In the early early days of my blog (December 2012), children’s author Christi Zellerhoff answered The Questions. Well, apparently she has kept up with my ramblings (isn’t that nice?) and contacted me late last month to see if I’d be willing to feature her a book recently published by her younger sister, Staci Sprout. She (Christi) said a lot of flattering things, so of course I said yes. (Ha ha.)
Actually, I said yes because of the subject matter. While Christi’s book is for kids, Staci’s is very much for grown-ups. And it looks at a difficult subject matter that not a lot of people would be willing to write about, much less write about and publish, much less want to publicize: sexual addiction.
I haven’t done it in a while, but I am very much for Shining a Light on our Dark Places, as a way of helping others who might be in the situation, and as a way of letting others know they are not alone. So, if you are a sex addict, you are NOT ALONE.
So, now I’ll shaddup and let Staci tell her story:
Staci shares the vulnerable story of her own recovery from sexual addiction. Naked in Public: A Memoir of Recovery From Sex Addiction and Other Temporary Insanities was published in e-book format on 9-25-15 to a happy conclusion after over a decade of dreaming and five years writing/editing. (dSavannah note: And it already has SEVEN five-star reviews on Amazon!) This picture was taken right after pressing “send” to launch the book. Whew! Good-bye privacy…but Staci hopes the help offered to others impacted by sex addiction will be worth it.
In this intensely personal account, she traces her journey from the painful world of sexual intrigue and addiction into a life of healing and purpose. She was an honors student and popular cheerleader, and later a gifted young social worker. But her life had a dark twist that even her closest friends didn’t suspect. Childhood sexual abuse and exposure to pornography had ignited a drive to be sexual that eventually threatened to unravel her sanity and her life. Desperate for relief, she tried psychotherapy, hypnotism, bodywork, and traditional and pagan spirituality. Nothing helped until a near-death experience became a turning point and she found her way into the rooms of 12-Step recovery for sex addiction. Her sister and parents are a big part of the story, and they’ve generously given her their permission to publish.
And here’s an excerpt from the book:
The July Seattle evening was balmy as I made my way to the sexual recovery 12-Step meeting for newcomers. It was 2001, and I was thirty-one years old. Descending the steps to the church basement, the shadowy stairwell gave way to fluorescent lighting and a pale gray-cream linoleum tile floor. Wearing a bright pink tank top and short white shorts, I had on the least clothes of anyone in the room. And it was a big room, full of men, not another woman in sight. At least thirty were already seated, with more arriving. There were men of all ages, though mostly older. And all were sex addicts, like me.
I don’t remember what I was thinking—outside of saying hi to the one man who said hi to me—but my inner dialogue probably went something like this:
Oh my God, I’m dressed wrong.
Oh look, he’s looking at me. Look how quickly he looked away. What IS that? Is that sexual sobriety?
There’s another man looking at me. I look hot. I’m thin and tan. Another. I’m powerful here. I like it. Oh, I am in heaven.
It’s cold in here. I should’ve brought a sweatshirt. Where should I sit?
I said hi, politely, to a man who greeted me.
He’s creepy. I feel like shit. What’s wrong with me? Why am I here? I don’t belong here. I’m the only woman. God, the meeting is about to start. Where do I sit? No one wants to sit by me.
I don’t care, sit down!
This chair is cold. I hate these freezing folding metal chairs. I want out of here!
As I sat in the circle with my eyes down, I placed all my mental focus on my intuitive feelers, as I always did back then in groups.
Who’s looking at me? Who’s tuned in to me being here? Who’s lusting after me?
In the center of my energetic web, I cast invisible tendrils all around the circle. I imagined that I could feel every vibration around me, and that I could control them all. I was the spider in the middle of its lair, the black widow in the pink tank top, ready to spring on my prey and devour it.
The meeting started with the customary introductions, but I tuned out the words. Wrapped in the familiarity of my web, I was getting high off the vibrations I was starting to feel from men in the room.
Then another sensation intruded, a wave of shame that made me feel like a teenager whose mom had just dropped her off at detention. I ignored it, forcing my thoughts back to the men. Per my energy read, I estimated that approximately twelve of the men were reacting to me. My goal was to get 100 percent of them to react, but I didn’t know then that some of the members were gay and not sexually attracted to women. I also didn’t know that some of the straight men were “sexually sober,” and protected from my energetic intrusion by a deep awareness about sexual energy. They knew exactly what I was up to, and ignored it.
And then the sharing started. That was a little more interesting. Like a Quaker meeting, there was silence, then randomly someone spoke up, typical of 12-Step meetings: the first name intro, but with a twist. In here, they said they were sex addicts. Out loud. In front of everyone.
I vaguely recall that several men talked about their lives, but I don’t remember anything that was said. Until I heard six words that have never left me, spoken by an executive type in a tailored suit. He had finely cut, short silver hair and shiny, manicured nails, and I can hear his words like it was yesterday.
He was telling the group about how he couldn’t stop masturbating to porn, even though his wife had caught him multiple times and had given him an ultimatum: quit or else. He said he loved her, but he kept choosing the porn, and then lying about it. My half-hearted attention was suddenly riveted on something he said about the way he wanted to live his life instead, a motto his spiritual teacher had given him.
“My life is an open book.” When I heard them, the six words seared through me, lighting up something deep and real inside, a longing that was so strong it bordered on excruciating, an ache I felt to my core. Whatever that place in me was, it had been dark, dull, and mostly forgotten for as long as I could remember.
“My life is an open book.”
My web vanished, and I began to listen intently.
About Staci:
Staci was born in Seattle, Washington to a tumultuous early life of multiple moves, including two years in Yakima, Washington, finally settling in suburbia of Everett, Washington until her return to Seattle as an adult.
When Staci isn’t writing, she’s working as a licensed psychotherapist, her practice dedicated to helping individuals, groups and couples in recovery from sex and relationship addictions. She conducts trainings on sexual ethics for professionals and is an experienced retreat and conference speaker, sharing the story of her recovery from childhood trauma and multiple addictions. She lives near Seattle, Washington, with her husband, who is also in recovery. Staci enjoys walks on the beach, playing with their eternal puppy Toy Fox Terriers, movies, Seahawks, reading, and riding her red scooter around the neighborhood.
