I Wasn’t the Only Victim of His Porn Addiction

As I battled with insecurities after discovering my husband’s porn addiction, I often blamed “the other woman” for my problems. I hated everything about her. Then, at some point during my healing process I started writing my novel, Exposed.

As I researched for Exposed I discovered countless stories of ex-porn stars. Horrible stories. My eyes glazed over and I said to God, “How could I ever think I was the only victim?”

I say it countless times. We’re all victims of porn. The porn star isn’t living it up and enjoying every minute of what she does. Sure, there are some cases where they appear to on the surface and even convince themselves that it’s true, but underneath the façade they are broken—perhaps more broken than I was as the wife of a porn addict. They desire love. And they equate love with sexual attention. If I’m looked at, then I’m loved. I’m wanted. But eventually they realize that it only goes so far.

They want to be loved. Just like us.

We want our husbands to cherish us. They want a husband—or someone—to cherish them. So, what do we do? What do they do?

We do whatever we can to get the attention we crave…or…we hide. And while we are crying ourselves to sleep because our husbands are masturbating to other women, many of those same porn stars are holding back tears as they are forced to do another degrading scene. There were many times in my marriage that I believed I’d only be able to keep my husband’s attention if I acted like a porn star. Maybe then he’d really love me, I thought. Love me enough to not look elsewhere.

But that’s not true. Porn stars aren’t loved. They want to be. But they are used, craved like a drug, then tossed aside for someone else, some other high.

Here’s an excerpt from Exposed. This is Taylor, a young girl lured into the industry.

I showered for a long time, as always. No matter how hard I scrubbed I never felt clean. I had to go to the bathroom so bad, but after a lot of my movies I couldn’t go to the bathroom for days. Too sore, too painful.

After my shower I did my hair, makeup, and got dressed again. I learned to do all those things without looking in the mirror. Too hard to look at myself. Made me think of Taylor and I didn’t like that. But once I had makeup and nice clothes on I couldn’t find Taylor in the mirror, just Sadie, so I’d be good to go.

I sat on Andy’s bed and wondered how many people had sex on it, how many people lost their life on it, how many people got AIDS on it, and wondered if I’d be next.

I looked down at my hand. I forgot I grabbed a bottle of Malibu Coconut Rum. Came natural, I guess.

I took a drink. Straight. The liquid smoothed down my throat and heated my chest.

“Daddy, are you there?” I said to the wall.

Sometimes porn appealed to me. Sometimes the power, the money, the attention, the pretty things—what can I say?—they appealed to me. But other times I wondered if I’d ever be married. There’s no way a nice—keyword nice—man would marry me.

And finding another job with this as my only employment. Right. Gianna told me she tried to leave the business once. “The only place that would hire me,” she said, “was McDonald’s, and I wasn’t about to do that.” She even had a college degree. So she came back to porn for the money and the glam. Yeah, there’s some glam to it. But it’s on the surface, unless you’re strong like Zayta.

I didn’t think I could be like her. Unless she hid her pain behind a smile. Definitely possible. I knew all about hiding.

I took another drink of rum. My brain lightened, but my thoughts gained more weight. And the more weight they gained the more I realized I wanted out of porn. Maybe Zayta really loved her job, maybe she wasn’t hurting and broken and raped, maybe she didn’t want to get married and have children and be a normal person. But I did.

I set my rum down. I missed the shy girl I used to be. The girl no one noticed or accepted. I didn’t like strong, opinionated Sadie. I mean, people accepted me now, but only to use me like a drug. I looked at Andy’s laptop across the room and imagined my Web site.

I exhaled and looked at my feet.

If I tiptoe while he’s filming, I thought, he’ll never hear me leave.

I wrote this story to show that porn hurts everyone involved. It hurts the wife, the husband, the porn producers, and yes, even the women we love to hate. When I struggled to forgive George I realized that I also struggled to forgive the women who tempted him. I knew that if a porn star came to my door asking for help I would have probably shut the door in her face. I didn’t love her like God loves her. I didn’t stand up for her when people wanted to throw stones. In fact, I threw stones at her too. And I’m sorry.

To every current porn star and every former porn star: I am sorry for murdering you with my mind. For hating you with such bitter anger and jealousy. I’m sorry for blaming my insecurities on you, for not seeing your pain because I was too consumed in my own. I’m sorry for thinking of myself and not choosing to love you more than I love myself. You are a treasure to God. The world may toss you aside and beat you down, but He loves you. And His grace is more than sufficient to cover all of your needs. You want love? Turn to Him.

It’s so important to love others more than we love ourselves. To step out of our pain for a little while and feel the pain of others. We should be an instrument of love in the lives of porn stars. Guys, that goes for you too. Loving them is not using them for your own self-pleasure. Loving them is treating them as God Himself would treat them. With love, gentleness, mercy, and grace. These women are more than the objects they project themselves to be. They are souls in need of love and grace, just like us. How will they ever see the love of God if we refuse to be instruments of that love? How will they ever see the love of Jesus Christ if we choose to use them and curse them, instead of dying for them?

Love doesn’t have to be elaborate. You don’t have to send them gifts. Just choose to see them through the eyes of God, instead of your own eyes. And pray for them. Pray for them with a heart full of self-sacrificial (and not self-pleasing) love. Your love will make a difference. And if you’re anything like me, loving others will help you in your own healing journey. The journey out of self and into love.

(I am willing to give away dozens of free copies of Exposed. If you would like more information on receiving a free copy, please e-mail me at ashley@morethandesire.com.)