March 1, 2007
He is the love of my life. I am the love of his life. Pornography has been the only issue to have interfered with our relationship, that has kept me from falling completely, melting utterly, opening my heart fully to him and in turn he to me.
Yet this has compelled me to go down, so far down into myself to unearth, set free the dark demons I still held, ones I scarcely knew were there, so that I can be the vessel of pure love, angel goddess, a golden being of love and passion, the woman I have striven for and dreamed of becoming, that I may revel in and immerse myself in life and love, something and someone I wondered if I could taste let alone savor.
Yes porn has hurt me desperately. It has devastated me, shattered me into many pieces, turned my world upside down and inside out, but it has been a great gift. He has felt badly about my pain and that it was he who was the impetus. He doesn't want to hurt me and can't understand why this would as much as I can't undestand why he would continue knowing how I feel.
I am important to him. He cares how I feel, and he has asked me to trust him numerous times. He's telling me that his habit is of no threat to me whatsoever. He's an honorable, loving, compassionate man. What he does is meaningless, yet it's fun; it's maybe an escape; it keeps him in a state of arousal, something I like to be in most of the time too.
He doesn't want to let this go, so he doesn't. I must let it go, all of it, not just pieces of it, not just some of the time, all of the time. There is nothing to fear with it and with him. He's telling me this in so many ways and repeatedly.
I am afraid that I'm not good, not young enough, not pretty enough, not sexy enough, NOT ENOUGH, yet he has told me countless times how much I turn him on, how perfect my form is, how beautiful, how much he loves me, how much he loves our passion and our sex life which is abundant and so great and just keeps getting better, how pretty I am, how special I am to him, how sweet and fun and silly I am, how much we enjoy together, that he will always love my being, physically and otherwise. He shows me all of this over and over and over. He shows up for me and for us all the time.
His looking at porn, pictures of other naked women has nothing to do with me. I have fantasies too I suppose, vivid, detailed ones, most of which I would not want to bring to life and the ones I might, I wouldn't because I'm very much with him, loyal and faithful, strictly monogamous, so it wouldn't even be a consideration.
Men are visual. Porn has nothing to do with love. It's a physical reation to a visual cue. It's a purely instinctual, habitual, physical response that has absolutely NO emotional context. I know he looks at porn. I also know with everything I have that he is fiercely faithful to me, that he loves and adores , ME.
I don't know if he will always look. I don't know if the interest will wane as my energy around it fades to nothing, and none of it matters. I can't care. My pain surrounding it feeds the energy. I can't care. As long as our sex life doesn't change, as long as he's tender and wonderful to me as always, as long as he satisfies me, loves me, cares for me and about me, is attentive and adoring, cherishing, wants to be with me, spend time with me, why would I care.
The looking apparently enhances his longing for me, keeps him aroused and craving me. What I can care about is that he makes love to me, ME, often and with passion, tender care, adoration, variety, and imagination.
He has a firm grip on reality, likely more than I. He's very well aware of the difference between an air-brushed, photoshopped, two-dimensional image and his beautiful, sensual, sexual, loving lady, his woman, ME. He knows how lucky he is to have this woman, ME, angel goddess, as close to his perfect fantasy woman as he could have imagined and maybe even then some. He likes fantasy as do I, but he loves his real life so much more.
Apparently he rarely if ever anymore orgasms to those images. He'd much rather be with me, even just masturbating together. Alone is fun, and I do this far more than he, yet it's so much more fun together, shared. I'm sure he would agree. He has.
If anything ever changed, if our sex life was ever affected negatively, or if he looked for hours on end, if I felt his energy withdraw from me significantly for long periods, then I would worry in the same way I would worry about excessive drinking, pot smoking, or gambling.
I want to enjoy our love and our sexuality. This hurt I've been carrying really and truly has nothing to do with me. I love him. He loves me bunches and deeply, passionately, intimately. We have a very special and rare bond. It's to be treasured and nurtured.
This has been a deeply painful process, and through it I'm growing and blossoming. I'm digging down, so far down, tapping into very dark, murky, excruciating core issues. Porn triggered this in me, and ultimately I'm grateful. It's hard, but it's wonderful, amazing, releasing, liberating on all levels. I've learned, am still learning. I'm opening, am still opening, yet ingrained survival instincts though fragile are enormously resilient. I'm still moving into and allowing trust, trust in me, trust in him, trust in us, opening my heart to me, to life, to him, to us that I may love more fully, absolutely with passion and awe, compassion and XXXOOO.
Give Yourself a Chance
4 years ago