Why it took me so long to go to Sex and Love (Addicts Anonymous)

And why I’m so glad I did…

Who wants to be told they might be a sex and love addict? Kinda puts a damper on all the fun. And who are they to judge, right?

As hard as it was to hear initially, I am so grateful for the friend and dance companion who handed me what we affectionately call our Big Book.

Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous is the title of a white book with purple and pink lines and circles on the cover. What no racy pictures? Nope.

In fact, if I remember right, she handed me the book at the dance club where I did my major acting out — a generic, less charged word for the behaviors that qualified me for the program.

In my case, it wasn’t just shaking my booty. That was an accessory behavior to my bottom line — having a string of multiple affairs with a variety of partners, mostly younger, Latinx, and often unavailable men. All while I was still married myself. (Yes I eventually had to make amends for that.)

This was a heady addiction for me, way more about power than it was about sex. The longer it went on, the more crazed and compulsive I got.

More than a dance contest

My excuse for meeting new guys was to win the nightly dance contest, done by applause. Shaking my booty certainly helped. Picking the best dancer on the floor worked even better. And if implying that there would be icing on top of the dance cake helped secure the deal, I was more than willing to comply.

More often than not, we won. More often than not, my partner and I went off into the night together — usually to a cheap motel. More often than not, I lied to my husband about where I’d been.

A dear friend supposedly let me crash at her place so I wouldn’t have to drive under the influence. I didn’t drink. But I certainly drove under the influence of my drug of choice — making up for all the times I was picked up and dumped by paying it forward with these unsuspecting guys.

After about two years and twelve affairs, I stopped counting. I was a mess. I was hung over, late for work, dazed and confused and the days were as foggy and lethargic as the nights were compulsive and manic.

But would I like to go sit in a room full of stranger in a church basement and admit all this? And say I was powerless over it? Moi, Queen of the Night, powerless? You have got to be crazy. Or else I am. Bingo! But it wasn’t easy to admit.

All it takes is willingness

But one day I got the nudge. Here’s what happened: Another close friend who shared the house with my husband and me was moving out to live with his then lover.

I was sad. He was a great buffer between the two of us, taking the edge off the tension in the air. Besides, he was charming and fun in his own right and nice looking to boot.

As I sat on the front porch already missing him, he came up the steps with a huge bouquet. For me? You shouldn’t have, but so glad you did! Not. They were for his partner and their new home.

He took them inside and I remained on the porch feeling shattered and abandoned. Now I’d have to face my partner and the unspoken tension between us with no buffer, no support, and no hiding.

I was scared. I didn’t know what to do or say. A heavy mantle of loneliness hardened around my shoulders and felt like it was made of iron.

I couldn’t bare it on my own. I needed help. And I knew that I needed help. And I became willing to admit I needed help. And I became willing to seek out that help.

There is a solution

Thanks to my dance club friend, I knew about Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous — SLAA for short. I called her. Turns out she’d actually gone to some meetings and knew where they were. Turned out there was a solid one that very night, with an adjacent beginner’s meeting.

I actually went. I’d been reading the book so I knew a bit about the program. But not exactly what to expect. I found myself sitting in a room full of folks who seemed innocent enough. But were they really?

Weren’t they really perverts and prostitutes and pedophiles disguised in jeans and sweaters? Were they contagious? Had they washed their hands? And what was I doing there in their midst?

Turns out the more I listened the more I identified. In SLAA we’re there because we’re willing to stop acting out in our own self-defined bottom line behaviors. My pattern was one of many — just like how in AA you can be hooked on beer, wine, or hard liquor. Lots of behaviors can be addictive, not just the so called extreme ones. Stat checking on Medium for example. I so appreciated the freedom to determine that for ourselves.

I was nervous but I spoke up. I started out slowly but kept coming back. Soon I met a woman whose story matched mine and we become co-sponsors, leaning hard on each other till we found experienced sponsors and started working the steps.

The same twelve steps they have in AA, NA, OA, GA, etc. We admit we are powerless over ____ and our lives had become unmanageable. Plagiarism was encouraged. If I wanted what they had, I needed to do what they did — go to meetings, tell my story, work with a sponsor. As long as I was honest, open and willing, one day at a time, I could change. And I was. And so I did.

My life has changed in so many ways, the biggest being, I have a life. I live it at a normal pace, treasuring my close friends, my family and my supportive communities.

I am no longer with my husband, but I did make amends and we still connect. Writing is my main passion. Yes, I still dance. I’m a regular with Zumba Gold at the local senior center.

I share my story here to lend hope and encouragement to anyone who needs it. And to let folks know about a recovery program that may not be as well-known or as “sexy,” pardon the pun, as some of the others. But for those who need it, it’s a life line.

Marilyn Flower writes fast fun reads with a touch of magical realism to strength the imagination of socially conscious folks. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her during these crazy times. She’s a regular columnist for the prison newsletter, Freedom Anywhere, and five of her short plays have been produced in San Francisco.