This is a piece I wrote several years ago as part of my own healing process. I did not share it at the time because it felt too raw. A few weeks ago, I was reminded of it and the very next day witnessed an incredibly brave public admission of addiction by a young man I know. His willingness to shine a light on his own struggles convicted me that if I mean what I wrote in this piece (and I do), then I am compelled to share my story in hopes of encouraging others who are trapped by shame. Truth and light dispel deception and darkness every time…

As the last parent exited the classroom, I gathered my belongings and quickly headed to my car. Pleased with how the evening conferences had gone, I was equally excited to surprise my husband with an early arrival home. Married eleven months, half of which he had been deployed, we still basked in the newness of marriage. Near the end of the twenty-minute drive, the causeway dumped me right into our apartment complex. I bounded up three flights of stairs to our apartment and turned the doorknob. Surprised to feel the door open slightly and immediately meet resistance, I looked up to see that it had been chained from the inside— by my husband.

Twenty-five years later I sat at a table at my local Starbucks and learned the truth of that night—the whole truth. He dropped it casually into the air as a matter of simple fact— something only a fool wouldn’t have known. A fool like me.

And everything that had seemed fuzzy came slowly into focus as he expounded— “40-year pornography addiction…indulged every year of our marriage…pervasive problem the entire time we were dating and engaged.”

And the memories began to swirl around me like a dementor threatening to suck the very life out of me. The increasing distance, detachment, lack of empathy. The constant need to battle his smartphone for attention. The isolated “incidents” that apparently weren’t isolated—followed by tears and declarations of “I don’t know what came over me.” Lies.

Accusations of being distrustful and unforgiving. Angry outbursts that escalated to abusive verbal and emotional assaults. And then the blame—how powerful I must be to have caused a problem in someone ten years before I even knew him?

And because it numbed him, killed his feelings, and stole his empathy, he easily flicked the crumbs of me off his hands, walked away, and walked straight into another relationship before we even had separation papers. Years of practice gawking at the wives, sisters, daughters of other men seemed to make it easy to take one for his own.

I don’t pretend to know what it did to him internally—only what it did to his interactions with me.

The statistics on pornography use are staggering. Its negative effects on its users are well-documented by scientific research. And for every statistic there is someone bearing secret scars—like tattoos etched on your identity that say Not enough.

Years of dressing in the closet because my body that carried and bore five little souls doesn’t compare to the ones he sees on the screen in his palm. Years of emotional rape…he is with me physically but mentally detached. In his mind I could be anyone—or no one. And I know but I don’t know. And I don’t really want to.

Like most women with secret scars, I try to contain it—control it away. We do all the wrong things. We put up walls, protect our heart. We close our eyes and go through the motions. And we desperately want to protect our children—our sons AND our daughters, but in different ways. Only it’s nebulous and uncontainable, and protection only comes from within.

So we tell ourselves it doesn’t matter. It isn’t about us. But then we are lying too. Because it does and it is.

And when the grief and the pain finally take us to the end of ourselves, we find truth.Created in his own image. Fearfully and wonderfully made. Loved…with an everlasting love. Temple of the living God (Gen. 1:27, Ps. 139:14, Jer. 31:3, 2 Cor. 6:16).

And we realize that even though it seems that he betrayed us by giving himself to thousands of others, he is really the one betrayed. Sold a lie by the enemy—that momentary, physical pleasure is supreme. That deception and intimacy can coexist. That a covenant is not a covenant.

And though it seems that we saved ourselves for the wrong man—that we have been deprived of a pure, true love—that too is a lie. Because “as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you” (Isaiah 62:5, ESV). The gift of ourself, our body, our love was not wasted. It was received and cherished by the one who created us and set us apart for His purpose and His glory.

But the scars don’t need to be secret. Shame and embarrassment and regret make us wrap our scars up tightly in shiny smiles and shallow words and pin them shut with pride. But uncovering the wound—exposing it to light and air—not only brings healing; it also speaks the truth to other women with secret scars who need to know they aren’t alone and they aren’t to blame.

Only when we are transparent—about the betrayal and rejection, about our tattooed identities—can others see Jesus through us. See Him hanging there on the cross, painting our secret scars with His blood—like liquid skin—permanently healing our deepest wounds.