Quick outline:
- How it began and why I stayed
- Red flags I missed
- What daily life looked like
- What helped and what hurt
- Costs I didn’t expect
- Small wins, hard calls
- My verdict, with who this may fit
Note: This is a first-person narrative built from real, lived stories people shared with me over time. Details are blended and changed for privacy.
The start felt like a movie, then it didn’t
He was charming. Funny. So present. I felt seen. You know what? I fell fast. He texted good morning every day. He planned sweet dates. We had big feelings, fast.
Then little things slid in. His phone always faced down. Showers ran the minute he got home. He called himself “a night owl,” but he wasn’t writing a book. He was scrolling. A lot. I told myself, it’s fine. Everyone has quirks. I wanted the warm parts to win.
If you’d like an even deeper backstory from my earliest days in the relationship, I unpack every twist in my longer piece, Dating a Sex Addict: My First-Person Review.
The first crack you can’t ignore
One afternoon, I saw a charge on a shared card. A site I didn’t know. He said it was “just once.” He cried. I cried. He said he was a sex addict. I didn’t even know what that meant. I thought it meant he didn’t love me. He said it meant he needed help.
Later I learned it was for a live cam service—think real people on webcam, private chats, tipping buttons blinking in red. If you’ve never stepped inside that world and want a sober preview, this no-fluff LiveJasmin review breaks down the features, pricing tiers, and spending pitfalls so you can see exactly how a “small” charge can spiral into a serious budget (and relationship) leak.
Sometimes the spiral doesn’t stop at screens; classifieds for in-person hookups can sit just a click away, and scrolling a current example on Backpage Rialto lets you see how quickly an addict can move from virtual fantasy to real-world risk, offering partners a clearer picture of the boundaries they may need to draw.
Here’s the thing: both felt true, and that’s what made it hard.
What it looked like day to day
It wasn’t a movie. It was a cycle.
- He’d be loving and kind for a week.
- Then he’d get quiet. Edgy. Distant.
- There’d be secret messages or old apps back on his phone.
- Shame hit. Then promises. Then a fresh start.
Stress set it off. Travel, fights, even boredom. HALT was real—hungry, angry, lonely, tired. If two lined up, a slip was close. I learned his tells: late night screens, closed doors, vague answers. I learned mine: tight chest, checking his phone, checking myself, checking everything.
The rhythm echoed what so many describe as the classic binge-guilt loop; one candid breakdown of that exact porn-addiction cycle made me feel far less alone.
That checking? It felt like control. It was fear in a new shirt.
What helped (and what didn’t)
What helped:
- Clear rules we both wrote down. “No secret accounts.” “Tell me within 24 hours if you slip.” Short. Plain. Real.
- A plan for bad days. He texted “I’m not okay.” I replied “Pause. Walk. Call someone.” Not me first. Someone who could hold it.
- Groups with other people who got it. He had his. I had mine. Different rooms, same goal: less shame.
- Health steps. Regular tests. Clean phones. Fewer triggers. We treated it like asthma. Not blame—care.
For partners of individuals struggling with sex addiction, finding support and understanding is crucial. Organizations like S-Anon offer structured programs based on the 12-step model, providing a framework for personal growth and recovery. Additionally, the Association for the Treatment of Sexual Addiction and Compulsivity (ATSAC) provides resources and support groups tailored for partners, helping them navigate the challenges associated with a loved one's addiction.
Reading a raw review of Sex and Porn Addicts Anonymous convinced him that showing up in those rooms could actually work.
What didn’t help:
- Playing detective. I found clues. I lost sleep. We both lost trust.
- Monologues. Long talks at midnight fixed nothing.
- “Never again” with no support. Willpower alone got chewed up by stress.
Honestly, I learned to say, “I love you, and I need safety.” Both can sit in the same room.
If you need a starting point, Through the Flame collects practical tools and first-person stories from partners and addicts alike, and reading even one post can feel like turning on a light.
Costs I didn’t see coming
- Time. So many talks. So many restarts.
- Money. Subscriptions, therapy, gas for late drives, all of it.
- Body image. I compared myself to strangers on screens. I lost joy for a while. I wore big sweaters and small smiles.
- Friends. I kept secrets. I got quiet at brunch. I hate that part.
More than once I caught myself wondering whether my caretaking streak had tipped into full-blown codependency; this reflection landed hard after I read an honest take on being a codependent of a sex addict.
I also found I was braver than I thought. I set a line and stood on it. My hands shook, but I stood.
Small wins that kept us going
We picked a “truth day,” once a week. No spin. Just facts. Quick check-in: green, yellow, or red. Green meant calm. Yellow meant edgy. Red meant hands off and extra care. Simple words saved fights.
We used plain tools: shared calendar, phone limits at night, walks after dinner. Boring things help broken things. It’s wild but true.
The hard call
We gave it time. A year of work. He showed up most weeks. Some weeks he didn’t. I asked myself one question: Do I feel safer this month than last month? After a while, my answer was no. I left.
I cried in my car. I also slept through the night for the first time in months. Both were true.
For partners who are further along—say, sharing vows and mortgages—this snapshot sits beside a sobering look at being married to someone with a porn addiction.
Would I date someone in recovery again? Yes—if they’re doing the work, with time to show it. Would I try to rescue someone who won’t face it? No. I’m not a life raft.
Who this may fit
- You have strong boundaries and friends who tell you the truth.
- Your partner owns their stuff, goes to real support, and follows a plan.
- You both can handle boring routines that make life steady.
Who it may hurt:
- If you think love alone will fix it.
- If you’re scared to ask for tests, plans, or proof over time.
- If secrets feel normal to you now. They’ll grow.
My quick scorecard
What I liked:
- When he was honest, we were so close.
- I learned to ask for what I need.
- I met kind people who understand hard things.
What I didn’t:
- The lies, even small ones, cut deep.
- The whiplash of high love, low trust.
- The way shame filled our home like fog.
Bottom line: Dating a sex addict isn’t all bad or all doom. It’s work. Real work. If there’s honesty, support, and time, it can heal. If there’s denial and spin, it won’t. You deserve steady. Your partner deserves help. And you both deserve truth.