On Abuse, Addiction, and the Need for Acceptance

Scrolling through the Facebook feed looking for my daily dose of family pics, sarcastic memes, and unproductive political debates, I also see articles about abusive relationships. The articles run the gambit of abuse: physical, verbal, emotional, sexual. They are helpful to me. They have one shortcoming, though. They are almost all written about men abusing women. Very rarely are they about women abusing men.

I think there are a lot of reasons for that. First, men are more likely to be abusive. Second, men are significantly less likely to report abuse and even less likely to be believed/taken seriously when they do report. Finally—and I think this is a missed point—I don’t think a lot of men even realize that they are being abused. Why do I think that? Well, I realize now that I spent over half my life in that third category.

My Story

I grew up the oldest of a large Catholic family. Mom and Dad married young (both were twenty at the time). Their engagement was much shorter than they planned, as Dad went on a trip to Ireland in the Spring. Let’s just say I was the going away present: the marriage was in August, and I showed up in January. Eighteen months later, my sister was born, and 17 years later my youngest brother was born. My parents averaged a new baby every two years. You can do the math.

What I learned later is that my mom has suffered from chronic, severe, deep, dark depression since she was a preteen. All I knew at the time was that when I couldn’t find mom during the day, it meant she was in her bed sleeping. I didn't know it meant that she was struggling to get out of the pit she was in mentally. My dad, meanwhile, never went to college and had to provide for a large family. That meant that he had to work three times as hard to earn money... and was therefore gone most of the time. This all meant that while I always felt loved, I was on my own. It was a soft, unintentional neglect.

On the positive side, I developed independence, autonomy, and resilience growing up. Even today, while I like being around people, I am also very much self-sufficient and if I need something done, I can do it myself.

The negative side is the hitch. I have chronic anxiety. Like my Mom’s depression, my anxiety is rooted primarily in my genetics and chemical imbalances in my brain. Unlike Mom’s depression, though, my anxiety keeps my body in constant fight/flight mode. When combined with the family environment I grew up in, the outcome for me has been a voice in my head that constantly tells me that I am a failure who is going to be found out. I shame myself constantly.

People cope with mental illness a variety of ways. For my mom, that meant laying down to wait for the darkness to pass. For others, that could mean a gym membership or heading to the gun range to shoot for a while. Others drink, smoke, gamble, eat chocolate, and so on. In reality, most people have an assortment of these behaviors. The best definition I have heard of addiction is when any of those behaviors begin to negatively impact the person’s health and well-being. Hence the smoker hooked up to oxygen taking a puff, or the old lady losing her house to foreclosure who goes to play the slots every night.

I coped primarily by staying busy. Whether it was sports, acting, studying, or working, the more I stayed busy, the more my mind had something to focus on besides why I was a horrible person about to die and go to hell. For the most part, it worked. Then three things happened at once: I became the teenage night owl, I discovered my sex drive, and America Online Chat began.

By the time I was 16, my dad was working out of the home to attempt to be more present to us as kids. My bedroom was next to his office, which had computers in it hooked up to the internet via America Online. With very little difficulty, I found my way into the romance chat rooms. My pornography introduction wasn’t made through playboy. It was by having explicit chats about sex with strangers. Over time, it escalated to picture sharing and phonesex in the dead of night. It would be many years before it escalated to hookups, but I was hooked.

The hook worked like any classic addiction. I couldn’t manage my anxieties and needed the escape. So I jumped onto AOL Chat. The endorphins rushed in. I masturbated and then crashed. My mind’s desire to shame me grabbed onto good old fashioned Catholic guilt. I hated myself. And that hate intensified until I needed to escape again... into chat. It was a horrible cycle, replete with a haze and blackouts where I have gaps in my memory. 11:00 PM became 3:00 AM way too quickly. It would take 18 years until I finally sought treatment. More on that later.

A lot of people will look at this and think my problem was sex addiction. Sex addiction is the symptom (and a harmful one). The problem though, was my anxiety disorder. And sex addiction wasn’t the only harm my anxiety disorder made me prone to.

Nobody likes to be criticized and made fun of. For people with anxiety disorder, it’s even more difficult, as the mind is ready to agree with and amplify any criticism. Now most criticism I can deal with fine, especially constructive criticism like you get at work.

And then there are bullies. Bullies don’t offer constructive criticism. They offer destructive criticism. I don’t think its because they are bad people. Much like my sex addiction was an escape, their attacks are their escape. By belittling others, they get an escape from whatever is in their head.

Someone like me with anxiety disorder is an easy target for the emotional abuse of a bully (my bullies were never physical with me). The reality is that I react visibly and quickly to the abuse they throw at me. They could get their fix easy; I was quick to give away my power.

As a kid, the bullies were some of my classmates in grade school. They made fun of everything about me they could find. My looks, my voice, my athletic abilities... whatever it took to get the rise out of me they wanted. Recourse was difficult. I wasn’t getting physically beaten up, so there was no black eye to show. How do you prove a snide comment that stings more than any punch? The best I could be offered was refuge in the Principal’s Office and the inevitable talks about being tough. Time and a move took me away from that group of kids.

But it didn’t take away my anxiety. Instead it primed me for other harmful relationships.

The first was my first real girlfriend. I was 15 and hadn’t found AOL chat yet, but my hormones were raging. She was 18 with her own issues and her own hormones. I learned a lot about my sexuality—not all good but not all bad. I also learned I fall hard and deep.

The relationship at the start was exciting and fun. But it fairly quickly turned sour. Neither of us was particularly mature. Fights were common. If I did not behave as she wanted me to, she would criticize me and withhold intimacy. Still it continued until the summer before my Senior year of high school, when I cheated for the fist time, making out with a cast member in a play I was in. She never knew I cheated. I just knew the relationship was not healthy, so I ended it.

I didn’t know yet that the relationship was abusive. I just knew it was unhealthy. I had no idea I even was excessively anxious. It was normal to me, and I just assumed everyone else felt the same way. Being the good Catholic boy, I hyper focused instead on the sexual parts of the relationship as what drove the downfall of it. And by focusing on the sex, I could continue to feed the sex addiction that was by then established and growing.

So I decided to look for someone who was about as polar opposite of her sexually for my next relationship.

My first serious relationship was a dark haired, olive skinned Italian with a loud mouth and high sex drive. My second serious relationship and the woman I married and had kids with was a blonde haired, blue eyed, soft-spoken German with a below average sex drive. I thought I was in heaven... but I was really entering hell.

Our 20 year relationship was—in hindsight—full of emotional abuse that is too expansive to give a chronology. Most of the abuse took place behind closed doors, and that which could be seen by others was so subtle that it would be easily glossed over. Family and friends, while aware something wasn’t right, were slowly conditioned to ignore it or even blame me for the problems. But here is how it worked...

1. Judgement and Criticism: Judgement and criticism of me—in front of people and when alone—was the most consistent feature of the abuse. Now any wife will criticize any husband (and vice versa). It is part of any relationship. The frequency and purpose of the criticism and judgement is what is important. I faced nearly daily criticism and judgment from her. She would criticize my work ethic, the way I formed my relationship with our children, the friends I kept, the golf I played, body changes from when I started at the gym, the way I interacted with her and the kids at family functions, and more. The function of these daily criticisms was control. Over time, she conditioned me to avoid criticism and earn praise by doing what she wanted me to do. The reality is she wanted me home as much as possible so that I could do chores, clean clothes, do the dishes, cook dinner, wash the kids, and basically run the home. So she equated school board meetings with guys nights out. She made a big todo of anytime I was hanging with my brothers instead of watching the kids at my family get togethers. She openly commented that my butt was getting too flat from working out at the gym to get me to go to the gym less. It was a constant barrage, and it would be easier for me to avoid the behaviors she criticized, even though they gave me much joy.

2. Shaming: When the daily judgements did not work, she became more overt and outright shamed me into complacency. As my anxiety disorder led to my own constant self-shaming, this technique was particularly useful. One way this worked was when we were out with “the guys.” If she felt threatened by a particular group of friends I had, she was quick to point out my shortcomings for me and for all to hear. For instance, it is true that I am less “filtered” when I drink. I am not a mean drunk by any stretch, but I am much more likely to tell someone what I am really thinking. When she was not around, it was not a problem with my friends. But she would make sure to proclaim her worries that I get so mean to her when I drink, which would lead to an apology from me, reduced drinking, and ultimately reduced time spent hanging with that group of friends.

3. Accusations and Blame: The most significant of my ex’s personal shortcomings is her inability to ever accept full responsibility for her own actions. Throughout our relationship, she would consistently inform me why her behavior was really my fault. Literally! One day we were in a fight, and I looked at her and said, “Not all of your problems are my fault.” She looked right at me and screamed, “All of my problems are your fault!” Usually she was not as overt as that. However, whenever I would bring up a grievance with her, she would counter with some failure of mine. As a result, I just decided to keep any criticisms to myself.

4. The Silent Treatment: The next step is the silent treatment. For me, it was not so much that she didn’t react to me. Instead she withheld affection and sex. Yes, I have a high sex drive, and withholding sex would hurt. But I also express love through hugs, holding hands, kissing, and cuddling. So when I would chose to not do her constant bidding, I would do so at the risk of a loss of intimacy and affection. Starved for touch and intimacy, I would eventually apologize and do what she wanted so that I could get hugged and laid.

5. Codependence: The final tactic was to never keep any of my secrets ultimately a secret. Early in my career as a Principal, I struggled with work/life balance. She was sure to share with family and friends that I was a workaholic. More recently, even after the divorce was final, she told anyone and everyone—including our daughter±that I was a sex addict. The goal and ultimate effect was to isolate me from children, family, and friends, painting me as the sick one and her as the martyr/victim. She even shared information about my sex addiction with my employer, which was part of why I was asked to resign my position.

My entire relationship with her was characterized by constant walking around on eggshells. It also meant I never was free of stress, which feeds my anxieties, which feeds the sex addiction. My marriage was a toxic mix of the emotional abuse from my wife feeding my sex addiction, leading to me taking greater risks to get my buzz of adrenaline. Instead of facing the problems, I ran from them through sex.

Finally, I found my way to therapy. It quickly became apparent that my marital problems and sex addiction were tied together. It was not that I cheated because of my ex-wife. I engaged in the sexual activities that I did, because I chose to use those to cope with my anxieties and stress. The emotional abuse I experienced from my wife meant that I did not have a safe place to destress on a consistent basis. That constant state of elevated stress was fertile breeding ground for the anxiety and hence, my unhealthy sexual behaviors.

Divorce was not the first step to wellness for me. The first step was to get an understanding of what was going on inside my head. Through therapy, I was able to learn how chronic anxiety keeps the brain in an elevated state of looking for threats. I then learned to differentiate between what is ACTUALLY going on and the running commentary in my head about why it was bad. Next, I needed to look for replacement “addictions” for my sex addiction. For me, that meant MMA training and becoming as much of a gym rat as a man with three kids can be a gym rat. The third step was starting anti-anxiety meds to level off the highs and the lows, making it easier for the other coping mechanisms to work. Finally, my therapist found an online support group that allowed me to process through everything.

A little bit at a time, I became healthier. My times in chat rooms and (after chat rooms got closed down) dating websites went down considerably. Relapses became increasingly rare, and I developed with my therapist strategies to recover from a relapse without feeding the shame cycle. Perfect? Nope. But sobriety no longer seemed so elusive.

And as my efforts started to reduce my anxieties and sexually acting out, I found surprising benefits. I developed new friends who were free from any of my ex-wife’s conditioning and controlling. They came to accept and love me as me. That in turn allowed me to be more and more my authentic self: less serious, more fun-loving, and more compassionate to others. I became a better dad, and work/life balance issues became less daunting to me as I was able to be more present to my children than ever before. I gained more confidence in my abilities and became more assertive at work, confronting problematic employee behavior more frequently instead of hoping it would go away. I was also able to raise more revenues and lead the school to serve more students than before.

In short, I became a better man.

For everyone but one person: my ex-wife.

For her, all of these developments meant she had less control over me, which threatened her. She ratcheted up many of the behaviors that I described earlier, but they did not work as consistently as they did in the past. That made her angry and panicky, and we did something we rarely did in the past: we fought.

Finally, it came to a pass when she told me during a fight, “You know, we really aren’t good for each other are we? We are just going to continue hurting each other, aren’t we?”

Now that tactic was used to get me to bow down, apologize, and give up my power again. In fact, she partially admitted it later when she told me she said that when she was angry, and not because she meant it. But instead of the old shame, a new voice came through to me loud and clear: “YES! She is right! It will not get better.”

That moment of clarity led to me finally making the decision to divorce her. I deserved better. More important, my kids did not benefit from a marriage as toxic as the one we had. They deserved to see me at my best and not my worst. I wanted to give them a chance to maybe even see one day what a proper relationship could look like. They deserved better.

I am still a work in progress. As I noted, even though the divorce is final, my ex is still attempting to control and harm me by sharing what should be private with others in order to punish and isolate me. I lost my job, and so far have not found new employment. My ex has also threatened going to court.

But today, I can walk away from the abuse. I have found a new love who accepts and loves me as I am. I now have a safe haven. My stress levels are down considerably, and I am sexually sober. Am I periodically tempted to go back into the old behaviors. Just like an alcoholic... yes. Temptation will always be there. But today it is manageable, and the urges come and go without taking hold.

Conclusion

I do not write this to vilify my ex. I do not write this to self-justify my infidelities. My ex grew up in a household where acceptance was conditional and judgement was rampant. She is living the life she was taught was normal.

But I do write to help you understand. I hope you can better understand how behavioral addictions like sex addiction can come to dominate a person’s life. I hope you can better understand how emotional abuse works and how a man can become the victim. I hope you can better understand how societal prejudice and bias can make it harder for a person to leave an abusive relationship.

And by understanding more, I hope you can become a little less judgmental and a little more accepting of people who may make decisions that on the surface may seem selfish or rash. Relationships are complex, especially when children are involved. So please—when your brother, cousin, or uncle seeks to leave a relationship because of what is often invisible emotional abuse—give them the benefit of the doubt. And if you see the signs of emotional abuse in the relationship of a loved one, speak out and make sure they hear that what they are experiencing is not normal and not something they need to just endure. They deserve better.