The first time I was intimate with my partner, he didn’t finish. I later learned that this was a common occurrence for him—throughout much of his sexual history, he could achieve an erection but often lost it midway. As our relationship evolved, our intimacy improved, yet it never felt quite right to me. Even during our carefree days as newlyweds, we didn’t engage in sex as frequently as I desired. There were still moments when he didn’t finish, attributing it to dehydration, stress from his job, or fatigue.
After we had children, our intimate moments dwindled even further. He seldom initiated, and if I expressed interest, it was uncertain whether he would be receptive. The circumstances had to align perfectly—he needed to be well-rested, not too inebriated, not too preoccupied. I convinced myself that he probably just had a low libido and settled for what I could get.
Over the years, I stumbled upon his porn use only a few times, as he was exceptionally skilled at concealing it. Yet, there was always an undercurrent of something unresolved in our sex life that I couldn’t quite place. One evening, while jokingly discussing a classic Seinfeld episode about masturbation, I asked him how often he indulged. He appeared uncomfortable and confessed to engaging in it 4-5 times a week. I was taken aback and couldn’t help but wonder how he found the energy for that yet struggled to be intimate with me.
During a session of online research about relationship and sexual challenges, I stumbled upon an article discussing porn addiction and porn-induced erectile dysfunction. In that moment, a light bulb went off for me. I shared my findings with him, and to my surprise, he admitted he had long suspected he was addicted to porn, using it frequently as a coping mechanism. He expressed a genuine desire to quit for both himself and our relationship.
Understanding the depth of his struggles left me feeling a mix of fear, betrayal, and a glimmer of hope. After he initially stopped, he described feeling empty and uninterested in sex, a common reaction when quitting porn. However, over the following months, he underwent a physical transformation. He became more responsive, achieving erections more easily, and his desire for sex increased. I pointed out how different he seemed since quitting, which I believe brought him some relief, although it must have been painful to acknowledge the harm porn had inflicted on our relationship and others before it.
Yet, just a few months into his commitment to quit, we had a significant argument. After reconciling, he once again struggled to maintain an erection. I instinctively connected this to his porn use. He reacted defensively, citing work stress and asserting that if he needed porn as an outlet, he would resort to it.
At that point, I questioned if I could continue in the marriage. He had promised to quit, yet he had not followed through. Beyond feeling betrayed, I felt pressured to act in ways that wouldn’t tempt him back to porn. I obsessively scrutinized his behavior for signs of relapse, checking his phone when I could guess the password, even eavesdropping outside the bathroom. In a moment of desperation, I even resorted to sniffing his underwear for any evidence.
Eventually, we started to reconnect. Our intimacy seemed to improve, but a year later, we hit another rough patch. We had become emotionally distant, merely coexisting while managing our children. After a few weeks of working through our issues, I found myself sobbing in bed after another failed intimate moment. He confessed to me that he had returned to porn during our conflict and felt remorseful, wanting to reconnect.
The following night, I made it clear that I could not remain in the marriage if he continued to view porn. I expressed that it felt like a betrayal, as he was directing his sexual energy towards something other than me, in secret. I emphasized that while porn might be acceptable in some relationships, in ours, it was toxic.
He promised to quit for good. That was over a year ago, and we’ve discussed porn only once since then. On one occasion, when he couldn’t finish, I broke down, voicing my fears that he had returned to it. He assured me he hadn’t, but I have no way of knowing if that’s true. Porn remains a pervasive, untraceable threat, always accessible on any device, and quitting proves to be a challenging endeavor.
Intimacy with him continues to be fraught with anxiety. Whenever he shows signs of losing his erection, I feel a wave of dread. We still don’t engage in sex as often as I would prefer, and I never take the initiative. When he watches an R-rated movie featuring nudity and then seeks intimacy, I sometimes feel disgusted. I try to remind myself that it’s positive he’s channeling his sexual energy toward me instead of indulging in private.
Sometimes I wish I had listened to my instincts and left earlier. I wonder if I should have waited for someone who had a healthier relationship with sex—someone who could meet my needs and evolve with me in a trusting, respectful manner. Unfortunately, that possibility has been tainted by the impact of porn on our marriage, and I mourn the loss of that ideal.
Yet, I’ve reached a point of cautious acceptance. I had to grieve the marriage I once envisioned, letting go of that dream and navigating the various emotional stages of loss. I experienced denial and anger for a long time. My obsessive monitoring could be seen as a form of bargaining. Eventually, I fell into sadness, feeling like a victim. I oscillate between these emotions, and I may continue to do so.
I recognize that porn is part of our marriage narrative, and it’s important to remember that it’s not my fault, nor can I prevent it. Just as I couldn’t guard against any other addiction or illness he might have faced. I don’t intend to criticize porn or masturbation; I’ve had relationships where both were healthy and enjoyable. But my husband’s experience diverges significantly. He discovered porn at a young age, using it to cope with a difficult childhood, and it became enshrouded in secrecy and shame. Over time, he sought out increasingly extreme content to achieve satisfaction. While it may have aroused him, that wasn’t its primary function; he used it to escape and numb himself from anxiety and expectations.
When I recognized this, I understood that just because he stopped watching porn didn’t mean he would suddenly desire sex with me as often as he did before. Porn and intimacy serve different purposes for him. It becomes complicated when porn diminishes one’s ability to connect intimately with their partner. I once posed a hypothetical scenario to him: if he discovered I had been secretly mismanaging our finances, siphoning money away that could have enhanced our lives, would it not represent a betrayal? He grasped the implications of such hidden actions and their detrimental impact on our relationship. So, while his porn use might not have been directly about me, its consequences still affected us profoundly.
I felt like I had three options: leave him, thereby disrupting our lives and our children’s lives; stay with him, burdened by suspicion that could consume me; or choose to trust him and work towards healing. I opted for the third option, and for now, it feels like the best path forward.
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Summary:
This article recounts the author’s journey of discovering her partner’s porn-induced erectile dysfunction, the challenges it brought to their intimacy, and the emotional turmoil that followed. After confronting the issue, her partner admitted to struggling with porn addiction, sparking a complex process of healing and rebuilding trust. The narrative explores themes of betrayal, acceptance, and the ongoing impact of porn on their relationship, ultimately leading the author to choose to trust her partner moving forward.