AR Journal - Week 2
Question 1: Write the narrative of what brought you here to AR
Today we are supposed to write about “the narrative of what brought you here to AR”. Instructions say to talk about your story, maybe starting with family issues that may have contributed. And that IS where it all started. So, let’s begin:
This will not be a tell-all conversation here. I’m simply trying to touch on the details that seem, at this time, important to the conversations with my AR group and to the recovery of my relationship. I may write about my conversations and details with my counselor at another time or in another way. At some point…
Well, this is going to feel a bit frustrating for a sentence or two because Squarespace just deleted like 3 paragraphs of my writing... so yay for that.
Let's start at the start, I suppose. I've told many people I grew up with the silver spoon in my mouth. I was raised in Santa Cruz, CA. Already a blessed place to be, geographically. In SC, I was in a place the town calls Snob Hill. It was not a crazy-rich location, as best I can tell. But it is certainly above average. Weekends were spent on my dad's boat in the San Francisco Bay's Angel Island most of the time. Summer was spent on said boat in the Sacramento-area Delta, enjoying the weather and every summer/water activity you could imagine.
In hindsight, as I write this, this is likely where my wandering eyes began. My parents were good people. But life was about work and play and nothing more. Moral teaching and character building were simply about doing work, keeping things clean, and at least trying to get good grades. Summers on the delta left a pre- & post- pubescent young man's mind to enjoy the views of summer boating "hood ornaments," as one of my father’s friends would call them. Women... he was talking about women in bathing suits. The objectification had begun. I don't think my mind wandered very far at that time. I was still 'innocent' enough, and it was purely visual appreciation of what was there. But without any other moral teaching, the enemy had his foothold.
So... as you can see, spoiled. Rotten. Just above every video came console. New bikes, rollerblades, roller hockey sticks, minidisc player, pizza night with friends, my own room, and a shopping spree before every school year. SPOILED.
What does any of that have to do with anything... I don't know. CONTEXT maybe?
Around 12 years old, I think... not sure... maybe 2-4 years younger possibly, we were playing in the long-abandoned rock quarry our community was built in and around. Regular boy stuff... not even crazy. Though plenty of crazy happened there with ropes and forts.
DAMN, those were fucking amazing times! KILL ALL SMART PHONES FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!
Sorry, ANYWAYS...
We were playing around, and in some corner of an old bridge truss that was still in the quarry, there was a Playboy. Like a stack of them. And we looked through them. I was about to write "and enjoyed what we saw". But other than it being 'sexy' and 'wrong,' I'm not sure we understood what we were looking at. That's it... That's the extent of it... But that was the introduction to porn. I knew it existed. The 7/11 we used to ride our bikes to had ALL the dirty magazines, like all stores used to, with the black cover on them. We knew what was there... but this was the first time seeing it.
Not much happened after that... but I was exposed. I don't recall actively seeking anything past that, until... AOL. Even then, I was not seeking it, but once I accidentally found it in whatever chat groups I happened to come across... it was all over. I spent many late evenings after "Keeeeyyy errrrr beeeep ong dee ong waaahhh urrrrrr. Welcome, you've got mail" going to those groups and waiting for an 800kb image to download slowly to expose all the parts I wasn't supposed to see.
Again, that was about it... I'm not sure I ever even masturbated at that time. It was just exciting enough to see what I wasn't supposed to see.... Didn't know how else to just be clear about that... so facts...
And for the most part, that was that... frankly, I think that was all pretty tame/average for most of the Xennial boys my age growing up. Once I was in boarding school and driving, I don't recall actively seeking pornography at all because I was into the real thing. Nothing crazy there, by the way... but story for another day maybe? Not interesting really.
But I think the lack of moral coaching is what allowed it to fester as "ok". So let’s get to what may be the biggest, simplest, and yet, apparently, worst part. What some have told me was sexual abuse:
8MM [8 Millimeter]: Private investigator Tom Welles is contacted by Daniel Longdale, attorney for wealthy widow Mrs. Christian. While clearing out her recently deceased husband's safe, she and Longdale uncovered an 8mm movie which appears to depict the real murder of a girl. Longdale tries to assure Mrs. Christian that snuff films are a myth, but she asks for confirmation that the violence depicted is not genuine. Both instruct Welles to keep the investigation a secret.
Yep, watched that with my dad when I was around 10-12 years old. We were in a hotel room somewhere traveling. My dad turned it on. We watched the whole thing. And went on with life as if nothing had happened. We may as well have been watching Captain Ron or Crocodile Dundee. Two other films that, while I think are "ok", also have an ENORMOUS amount of sexual innuendo in them. This should tell you how permissive and unprotective of my childish heart and mind my parents were.
Quick context on my parents, though... my mom was raised by a German father who left Germany during World War II. Her grandparents received medals from Hitler for having so many children. No firm Nazi's that I'm aware of, but ... that's her history. My father... well, he was a toddler and grew up just outside Dresden DURING and after the bombings there. I tell you this because it gives me context of their 'environment' and how they saw life. Eh... for what it’s worth.
Between all that childhood "trauma," I was basically your average well-off teen with a lot of freedom and a pretty "good" head on my shoulders. I never did anything too crazy sexually, physically, or otherwise. And when I was pushing the boundaries, I was pretty upfront about it with my parents or just didn't drive home when I shouldn't have.
Then I met my wife.
Now that is a bit of a story for another time about how we met and what my intentions were and what I was in the middle of doing with the military at that time. But the ultra-quick version: She was the hot chick at the college friends' going-away party... ... ... who also had a 1-month-old baby with her. I played with the kiddo and decided then and there to take care of them. And I did... as best as I could. Until this very day.
I don't recall when I was using porn for the first 10-15 years of our marriage. I'm sure I was, but not regularly. Nor was it for the majority of our marriage. But I know for certain it was something I did off and on. Probably around stressful times for any number of reasons. But I swear I don't recall it being "frequent" by any means.
Then, around the time our 3rd child was born and I finally got a career that would pay all the fucking bills and then some... it got bad. I would say on average at least 1-2 times a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. I'm not going to get into the job details at this time, but it's stressful and thankless 90% of the time, and it pays really well. A GOOD job and a noble one, if you ask me, but stressful given the nature of the business model in this part of the industry.
The stress led to household conflict, and my childlike brain, which had gotten married at 19, only knew a few ways to cope with it. Anger, Hate... and Porn. Sometimes it was stress relief. Sometimes it was "revenge porn" for sure. And for the last 10 or so years, that was the case. Until about 6 months ago. I threatened to divorce my wife if she didn't stop treating me with such criticism, anger, and control. And that opened her eyes. My wife went to counseling and became a true Angel of God in my life. And, paradoxically, that's when it got worse.
THAT WAS NOT BLAME! JUST TO BE CLEAR! - Again, story for another time... And, Google something like " Why did i start using porn MORE after the stressor that was the root cause, disappeared?" To maybe start understanding the weird paradox.
I started filling the emptiness left by the lack of criticism and stress with the things I always turned to for relief. Some paradox about filling time, your mind, some gap, or a lack of dopamine.
Fucking dopamine... Such a great and evil substance all at the same time.
One night my wife was going through my phone. I always did a great job of deleting what I was looking at or searching for. But did you know you can search your entire Reels watch history on Instagram? I didn't.
She did... and she was checking things out one night. At about 2 or 3 a.m., she woke me up and just showed me the screen with my history. And I felt relieved, honestly. DEFINITELY a quick defensive wall went up. Why the fuck are you looking at my phone... but relieved for sure. So when she asked about it, I subconsciously said, "It’s something I have struggled with our entire marriage," and I’m so glad I did that and didn’t just find another deception to hold.
Not to end it too abruptly, but ... that brings us to "here". To AR. Affair Recovery.
My wife and I have had countless open and deep conversations that hurt, ended in argument, hate, anger, love, sex (good sex!), and coming back together in love. Both before AR and since then, up until writing this... but I think that is the end of the context of this assignment. And I have to get to work now.
Question 2: Taking an honest look at myself and how I got here…
Well, I think the whole story above explains it pretty clearly.
Question 3: What are your resentments towards your mate:
How have they disappointed you / ways they have hurt you / Ways they rejected you.
I have a deep sense of being held back in life by her fear. Fear I have to wrestle with, caused by my use of pornography. A lot of that came out as constant, regular criticism and a lack of trust in how I cared for the children.
How do I do the same things:
I have one word for it: gaslighting her. I didn't; I just made her feel like she was always wrong for the ways she perceived what I was doing without knowing what it was.
