It should have been some kind of omen that the first two times I met
Lynda, I was drunk. She was 19 at the time, and I was 22.  And although
I didn't realize it at the time, she had been raped a month before our
first date. We moved in together after our second date, and got married
two and a half years later, on Sept. 2, 1978. 
   We were, in many ways, a perfect match. She had been sexually abused
as a child by men  outside her immediate family; that along with her
rape made sex a source of unpredictable panic, and struggle.  I grew up
knowing little about sex, except that I wanted it desperately to feel
loved. 
   I had my first affair even before we got married, and had two more
over the course of our marriage. I could easily have had more, if the
opportunities had presented themselves.  There were "only" one nighters,
I rationalized. I also thought I could keep them secret, that they
wouldn't hurt anyone. I was disastrously wrong.
   My dad was a workaholic, her dad had difficulties with alcohol. I too
used work as an addiction, and she did what many co-addicts do - tried
to give me all the love she could, so that I would "get better".
    Life got better at times, but it also got worse. My first business
failure happened after we got married, and I  began a cycle of
frustrating depression, unemployment, rebounding, employment, and then
self-employment.  Each time I became determined to finally "right all my
wrongs", and then worked myself to a frazzle, before crashing again.
When I lost $50,000 in another failed business effort in the late 80's,
things took a real turn in our marriage, and a few months later, Lynda
started her own affair. She had had enough.
   I crashed, big time. It seemed that everything that I had ever
touched had turned to ashes. Over the next year and a half, we struggled
and struggled. My affairs came out in the open, and we headed for
splitsville. She left, came back, and then I left, and came back. But it
didn't seem to matter whether we were both together or apart - we kept
hurting inside either way.
    Somewhere along the line, I became sick and tired of being sick and
tired. I decided that, even if I didn't do anything else worthwhile in
my life, I was going to find out what the hell was wrong with me, and do
whatever it took to change it, no matter how painful, or long it took.
    Lynda and I started marriage counselling. But I also began to
realize that whatever was wrong with me, was something "I" needed to
take personal responsibility for. So my search began in earnest. I read
every book on relationships and love I could lay my hands on. I wrote 
tons of stuff in a personal diary.  I went to private therapy. And I
joined the 12 step program Al-anon.
   At first I couldn't see any change. I was still doing crazy things,
and feeling crazy. Little by little though,   things began to make
sense. I finally accepted that I had an addictive personality, and  that
I would need a 12 step program for the rest of my life. I saw how
dishonesty with myself and others destroys,  and how easy it is to think
we can get away with it. I saw how much of my life had been spent
wishing Lynda was different -  less needy, more sexual, etc., etc. I saw
how that wishful thinking had imprisoned ME, and how unloving it was. 
Most of all though, I rediscovered a spiritual faith in myself, and
others. That faith kept reminding me that if I did  what I truly needed
to do in my life, everything would work out just fine. I doubted that
voice many  many times. MANY times. But everytime I thought about
leaving the marriage, the same  little voice inside would say  "hang in
there, it's worth it".
   Lynda was hearing her own little voice inside her say the same thing.
And she doubted it as much as I did. In many ways it was even more
difficult for her. While I was seeking out answers, and sources of
healing, she resisted doing the same for herself.  
    Last spring the changes that I was making as a result of my recovery
brought our relationship to a crisis point. (This type of crisis is not
unusual in an addictive relationship. It is ironic that many marriages
break up AFTER an alcoholic has started going to AA, and finds sobriety,
and healthier ways of coping.) The flood gates opened, and over the next
few months we spent many hours talking, along with some crying and
screaming. Because of those little voices inside us nudging us to "hang
in there", we did.
   We discovered that each pain and turmoil session left us drained at
first, but then gave us something important back. It felt like someone
was taking a weight of bricks off our backs, one by one. 
    The changes since then have kept coming. Our sexuality now is a
source of joy, and free choice, not struggle. We have found a real
appreciation for how special each other is, and how little right we have
to judge each other, or anyone else. We play, we laugh like children for
the first times in our lives, and the atmosphere of silent tension that
used to pervade our house has gone down dramatically.
    We are together by choice. We believe in loving each other simply
because we exist. We talk, and feel safer with each other. We let
ourselves feel, and support each other's right to make their own choices
and mistakes, without judgement. We've found that we ARE a matched team,
that each one of us has strengths that compliment each other. 
    The little voices were right: It IS worth it, big time. The pain
that we had to go through was sort of like childbirth, I guess -
necessary, but small in comparison to the reward. We couldn't have known
it at the time, and even if someone had told us, we likely wouldn't have
believed them.
   We are on easy street, however, not yet. That may happen someday, but
as yet, we're not ready. There is still a lot of old pain that has to be
let out, felt, and let go of. For example, I still have a lot of
difficulty feeling certain emotions, and it seems that as soon as I stop
one type of addictive behaviour, another one pops up. 
   We know, however, that there is a purpose to what we are going
through. It has already given us more than we had ever dared hope for in
joy, new friendships, and new discoveries.  And every time we share it,
we get even more back.
   That's the reason for this page. What we have gotten so far, has been
given to us by others, through sharing their experiences, strength and
hope. The only way we can keep it, is to pass it on. If our story helps
you in any way in your search, we hope you too will "pass it on"
someday, in your own way.