wasn’t recognizable at first, but the loss of trust, security, innocence, and so many hopes brought me face-to-face with my need for God. A false foundation of security and comfort had kept me at arm’s length from God. I’d placed my trust in my husband and on my own resources. Oh sure, I understood that Christians aren’t immune from trials and from sickness and from natural disasters. But I’d trusted that my practicing of spiritual disciplines—praying, daily devotionals, attending church—would somehow protect me from the really big personal catastrophes.
It was time now to reach out to Him, even though I felt He hadn’t lived up to His part of the bargain. I needed to disconnect from my dependence on false foundations and mourn the loss of those dreams that would never become a reality. Illusions of a perfect husband, partner, or family dissipated. After the shock wore off, I was engulfed by a swirl of emotions—sadness, depression, hopelessness, anger. Satan, the Father of Lies, was hard at work, adding his words of despair. He works hardest when we are most vulnerable.
At times, listening for God’s voice took a conscious force of my will. I had to keep making that decision for faith and total dependence on God. I kept wanting answers: Why is this happening to me? When will this pain go away? Will I ever see light at the end of this tunnel? Letting go of my desire for control and my need for answers was excruciating. This complete reliance on God was a new place for me. I’d kept so much of my life under my control—deciding what committee I’d sit on, what personal ministry I’d pursue, which organization I’d contribute to, what cause I’d volunteer for. God was only necessary for Sundays and those really big life decisions. The day-to-day operation had been mine.
Then all of those faulty supports crumbled. The severity of the situation helped me realize that this crisis was too big to carry on my own. I needed a God-sized hand to reach down and give me support. Letting go of my death grip over my own security and reaching out instead to God, allowing Him to do His work, was my only viable option.
Although my spirit was clouded in despair, making the choice to believe cleared my vision. I concentrated on the soft and loving voice of my Savior, and not the shrill screech of hopelessness trying to break through. You see, a spiritual war was raging in my head. As I began to pay attention to my inner thoughts and the feelings they provoked, this connection of thoughts and feelings helped identify when God, rather than Satan or me, was speaking. God’s voice spoke loving words and never brought condemnation or despair—only light, hope, and healing. Even His discipline produced hope, because this new path I’d chosen to follow was clear, and the old mistakes of trusting my security to the wrong people and things were forgotten. I began to understand that darkness, depression, and despair were the product of lies—lies that you can read about in the later chapters of my book. Those lies kept my eyes on me or on Dave instead of focused on God.
TO BE CONTINUED . . . (click here to read Part 2 of 5)
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Popular fiction author Virginia Smith will be doing a blog tour May 12–16, 2008, to help promote her new book Sincerely, Mayla: A Novel.
In Sincerely, Mayla—the heartwarming sequel to Just As I Am—Mayla Strong’s life is starting to seem normal. She has been working at the same job for four years, living with a good friend, and enjoying a deep relationship with God. But when Mayla is suddenly laid off, she learns the hard way that things aren’t always what they seem. One disappointment after another drops into her lap: her budding relationship with her pastor, Paul, turns out to be less than she has hoped; her friend Stuart refuses to talk to her; and Lindsey—the younger sister of her late friend Alex—calls her in a panic looking for a place to stay.
