It is one thing to speak of the past—of where we once where but no longer are. I used to be in a relationship with a violent man, but I‘m not anymore. I used to smoke cigarettes, but I haven’t done that for well over a decade. Our past selves have the quality of being like another person after a time—which is arguably the case when looking at the nature of human cells. We change, we grow. Hindsight is 20/20.
The challenges I write about today are much closer behind me, some of them right here with me, as I write.
I relapsed about a week ago. As a recovering sex and love addict, relapse can entail more than one thing. We must painstakingly define our own addictive patterns and behaviours in this program. Based on those “bottom-line” behaviours, relapse is clearly defined.
I reconnected with someone I used to see about a month ago, and we slept together about a week ago—which I thought I could avoid. This is a bottom-line behaviour for me. I have seen the damage that going back to a person and hoping and believing things will be different can inflict upon myself and others. With a violent partner, going back is never a viable option.
This person, who I recently relapsed with, is not violent, fortunately. Nevertheless, I am paying the price for my relapse. The price is withdrawal—a feeling of depletion, depression, and loss—because our connection was still mostly rooted in addiction, and therefore could not and cannot become a healthy, fulfilling relationship.
Sleeping with an ex is not always a bad idea for everyone (although it probably usually is). It depends on what drives the behaviour. Addiction has a will of its own, and it takes its host over skillfully and fluidly, and we don’t even know it. Or we do, but we think its okay, and we think it’s worth it.
But addictively driven behaviour always, always ends in more pain, and more suffering. Withdrawal is unavoidable, and progress is slowed down a bit.
I am grateful that relapses are few and far between after three years in recovery, and I am grateful for the network of support around me. My foray into the wilderness was relatively brief. Reality has become too familiar to me to stray too far now into the seductive illusion of addiction.
Perfection is not required, nor is it possible on the path of addiction recovery, or any path, for that matter. What is needed following relapse—which could be defined as anything we do that we truly don’t want to do, that we know is harmful to us, that we know will not work—is that we practice rigorous honesty and compassion for ourselves. So long as we are committed to awareness, we will continue to move forward.