Anyone who has consciously gone through withdrawal from a serious addiction would agree that it is extremely difficult and painful, and—if they made it through it—that they are glad to be on the other side.
Withdrawal from sex and love addiction may not seem so bad. Indeed, sex and love addiction is sometimes regarded as not real, or as a normal way of dealing with relationships. “So you’re in love!” someone might say to explain someone’s romantic obsession with another person. Or, they may proclaim that it’s normal to feel wretchedly depressed after a breakup, or that all guys (and many women, too) watch porn regularly. While these things may be common, obsession, depression, or watching porn as part of quotidian routine are not the behaviours of healthy, grounded, or inwardly free individuals.
But there are reasons that people often explain away dysfunctional behaviour. One reason may be that withdrawal is a harsh thing to go through; understandably, an addicted person tries to avoid it and deny its necessity.
I resisted it for some time, even after months of attending Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous. I went through withdrawal partially, but not fully, for about six months. I moved to Victoria a little over a year ago to be with a man—one I had known for many years, but had only been with for three months. It was apparent as soon as I arrived that I had fallen into the same old trap. He was addicted to alcohol, I was addicted to him, and I simply was not going to be in another dysfunctional, unhappy relationship.
I moved out days after I moved in with him, and for the first time since I was about 10 years old, I let go of the dream of a romantic/intimate relationship, or even the idea of one in the future. It was suddenly so clear to me that I was dealing with a mental illness. At that moment, I was ready. My mind gave up its endless pursuit to get what it wanted. I decided that if I were never to be with a man again, I would accept this. Anything to get out of this painful pattern. Anything to be free.
The first three months or so were very painful, as is common in withdrawal. A cloud hung over me. I felt forlorn, destitute, and without purpose much of the time. I was a stranger in a strange land.
Withdrawal, I now see, looking back, is a great gift. It is a hard-won freedom from a terrible prison, or at least the beginning of freedom. I am not totally free. Relapses are a part of recovery. But I can never go too far backward because I have encountered my true self for the first time. My real journey—my real life—began with withdrawal, and I am eternally grateful for it.