Last night, the room temperature in my home group had become so stiffling that a group conscience to open the door quickly passed without objection. I raised my hand to support this remedy along with the rest of my heat-stricken group members. But, when the door was actually opened and sharing in the room continued, I squirmed a bit in my own discomfort with the removal of the room’s protective barrier. I felt exposed and extremely vulnerable. I suspected what passers-by, which were relatively few at this time of night, were learing as they passed to get a good look at what a sex addict looked like. Someone in the group shared his similar feelings. In that moment, I realized how much I had come to take for granted the safety and comfort that the rooms offer the recovering addict. However, conducting a meeting with an open door also cast a not-so-flattering light on the shame I often can feel as a sexually compulsive person.

When I was actively acting out in my sex addiction, I always carried this fear that I would run into someone I knew while entering or exiting the seedy places I frequented. I sought safety from those feelings in dark rooms, dimly lit anonymous places. Though lurking in these places served my compulsive ritual and helped me feel “safe” from these and other feelings, those dark places also provided a fertile breeding ground for my festering shame. It’s been well over three years since I’ve numbed myself in those places, and yet last night I realized the shame is still there. It’s not as visciously potent as it once was, but it hasn’t disappeared.

I came into the program after an enormously shaming event. My partner of five years had discovered that I had been unfaithful and that I had been acting out in the relationship with anonymous sex partners. It was a devastating moment for both of us, and our relationship hung in crisis. When I was acting out, I had feared this moment in my imagination over and over again, but the fear of discovery never stopped me from engaging in my risky behavior. My addictive mind continued to pacify this fear with false grandiose notions that I couldn’t ever get caught, that I was somehow immune from discovery because I was so vigilant and clever. But I was trying to control something that was fast becoming more and more wildly out-of-control. In that instant when I realized I was caught, I felt my whole illusory world cave in on me. What’s worse was the devastation reached beyond just me. The reality of the wreckage that surrounded me and my partner finally shattered a myth born in my sex addiction that I was engaging in a victimless activity.

The recovery process continues to be a long road for me and my relationship that endured. My partner and I managed to work through that crisis and to rebuild a healthy, intimate relationship, one that requires continual nurturing for growth. It’s still not always easy for me to talk about my disease with my partner or anyone else outside the rooms. I fear hurting my partner. I still swell with shame.

As an addict, I tend to look for quick fixes. Years before coming into the rooms, I sought the help of a therapist to help me “figure out” what was going on with my compulsive sexual behavior. I believed that if I unburdened myself with this secret, that somehow I would be cured. In my interview with Eric in this issue, he shares a similar feeling that confessing will somehow fix everything.

In a similar experience, I remember the years preceding my coming-out to my parents as an anxiety-laden time when I lived in fear of rejection, shame, and uncertainty. I was entirely focused on figuring out the right way to tell them. I was directing all of my attention to that future life-changing moment when my fate would be decided by performance in this single event. I had never considered the disclosure as one tiny incident in a long, ongoing process. Coming-out to my parents was difficult, but it turns out that continuing the conversation after the coming-out is just has hard. Like Judy shares in her piece, the issue often remains unspoken. There have been many moments in my recovery, where I’ve thought that confessing a behavior would remove it entirely. Sharing secrets in the rooms, working a first and fourth step with my sponsor, talking with a therapist, and coming clean with my partner have all helped to cleanse me of my toxic shame. None of these events in isolation has turned out to be the climactic turning point that my addictive-prone mind has wanted them to be.

I rarely feel like I know the answer of when it’s apporpriate and potentially helpful to disclose my compulsion outside of the rooms. Like John shares in this issue, I rely on my higher power to guide me. For me, that higher power includes a network of people in the rooms, my therapist, my sponsor, and my partner. I try not to work out these tough questions in my head and instead bounce my conflicts and confusion off others.

In this issue of the SCAnner, I’m pleased to present some member shares which focus on the topic of disclosing our sexual compulsion to friends and family out of the rooms.