Chapter 8: The Secret
Imagine you and your spouse enjoying an al fresco lunch with another couple (your next-door neighbors and best french-friends) at a posh beach club on the French Riviera. Then, just moments before the husbands run off to the sea to take a dip, you ask your husband for his cell phone, so you can show your girlfriend a few random pictures. Moments later, while flipping through the pics, you land upon porn pictures that he had downloaded- what appeared to be hundreds. Your friend, Martha (a professional therapist), looks on while scrolling in real-time and then sadly looks into your glazed-over eyes for your reaction.
"What are you going to do?" she asks, knowing this is not the first occurrence of his secret escape.
In previous chapters, I've given some background regarding Harry's and my undeniable chemistry. However, regarding this particular experience, I feel there is relevancy to mention that we, as an adult then-married couple, mutually agreed to foray into the simple spicing-it-up-playful world of eroticism on a handful of occasions with a few magazines or R-rated videos. Mostly, we would find ourselves laughing hysterically about the lack of any plot line, so hopes of enticement would lose itself in the moment of hilarity. They say, "laughter is the best medicine". Not so much in the scene I described above, which happened to me. Nor the first exposure (pun intended) many years prior.
The first time I was surprised by the discovery of what appeared to be Harry's excessive porn use, we had only been married for approximately four or five years. I'm uncertain why I was shocked at this point; nonetheless, I felt overwhelmingly betrayed by what I accidentally uncovered. And, if I remember correctly, this was the impetus for our entering marital therapy, the first go around. I also felt mortified, incredulous, unattractive, guilty, at fault, and unworthy. I wondered what the hell he needed from this continual tasteless outsourcing that he was not getting from our marriage and, well, ME. After all, I didn't think of myself as prudish.
Harry disclosed in our couples therapy that he saved numerous pictures and videos in a work folder on his computer, "a top-secret vault," so to say. He would secretly look at them, and masturbate, in his office behind closed doors during work hours or after the other employees left for the day. It all felt overwhelmingly disturbing to me. What also occurred to me then was how he would return home and talk about his single sexy 20-something secretary- how she dressed and how he also gave her a necklace that year for her birthday. (I could never recall her Russian name, so I sweetly and naively referred to her as "Svetlana".) Maybe it's just me, but that personalized gift seemed to cross the marital line strangely, even before learning this disturbing information. I will never know if he and Svetlana crossed the line even further in his office, but I have doubts.
Harry would further explain in therapy that he sometimes felt bored or overwhelmed at work. It had nothing to do with his love, attraction, desire for me, or wanting more (or better) sex. When he eventually understood this was a form of betrayal and created continued distrust in our relationship, he promised he would no longer let this "mild" non-addiction control his life, nor come between us and our marriage. I unbelievably believed him.
During this time frame of rebuilding trust and promises full of transparency, I also found a book he had been reading about bipolar illness. I felt utterly confused by this secret world Harry had been keeping from me. Harry had explained that our couples therapist privately recommended that he read this book to better understand the women in his nuclear family. However, later during an argument, Harry spewed that the therapist thought I was "bipolar".
After I had a very long one-on-one phone call with "our" therapist, he explained in no uncertain terms that Harry questioned this possibility about me in his one one-on-one session. The therapist further explained that, even more importantly, if he had been able to diagnose me over time in one-on-one therapy accurately, it would be unethical for him, as a therapist, to share such a delicate matter with Harry. After all, he was our couples therapist, not a personal therapist for either of us. I don't think I have ever felt so grateful for picking up the phone and engaging in a potentially challenging conversation.
I hadn't understood then that this was the deepening of Harry's gaslighting to change the subject at hand- Harry's secret porn use, betrayals, and abuse. He planted the seed for me to continue questioning my sanity and self-worth.
True to form, except within our couples therapy, I kept quiet, letting only a couple of very close friends know what I discovered. And, of course, I didn't share this with my more conservative family members. It felt shameful, and if I'm honest, I felt a bit stupid for remaining in a relationship where the trust was once again broken and abuse had already occurred. I didn't have the mental strength for any judgment or anger toward Harry or for anyone to suggest I divorce him. After all, it was my fourth marriage, and I was hanging on to a fragile thread.
Chalk it up to a survival mechanism. We were in the midst of creating our incredible international adventure. Harry promised to regain my trust- no matter how long it would take. "No matter what ." And on my birthday soon after, we also moved into a beautiful new home in Chicago that I found, with promises of a fresh start- porn, abuse, and a lie-free zone. Home sweet, safe home. I had free reign to decorate both homes, create and live a life wearing rose-colored glasses. Hope won.
You may wonder what happened during that second "scene" I described. Well, the guys returned to Martha and me shortly after my discovery, and I just sat there feeling numb while trying to form some resemblance of a fake smile. (I had probably already ordered another rose-filled glass to drink at this point.) This emotionally painful act continued for approximately an hour after we returned home as I sat in the garden, silent, melancholy, and confused. I wanted to throw up the pain I was once again feeling. I was in shock.
Harry approached me and asked if something was wrong. He knew. As I think back, this moment may have been the calmest I have ever been in my entire life. I felt speechless, with so much underlying pain, sadness, confusion, and pity- for us both. I wanted to hold him, but somehow I knew I needed to save myself first. He fumbled with rambled words, and the apologies he offered were like spaghetti thrown on a wall. When he finished, I calmly asked for access to his computer, phone, and memory sticks. Remember, full transparency was part of the deal the first go-around. He calmly and promptly agreed.
What I found was a nightmare come true. I spent hours into the wee hours of the night- looking, searching, staring in disbelief—what seemed to be thousands of pictures and videos saved, just awaiting his viewership. I would ask him for access to more folders, and he would kindly open them without saying a word. I remember thinking it strange how overly helpful he was. I took pictures of everything and date and time-checked every detail, including with my calendar, to find the unimaginable. For example, it included his viewing while we were on a once-in-a-lifetime romantic getaway to Bora Bora for my 50th birthday when we agreed to limit our internet use to one hour a day, ONE hour. Or, naked yoga pictures before we went on a group yoga retreat (although artfully done, the thought of his possible thoughts while on the retreat creeped me out.). And, of course, the stereotypical video stills of couples engaging in sexual acts that he would save while watching at six in the morning or waiting for me to get ready for a date night together. Without question, I felt the betrayal trauma begin to set in.
Before this horrible reoccurrence, we had begun seeing another therapist- "Therapist #2". With the assistance of #2, we also added a sexual addiction expert therapist for Harry. Looking back, I should have hired a divorce attorney instead. I certainly had already been verbally, physically, and emotionally abused by this point. But, I cannot blame Harry for my staying.
After the addiction expert had Harry take the official test used to determine a sexual or porn addiction, Harry's diagnosis was scored at the highest of the "low" level- 1 point before one would be diagnosed as an addict. Harry relayed this result to me as he did not allow me to attend a therapy session with him and this specialist to learn more. So much for the transparency concept. Why I didn't pursue this further or leave Harry at that moment is stymying. However, thankfully, I no longer spend hours of endless rumination trying to make sense of it. I recently heard a thought about rumination that I will paraphrase- "If you find you learn new information while ruminating, that's helpful. If not, it wastes your valuable time and energy."
There were moments when I wondered if he wanted to be caught or saved from the horrible pain he had carried for years. He had suffered a traumatizing childhood, which included silenced sexual molestation within his family. And, through our ordeal, he finally spoke about it. Ironically, the Academy Award-winning movie Spotlight hit the theaters during this time. Since he grew up in a conservative Catholic family, it caused some disturbance; however, it empowered him to begin to break the silence. As one can imagine, his breaking the silence caused quite a disruption among his family members. I'm not sure about the outcome of it all today, but I am hopeful it brought much-needed understanding, healing, and familial empathy for all.
Through therapy, throwing myself down the Google hole, and books, I learned through time that his addiction had nothing to do with me; it was nothing personal. There are countless factors for this type of addiction, such as prior abuse, emotional escape or fear of intimacy, endorphins, beliefs, or low self-esteem. And as for myself, I learned that Harry, through his lies and deceptions, intensified my growing low self-esteem. Lest we forget the crazy-making gaslighting; that was MY work.
Empathy and compassion allow us to forgive others and, more importantly, ourselves. That said, forgiveness doesn't mean you must continue hurting yourself by staying in a toxic relationship.
It is almost impossible to heal while still in a toxic environment.
A therapist once told me, "Hope negates reality".
Interesting thought.
Disclaimer; I hold zero judgment on non-violent, safe sexual diversity agreed upon between two consensual healthy adults. Additionally, I am in no way an expert on pornography or sexual addiction, or any addiction, for that matter.
*All names of those living here on earth have been changed.
