My Body Was Currency Long Before the Affair
Part 1: Reclaiming Intimacy, Embodiment, and Forgiveness After Betrayal
This is Part 1 of a series exploring the long journey from sexual trauma and people-pleasing to embodied intimacy and self-reclamation.
If you’re reading this and thinking you’ll never enjoy sex again, never feel safe in your own skin, and never stop performing: I need you to know I’ve been there. And it can change.
By year seven of my marriage, I was convinced sex was stupid.
I had reduced it to its most clinical, detached description: two specific organs being rubbed together to produce an effect that lasts about three seconds. I resented it. I was disgusted by how much emphasis the world put on it. I didn’t understand the hype.
Sex was a chore. Something I went through the motions on, begrudgingly, to get his end result completed so he would be happy, and I could just move on to the next task.
Now, eighteen years into this marriage, sex is magic. It’s spiritual. It’s fun. It happens regularly, and I am happy about that rather than resentful. It’s explorative and not shameful. It’s a release, an outlet for different kinds of expression. It’s interconnection in action.
The journey from “stupid” to “magic” didn’t start with the affair. It started decades before. And the wall I built around my sexuality wasn’t built by betrayal.
It was built brick by brick, beginning in adolescence.
The Foundation: When I Learned My Body Was Currency
The wall around my sexuality was built because of years of sexual abuse from my half-brother.
That’s where I learned my body was currency. That’s where I learned that even if my protectors saw and knew, I wasn’t safe.
I carried shame about any physical sensations that felt good, even when the situation never called for them. I learned to perform early on. I learned to set aside what I wanted for the sake of others.
This led to deep resentment. Mainly toward myself, for not being honored as I needed to be by my caretakers when I couldn’t care for myself.
As I entered my teenage years, followed by full-blown addiction, I carried these truths (illusions, really) into all my relationships and situationships.
I thought if I offered my body, I would be loved. I confused the physical act of sex with hopeful intimacy, adoration, being chosen, and love. All misguided attempts to control outcomes.
I became skilled in the art of sexual manipulation. A deeper layer was that I was trying to change the past, in essence, or make others pay for sins they did not commit.
The odd thing was that the only time I enjoyed the physical act was when I was on any drug that altered my chemical state of mind, and specific drugs known to enhance pleasure.
I also shamefully experienced bodily satisfaction when the act included specific replays of the order in which things happened in that old trailer from my childhood.
Early Recovery: When I Thought Power Meant Being Chosen
In early sobriety, I entered into several situations that were not above board. Specifically, an affair with a married man.
I felt powerful, sexy, and better than the wife who was at home with their toddler.
This is not something I’m proud of. And yet I share it because maybe you can relate and are not yet able to put past mistakes into language. I say the hard things, and I openly admit my most terrible mistakes because I want others to know they are not alone.
I was playing a game that I did not know would later put me on the exact receiving end. I would be unaware that I was a player in a disastrous game while I cared for a toddler.
By the time Eric and I started our journey, I had learned some hard lessons through step work, and the affair I just mentioned had long since ended due to working a program that requires me to change to be a better human.
There were others who were only sexually motivated before Eric. There were some that I hoped against hope would result in a loving and caring relationship. They never did, nor did they ever have the chance.
The Year I Got to Know Myself
A year spent single…year four of my recovery. This was one of the best and most growth-filled years I have ever experienced. I am 25 years sober at the time of this writing. And year 4 (the single year) will remain one of the most treasured times of my sobriety journey.
I started to hang out with women who were older than me and had more sobriety. They taught me how to start becoming a lady who walked with dignity, class, and grace. And sometimes these women even helped me with appropriate attire for the event or place I was going to. This sounds simple and maybe even ridiculous, but I used to think showing skin was the only way to attract attention.
I got to know myself for the first time. I dedicated time to spiritual seeking.
That time period is still something I rave about today to other women who are jumping from toxic relationship to toxic relationship. If they only stopped searching outside of themselves and began a love affair with themselves, how freeing that would be. I know this to be true.
And Right Before Eric: The Relationship That Taught Me I Couldn’t Go Back
Right before Eric, there was a two-year relationship that should have ended at least a year prior. I thought he was the one. I thought this was finally it.
But clinical depression stole that man, as it does. And he was never able to fully break free from his darkness. I joined him in the dark and valiantly hoped that it would go back to how it was in the beginning.
But it never did.
I didn’t know it then (or maybe didn’t want to face it or admit it) that it would never be possible to go back to how it had been at the beginning. He was no longer the person I met. And I was no longer that awestruck girl who thought something and someone good might actually be happening in her life.
By choosing to stay in that relationship, I got spiritually, mentally, and emotionally sick. I stayed sober but also got sick. You can be physically sober and not have a lick of emotional sobriety.
I began emotionally cheating in the last few months of that relationship by starting a text message relationship with Eric. He was always waiting in the wings for that relationship to end, and I knew he would be next.
When Eric Wanted It Faster Than I Was Ready
When I finally ended that relationship, Eric wanted to jump right in as the man who stood beside me.
I TRIED to take it slow.
I verbalized that I needed time to process and grieve. I verbalized that for the first time in my life, I wanted to do something different. I wanted to wait. I wanted to learn about him, and I wanted him to learn about me.
I wanted to be safe getting naked for the first time with a man. By “naked,” I mean being seen fully while completely clothed.
I wanted to cultivate a true partnership instead of jumping straight into sex, like every relationship prior. Moving too fast sexually tends to create things to navigate that could otherwise be avoided by honoring each other in healthier ways first.
Plus, I feel certain it makes the act even sweeter when delayed gratification is a reality.
Anyways, he said he understood. He agreed.
However, he wanted things much quicker than I was ready. It was natural for me to fall into people-pleasing and let what he wanted override what I knew to be true for me.
Sex happened before I truly wanted it to.
And to be honest, his confidence intimidated me. He was much more experienced, and I felt shy and inadequate almost immediately. Our libidos were mismatched from the gate.
I wasn’t truly mad at him. I was mad at myself for putting myself second again. I had a boundary I believed in, but I couldn’t hold the line when it came down to the wire.
The Pregnancy, the Breakup, the Reconciliation
Within a month, I was pregnant.
Freaked out. He wanted to marry, and I jumped ship with a breakup letter taped to my front door. I ran to my best friend’s house so I would not be home when he came by. Ghosting at its finest before it became a word.
I had a LOT to learn about communication, honesty, vulnerability, and transparency. That all came later.
I broke him then. I really did. Shattered his heart.
I was relieved, though. Terrified and pregnant at 27, but relieved to be away from his intensity and his puppy-dog need to be near me and with me.
He acted out sexually during my pregnancy, and that is his story to tell, really. I didn’t care…or told myself I didn’t.
I had Kaiden, and in that hospital room, I fell in love with one person (the baby) and fell back in love with Eric.
Thus began a journey of reconciliation. But he wasn’t the same.
Back to that good old hope that things could go back to how they were in those early days, no longer a reality. Sensing a pattern here?
The Marriage Built on Performance
Through another pregnancy that ended in miscarriage and his wanting to be with me AND others (one specific person, but others), we married.
Kaiden was born in November 2007, and we got married in June 2008.
Sex with Eric in that timeframe was purely performative.
I wanted to be “cool.” I wanted to be better than anyone else on his radar.
At the cost of my own comfort and actual enjoyment, I used sex both as a manipulation tactic and a form of self-erasure, putting someone else’s needs ahead of my own.
Living in this way breeds resentment. Resentment that is directed at ourselves, though it is easier to point the finger outward at whoever is in front of us.
The Affair — and the Performance That Followed
By finding out in September 2008 that the sexual relationship with one certain individual had never ended, and with all the layers of deep pain, grief, fear, and jealousy, all of those sexual things mentioned above continued. I added a new ingredient: thinking I needed to perform more, and the quantity needed to increase because now I had to ensure he would not step outside the marriage sexually ever again, as we began our healing journey with therapy.
I believed I could avoid being hurt again by keeping HIM sexually satisfied.
This took me further from the truth of my own embodiment and whatever my real sexuality was. I continued to lose myself in performance, fear, control, and manipulation.
The Shutdown: When Sex Became Mechanical
This eventually led to a cold, distant version of me who went through the motions begrudgingly to get the job done so he would be happy, and I could just move on to the next chore.
This all felt safer than exploring my own turn-ons and diving into what I really wanted.
Around all of this, I was so far detached from sex and pleasure that I was convinced I was not interested. Sex was overrated. And there was no chance that I would ever truly enjoy it.
I resented it. It disgusted me how much emphasis is placed on sex. Both in the world at large and in my world at home. I truly didn’t understand the appeal.
I had gotten to such a granular (yet superficial) level of thinking that was like this: sex is actually stupid. It is a mechanics-based routine that lasts about three seconds.
By year seven of our marriage, this was my stance.
The 180: When Everything Changed
Everything was about to change.
Now, at eighteen years married and LOTS of work on both our parts to heal the things about us that made both of us choose harmful actions…sex is magic. It is spiritual. It is fun. It is regular. It is desired not only by him but also by me. It is explorative. Shame no longer exists for either of us, in or out of the bedroom. It is a cosmic release. It is a way to connect softly sometimes, and other times, a way to connect in a primal sense.
It is an outlet for many different kinds of expressions. Sometimes it’s just as simple as wanting to feel good or to make the other person we love feel good. It is also not required when we are resting or when something more important is in front of us.
It is not the ONLY means of connecting, relating, and practicing intimacy, though other channels can lead to it. That final act, so to speak, is not the point of those other methods that enhance our relationship.
Most importantly, maybe, it is SAFE for me. And him.
What This Means for You
If you’re reading this and you’re still in the performance phase, still in the shutdown phase, still convinced sex will never be safe or enjoyable again. I see you.
The wall didn’t fall overnight. It came down brick by brick, the same way it was built.
And the work wasn’t just about the affair. It was about the childhood trauma. The addiction. The people-pleasing. The manipulation. The resentment I held toward myself for abandoning myself over and over again.
The next posts in this series will go deeper into:
- How I stopped using sex as a weapon against my own pain
- The turning point from “sex is stupid” to “sex is magic.”
- What reclaiming pleasure actually looks like after trauma taught you shame
- How embodiment and spirituality became intertwined with intimacy
But for now, I want you to sit with this:
The wall around your sexuality wasn’t built by one person, one betrayal, one moment. It was built over the years. And it can be dismantled the same way.
What would it look like to stop performing and start reclaiming?
Love, Heather
I write about emotional sobriety, reclaiming intimacy, and becoming the most authentic versions of ourselves.
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