I woke up the morning after D-Day feeling disoriented (and maybe a little panicked?). Had that conversation really happened? Cyrus leaves for work before I wake up so he wasn't there to touch base with.
I sort of robotically went through what is required of a mother of small children, but my mind was miles away. I was just trying to understand what I had been told. Every once in a while, I would feel a surge of shock and emotion at what my husband had told me. He had been watching videos of people having sex? He had been seeking images of naked women? He had a problem with lust? WHAT????? Really??? I thought he was crazy about me. I thought he didn't have eyes for anyone else. I thought I was the one he wanted. I felt sick to my stomach. My stomach was actually churning. I was feeling real physical symptoms brought on only by the intense emotion I was feeling. Several times that day, I found myself standing over the toilet, dry heaving.
And thus began the most challenging week of my life (so far?). I still genuinely felt the sadness at the fact that my favorite person had been suffering alone for so long. But I was starting to absorb the implications for me. I was not the only woman he saw, and I had believed that I was, and I desperately wanted to be. My emotions were so strong. I felt like I was churning in the ocean. I felt like I was being spun in the surf, and that I was desperate to breathe, but that I didn't know which way to swim to get air. Which way was up? I had no clue.
When Cyrus came home after work, I could think of nothing else besides his disclosure, and our new reality. I tried to drop discrete hints (that the kids would not understand) about how I had been feeling. I couldn't wait for the kids to go to bed so I could share with him what it had been like.
I think in hindsight that he was surprised that I wanted to talk about nothing else. He was feeling like we had had this big momentous conversation, so heavy with emotion, and he was ready to get back to a little more normalcy. I can't remember specific details for specific nights that week, but I know he pretty quickly slipped back into his normal routine, and didn't seem that interested in talking (and talking and talking and talking) like I wanted to do.
Within a day or two, I told my husband that I was ready to talk to our bishop (ecclesiastical leader). He was caught off guard. He told me that he wasn't sure whether he wanted to confess to our bishop what had been going on. I told him that the reason why I was going to talk to the bishop wasn't for Cyrus's benefit; it was for mine. He was my bishop, and I needed his support while I adjusted to my new reality. I told my husband that he was invited to join me at the bishop's office, but that he didn't have to.
In the end, he chose to join me. His hand was shaking in my hand as he told our bishop that he was a recovering porn addict. In hindsight, calling himself a "recovering" addict was absurdly optimistic, but it helped him get the words out, and it was true as far as we knew.
I think D-Day was on a Tuesday or Wednesday, and I had been asked to give a talk in church that Sunday. I stuck with the plan and prepared my talk during the week of D-Day. Since I could think of nothing but the disclosure, I found myself scared that I would not be able to keep the news out of my talk. I could just imagine myself at the microphone on the podium saying, "My husband is addicted to pornography." I actually became frightened that I would be unable to keep myself from saying that. But I didn't say it. I got through the talk.
And I started to adjust to the shock of my new life. There was so much heartache and reality to experience, but after about a week, I at least knew which way was up. More to come soon . . . .
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