I attended my first Twelve-step meeting for sex addicts a decade before I was arrested and given a life sentence. My attendance at that meeting was a legitimate demand from my second wife. But I was in full-blown denial then and didn’t see it that way. I thought I was in control and adequately managing my life, but I wasn’t. The feeling of hopelessness that began in childhood took half a lifetime for me to finally hit rock bottom before I eventually realized I needed to leave sexual compulsivity behind me. Becoming aware that my past compulsive behavior does not totally define me has been an early step on my path of recovery.
I was born into a traditionalist, conservative, fundamentalist Christian home to parents who had the best intentions but who believed in authoritarian parenting. Mom was raised in an abusive and alcoholic home. My parents grew up in the 1950s and intended to bring up their children as they were raised. They used fear to obtain obedience from my sister and me and were resistant to the rapid social changes of that era while firmly believing that they would prosper with God behind the wheel.
My parents were inspired by the “fire and brimstone” sermons we heard every Sunday morning and strove to be people-pleasingly friendly at church but would yell at each other during the car trip home. Before age five, I learned from the church and my parents that there was this thing called sex, and it was sinful. That learning left me incredibly curious about sex.
It wasn’t long afterward that I had trapped two female play dates in my bedroom, unsupervised, where I suggested we play made-up games centered around their bodies. I once stole another girl’s clothes after a pool party, leaving her to run naked through the house. I was excited to challenge the secretive taboo that was so sinful, yet no one wanted to talk about it. But I also felt shame for sinning and for embarrassing my parents. I would silently ask God’s forgiveness as I had been taught, only to keep repeating the cycle.
Also, at age five, my father began spanking me with a belt or paddle to punish what he believed were my misbehaviors, even on the first offense. When our mother got angry, she yelled at us kids. However, when Dad got angry, his discipline increased in the level of violence. The first time he physically abused me this way was when I cut my little sister’s hair one week before Easter. My sister and I had become close. At times, she seemed my only friend as we were largely isolated from the outside world. Although neighbors and others saw our parents as loving and caring, our home could be unpredictable and chaotic, and our parents’ love was often conditional. Growing up feeling unworthy and resentful, I self-isolated and missed out on a healthy social environment.
At age seven, Mom fell ill with an autoimmune disease that tested the family’s faith in God and had a harmful effect on us kids. My parents doubled down on their faith in the shadow of Mom’s chronic and terminal illness. I struggled to make sense of the abandonment and came to resent and question God while also coming to understand the arbitrariness of my parents’ beliefs and behaviors. I became depressed. Unsupervised, with Mom in bed or in the hospital nearly all the time, and Dad, a workaholic, I played “doctor” with my sister several times. I spied on her and her friends in the shower through the window and a hole in the ceiling.
I was 11 when I discovered masturbation. In middle school, I felt pressure to have a girlfriend, yet I believed myself socially inept. But I learned I could have any girl I wanted if I fantasized about her while masturbating. This quickly became my escape from all the pain I was experiencing in the real world. I was already using sex to escape fear, depression, helplessness, rejection, and loneliness but also to feel powerful and in control. Sexual fantasy plus masturbation became my usual remedy and remained so for nearly four decades.
My life had become unmanageable by age 13. Mom’s illnesses had progressed to the point where she was partially deaf. One night, trapped in a hot and stuffy RV during a three-week, multi-state family vacation, the television volume was super loud so that Mom could hear it, but I could not sleep. With the heat, noise, resentment at my parents, and feelings of being helpless and unworthy because of their rules and Mom’s illness, I snapped. Hidden from their view by only a privacy curtain, I sexually assaulted my sister to find relief. I also found regret and shame. I hadn’t yet learned remorse.
My sister kept this secret for five years, also from shame, until she had a nervous breakdown. My parents had me take an anger management class. Still a teen, I didn’t want to be there, and I experienced little change in my negative feelings and outlook. This family secret continued until it surfaced in my arrest proceedings decades later, re-traumatizing my sister.
My sexual compulsion got progressively worse over the next three decades. I committed date rapes by forcing girlfriends to go farther than they wanted to, and after college, I sometimes sexually harassed women. After college, fighting loneliness, I met my first wife through a dating service, trying to earn my father’s approval. Within the first year of marriage, I sexually assaulted her, cheated on her, and then divorced her to begin a short-lived relationship with a re-discovered high school sweetheart I had found online.
On the rebound from those two women, I eventually married another woman whom I had met at work. My second wife and I had an active, enjoyable, creative, and communicative sex life, but that is where the intimacy started and ended. For my part, I was challenged to distinguish intimacy from sex. Meanwhile, my sexual compulsion progressed further with my second wife over the next 20 years until my arrest.
Internet pornography became a major acting out behavior. I came to believe daily masturbation was medicinal, even as I could already sense it was interfering with trust and intimacy in our marriage. Even so, the internet allowed me to easily seek out prostitutes, and gradually, my target age lowered from 20-somethings to teens. I still spied on showering family members and even helped my wife’s friend buy drugs in exchange for sexual favors.
At age 42, my wife and I became foster parents to my wife’s niece and nephew, and three years later, the county formalized the adoption. I was so busy now I had no time for prostitutes anymore, to whom I’d paid thousands of dollars. Our family finances were pitiful, and we were living paycheck to paycheck. We fought incessantly. I had been cheating on her for decades, only rarely getting caught, a deceptive manipulator because of my growing list of compulsions in the face of all the new stresses piling on top of the old stress: sex, coffee, sweets, and work.
I arrogantly believed I was entitled to my “righteous” behavior. My wife and I were not on the same page. I now recognize our behavior before the kids to be emotional abuse, a form of domestic violence. At the same time, I still felt unworthy and increasingly helpless. My wife grew up in a far more physically and emotionally abusive home than I, and she began to show her contempt and criticism towards me, trying to restore control over our endlessly challenged lives. I gave up. I could no longer see any future. I didn’t see suicide as an option, but “social suicide” was on the table. I was beyond depressed and felt cornered.
At age 46, I turned my sexual compulsion on my eight-year-old adopted daughter, a horribly heinous crime that robbed her of her innocence and destroyed whatever future she might have had. I was motivated in part by my then favorite porn video, which involved the portrayal of a girl about the same age as my daughter–the age my sister had been when we played doctor. Just as I was a target of my wife’s wrath, so my daughter seemed to me. Promising her protection, I groomed her into performing sex acts with me. I justified the acting out by telling myself no one—neither God nor society– could understand the unique bond we were developing.
I had become delusional, believing we were having an affair and that I was causing no harm. My beliefs reflected messages I had learned in childhood, as I interpreted them from my parents, middle school peers, and the media. Things like: “Men take what they want,” It’s ok if no one finds out,” “A child’s voice doesn’t count,” and, finally, “My daughter consents because she’s going along with it.” I thought I had shed most of these beliefs but surprisingly learned that I had actually held onto them. Yet, I was still in denial. I told myself my daughter and I were equals. I was completely oblivious to how much power I had over her as her father– a power I selfishly and recklessly abused. I told myself that each time I sexually abused her would be the last time. The shame was strong, but the compulsion was stronger.
One day, I got careless, and we were caught in the act. For a few months, the year-long sexual abuse that I had committed against my daughter had become another family secret until an anonymous tip led to my arrest. I hit rock bottom in jail. Divorce. Loss of parental rights. Loss of everything. Shame. Depression. Thoughts of suicide.
Six months later, I experienced the turning point that began my path to recovery as I wrote a letter to my father about how to best care for my daughter in the aftermath of my crime. I had begun to realize that the best thing I could do for my kids was fix my problems and become the best person I could be. I had finally moved past much of the denial and began to recognize I needed help. Once I got to prison, I found that help.
Only in prison was I able to face the truth of my sexual compulsion. I knew I needed help, but I did not know what that help looked like. I knew that my low self-esteem was behind my sexual acting out, but not why. I wasn’t super motivated because I had multiple consecutive life sentences and expected to die in prison. I found many 12-step groups and self-help correspondence courses addressing all sorts of character defects. But, as sex crimes usually rank as the lowest in a prison hierarchy where murder is still often viewed with some admiration, I feared for my safety every time it was my turn to share in those groups. Criminals and Gang Members Anonymous (CGA) felt more inviting to me than Alcoholics Anonymous because sexual dysfunction is among CGA’s listed criminal behavior domains. Fortunately, I took the initiative to meet other prisoners and found some mentors from across the criminal spectrum. Those mentors were the first reincarnation of my Higher Power and my willing introduction to 12-Step programs.
At my first AA meeting, I freely and honestly admitted I was out of control and that my life was unmanageable. I worked through the Steps, but spiritual awakening did not immediately follow. Fear of rejection or possible physical harm from gang members still made me cautious about sharing my story at meetings until I found Sex Addicts Anonymous (SAA) and later Sexual Compulsives Anonymous (SCA).
I took responsibility to work on my recovery for myself and my children’s sake. Each time I reviewed Step Four, I discovered new character defects or insights while experiencing further reductions in denial and increases in self-awareness. Listing all the times I have been selfish, resentful, dishonest, and frightened was liberating. I forgave myself; then, I forgave those I had blamed for my predicament. I learned that my beliefs shape how I respond to events and that I can learn to change my feelings about events to transform my beliefs.
Over time, I expanded my support network. I chose to be sexually abstinent, ceasing all masturbation and sexual fantasy. I worked the 12 Steps several times in AA, NA, CGA, and ACA, and then joined a fellow recovering sexual compulsive to start an SAA group in prison. When I found SCA, I knew what I wanted and needed from a 12-Step program. I discovered the SCA Blue Book to be amazingly spot-on and current with emerging medical science. I learned I might “partner” with my Higher Power, a concept not touched on in other 12-step programs’ materials.
Preparing for the parole board interview has strengthened my recovery as I learned how I came to be the person who could sexually assault his eight-year-old daughter, whom I had claimed to love and promised to protect. I studied psychology in the prison college program. I gained more insight into who I was and took responsibility for who I am, holding myself accountable for my change. My remorse matured as I recognized the ripple effect of just how deeply I hurt my sister and my daughter, my sons, my wife, my parents, and the whole community.
This awareness enabled me to make a thorough list of all those I’ve harmed across my lifespan. My circumstances won’t allow me to make direct amends for most of the harms I’ve done. Before I found a sponsor, I wrote apology letters that included blaming others. Today, I practice living amends, making thoughtful choices daily that I am proud of, and finding ways to serve others in my prison community. My daily Tenth Step is more meditation than prayer, sometimes with journaling to measure my reactions and responses to the day’s events. I look for hidden patterns of behavior I need to address, not just the sexual ones, and keep an eye open for identifying and promptly making amends when I inadvertently harm someone.
I am powerless over the impulsivity that seeks to feel good when I am stressed, afraid, hurting, angry, or otherwise struggling to get my needs met. When I nurture my support network and find joy in friends, I want more of that, and then the void is filled. But when I self-isolate, loneliness takes over. I then become a glutton for attention, affection, excitement, and sweets—chasing that dopamine rush—and the chances of acting out increase.
After five years incarcerated and three years abstinent, I still cannot fantasize sexually without drifting into thoughts about my daughter. But I can recognize when the void appears and cope in positive ways, choosing not to act out. Instead, I can replace the void with something positive, such as doing something of service for someone, especially if they don’t know I did the service. It feels great to help others when I know it will brighten their day.
About a year into my prison stay, during a study on Step Eleven, I learned to separate spirituality from religion. I had projected my father into the face of God. I gained the courage to renounce my Christian beliefs, including the existence of Heaven and Hell. This decision helped me heal from the religious abuse I’d received as a child. Within a day, I let go of decades of festering resentment against my father, God, and my second wife. Twenty years after my mother died, I let go of my resentment against her for abandoning me with her illness. I learned that personal safety means distancing myself from harm, and that includes letting go of the pain and blame from my past. These actions were instrumental in redefining God as I understood God. Now, Steps Three and Six make sense, and I can partner with my Higher Power to transform my character defects into character assets.
Today, I remain active in several groups, particularly in groups dedicated to sexual compulsion. I make weekly phone calls to my SCA sponsor. I continue to prepare myself to face a parole board 15 years from now. I’ve had some success with achieving sexual sobriety in prison. One day, my daughter and my sons may once again want me in their lives. I now value myself enough to fight for my physical and spiritual freedom because I am a human being worthy of love, including self-love. I have rediscovered the real me, the inner child who once was excited and curious about the world and confident enough to want to explore it. I have natural talents such as patience, being a good listener, hardworking, gritty, and kind– talents that once again can flourish after eliminating deception from my moral code. To these, I can now add courage, empathy, serenity, and consequential thinking.
I live an intentional, values-based, and goal-oriented lifestyle that feeds my need for dopamine and reduces impulsivity and depression at the same time. I exercise regularly and drink enough water, things I previously didn’t prioritize. I’ve stopped trying to fix others, as my perspective has broadened me to be more inclusive and appreciative of diversity of thought. I see myself as a work-in-progress.
My vision for the future is to teach health science education to adults, which may help prevent crimes and their impact on victims. I can set boundaries in interpersonal relationships, develop healthy financial habits, attend groups regularly, and continue learning. I can see when I’m deviating from God’s will in favor of my self-will and re-center myself. Presently, I practice Buddhist mindfulness meditation because the prison offers it, and it works for me.
I never expected to find the self-acceptance and internal freedom that were gifts I found in recovery, nor all the tools I now have in my toolkit to live a life not controlled by sexual compulsion. Today I facilitate 12-Step groups in prison, tutor GED and college students, and am working to build my skills as a life coach. I still make mistakes, but I remember I’ve made more forward progress than any mistakes set me back. I find gratitude every day. I’ve made things right with God, myself, and others open to my amends. I know who I am, and I’m proud of that. My past is a part of me and, as such, a thing to be accepted–not to glorify my crimes but to recognize that I survived by doing the best I could. Today, I’m happy with the knowledge that I can do better and that I am a useful member of society, incarcerated or not. I do all this with the help of God. 08/24
