“I love my husband. The other day he folded all the laundry, put it away, and even did the dishes…I have the best hubby in the world!” Comments like these are typical in the culture I currently live in. The noxious Facebook status updates roll through my feed as I sit at the table and ignore doing the dishes. They drum up this deep annoyance for me. Angst. I was ranting about it to Sadie today. I yelled, “Why in the hell does doing every day egalitarian tasks warrant such adoration?” On the surface I don’t think these things, these acts, should count as “special treatment” for a woman. I think that family duties should be shared… just because I have a vagina does not mean I belong in the kitchen. *fist bump for the feminists*
I’m not really mad about the fact that these women are so moved with joy that their partners did the dishes for them and they are gushing vapidly. I am mad about this deep existential crisis in my heart. I am mad that their lives are so simple. I am mad that my life is so complex, so hard. I am mad that they are so easily pleased by dishes, laundry, and the hour their husbands took the kids. My husband does the dishes, he sweeps the floors, I leave for weekends and he cares for the kids solo, and he wakes up at night to diaper and feed babies while I sleep…. but he is a addict.
Sex addiction is not unlike alcoholism, drug addiction, gambling addiction, or food addiction. It is a compulsive drive to act out in an addictive cycle. It involves trauma and shame and is far more stigmatized than other addictions. Sexual addiction is best described as a progressive intimacy disorder characterized by compulsive sexual thoughts and acts. * Like all addictions, its negative impact on the addict and on family members increases as the disorder progresses. Over time, the addict usually has to intensify the addictive behavior to achieve the same results.