I review stuff for a living. Headphones. Coffee makers. Apps. But this? This is a review of my marriage during a very hard chapter. I’m sharing what it looked like in real life, with real moments. Not to shame. Just to tell the truth.
If you’re hunting for another voice describing the day-to-day of a spouse in this situation, I found this candid walk-through of being married to someone with a porn addiction over at Through the Flame both validating and practical.
Would I recommend this experience? No. But I learned things I wish someone had told me when I was sitting in my car, crying into a cold latte, feeling small and weirdly angry at a screen.
How It Started (Not Cute)
It didn’t start with a big blow-up. It started with small things that didn’t feel small.
- His phone went to the bathroom with him. Every time.
- The screen faced down during dinner.
- The history was always “empty.” (Mine was not. I Google a lot.)
- He got snappy when I asked simple questions.
One night, around 2 a.m., I saw the bathroom light under the door. I knocked. He said he had a stomach ache. My gut said no. I felt hot, then cold. You know that sinking feeling? That was me, on the hallway rug.
The next day I said, “I think there’s porn.” He denied it. Then he told the truth. I remember the exact spot on our kitchen tile where he stood. I also remember wanting to throw my phone at the wall and also hug him. Both feelings were true. That was the strangest part.
What It Felt Like (The Part People Skip)
I felt angry. I felt not-pretty. I felt silly for caring. And then I felt mean for feeling silly. My brain was a ping-pong match.
Later, I realized many of my reactions lined up with codependency, and reading this honest take on being a codependent of a sex addict helped me name what was happening in my own heart.
Here’s the thing: it wasn’t about me not being enough. It felt like that, sure. But addiction makes a loop in the brain. The loop wants quick hits. It doesn’t want eye contact or long talks or Saturday pancakes. It wants a scroll. A fix. That stung, because I’m a person, not a pause button.
Real-Life Examples (The Messy Middle)
- We tried “no phones in the bedroom.” He hid a tablet in the closet. I found it while grabbing a sweater. I sat on the floor and laughed, then cried. Both happened in two minutes.
- He traveled for work to Dallas. Hotel TV. Alone. He called me from the hallway ice machine to say, “I’m not okay.” He also called a guy from group. They talked. He came home tired but honest. I made tacos and didn’t ask a thousand questions. That was new for me.
- Sundays after church, we did a check-in at our kitchen table. We each said one feeling word. Then one need. (Mine: “I feel scared. I need you to be kind when I ask things.”) It was clunky at first, like learning to dance with two left feet.
- A month in, he slipped. I found a window open on the laptop. Nothing extreme. Still, my chest dropped. He told me within an hour. The honesty hurt less than the hiding. I didn’t know that could be true.
Tools That Actually Helped (Not Magic, Just Work)
I don’t have a silver bullet. I do have a short list of things that made life steadier:
- A therapist who knows about porn addiction. He saw a CSAT (that just means a therapist trained in this stuff). I saw my own therapist too.
- Filters and reports. We used Covenant Eyes for a while. He also set his phone to no private browsing. Boring? Yes. Helpful? Also yes.
- A “no phone in bed” rule. We charged our phones in the kitchen. He hated it at first. I did too, to be fair.
- Short, regular check-ins. Ten minutes. Timer on. Two questions: How are you doing? What do you need from me this week? Then stop. No trial. No speech.
- A travel plan. He texted a check-in buddy at night on trips. If he didn’t, I could ask. Simple. Clear.
On days when we felt stuck, the free worksheets and articles inside the Reclaim Sexual Health recovery resources library gave us fresh language for boundaries and quick exercises we could actually finish between work and dinner.
If you’re searching for step-by-step guides or just a spark of hope, the stories and practical worksheets over at Through the Flame are worth bookmarking.
What Hurt (And Kept Hurting)
- Gaslighting, even the mild kind. “You’re overthinking.” No. I was not.
- Secrets. It wasn’t one big lie. It was a pile of little ones. They stack up.
- Comparison. I started to compare my body to strangers. That took me nowhere good.
What Helped Me (Not Him—Me)
Sounds selfish. It wasn’t. It kept me sane.
- I had my own therapy sessions. Yes, even when he said he was “fine.”
- I told two friends who could hold water. Not ten people. Two.
- I lowered my news feed. Less doom scrolling. More walks. Corny, but I slept better.
- I set a boundary: no anger at me for asking about recovery. We could pause a talk, but not punish a question.
Money, Time, and Other Costs
Therapy was about $120 a session where we live. Filters had a small fee. Honesty had a bigger cost: pride. Time too. We skipped a few shows at night and talked. I missed the show. I didn’t miss the fog.
Red Flags I Wish I Noticed Sooner
- Extreme privacy with devices (bathroom phone, always locked, sudden “battery died”).
- Mood swings tied to screen time.
- Sleep issues—up late, up early, cranky.
- Blame-shifting when I was calm. If I’m whispering and you’re yelling, something’s off.
To grasp how quickly online fantasy can leap into real-world opportunity, I once typed a few words into Google and landed on OneNightAffair’s Backpage Rolla classifieds. Browsing that page lays bare an entire marketplace of local, no-strings-attached meet-ups, letting you see firsthand the kind of instant temptations your partner may be navigating.
If it gets scary, or there’s rage, or you don’t feel safe—please get help. Your safety comes first. Full stop.
Small Wins That Kept Me Going
- He started putting his phone face up on the table. Silly tiny thing. Meant a lot.
- He told me when he had a hard day before it became a hard night.
- We picked a code word. “Orange.” It meant: I’m triggered; I need a timeout. We used it at Target once. We left without buying the throw pillows. I still miss those pillows.
So…Would I Recommend This?
The addiction? Zero stars. Would not recommend.
The recovery work? Hard, but solid. Four stars. You get out what you put in, and sometimes more. Not perfect. Just better.
Our marriage right now? It’s not shiny, but it’s real. We hold hands during the boring parts. We joke in the produce aisle. He tells me when the loop starts buzzing. I tell him when my chest feels tight.
You know what? That counts.
If You’re Here Too
You’re not crazy. You’re not boring. You’re not “too much.” You’re a person who wants love that looks you in the eye.
Need a safe corner of the internet to eavesdrop, ask questions, or vent? The private communities inside Dr. Doug Weiss’s Facebook groups let spouses share wins, setbacks, and memes without the side-eye of relatives or co-workers. For those moments when you’d rather have a real-time, one-on-one conversation than scroll a feed, the discreet dark-mode chat room over at InstantChat Black connects you instantly with peers and volunteer listeners 24/7 so you can unload your thoughts in total privacy.
Try one small thing this week:
- Tell one safe person.
- Set one phone rule you both can keep.
- Ask one feeling question, then listen.
This is me, Kayla, saying the quiet part out loud: I stayed. You might stay. You might leave. Both paths take courage. Both deserve care. If no one told you yet—I’m proud of you for reading this far and for taking your next step, even if it’s tiny.
And if you cried in your car today, keep the napkins in the glove box. I still do.