I live in Salt Lake City, and yeah, I’ve sat in those rooms. I wanted a quick fix. I got slow tools instead. Funny how that works, right? This piece expands on what I wrote in My Honest Take: Porn Addiction Treatment in SLC, so consider it the lived-footnotes version.
Here’s what I tried, what helped, and what fell flat for me.
Where I started (and why I stayed)
I hit a wall last winter—late nights, secret screens, shame that stuck like gum. I didn’t want to tell anyone. But I made two calls and sent one shaky email. That’s how it began.
I tried three paths here in SLC:
- One-on-one with a CSAT therapist (that’s a Certified Sex Addiction Therapist) in Sugar House.
- A small group program on the east side that ran like a LifeStar-style track—lessons, homework, check-ins.
- SAA meetings downtown (Sex Addicts Anonymous). Find a local meeting list here.
Each one had a different feel. Each one mattered in a different way.
1) CSAT therapy in Sugar House: steady and real
It was a small office—soft chair, box of tissues, kind eyes. Sessions were 50 minutes. My therapist had clear steps. We did a “trigger map,” set phone rules, and wrote a boundary plan. Sounds simple. It wasn’t.
Real example: After a bad slip during a long work night, I wanted to quit. She didn’t scold me. She asked me to write a “rupture and repair” note. Three parts: what happened, what I needed, and one tiny change I’d try this week. I put my phone in a locked kitchen box at 10 p.m. That box cost twenty bucks. It saved my mornings.
Pros:
- Clear plan. Measurable steps.
- Trauma lens. No blame.
- Homework that didn’t feel cheesy.
Cons:
- $120–$160 a session. I used HSA money.
- Two-week wait to get in.
- Felt slow at first—like lifting small weights.
Standout tool: The HALT check (Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired). If I was two or more, I didn’t trust my brain. I ate, texted a friend, or took a short walk at Liberty Park. Old me would have scrolled. New me walked under the trees and just breathed. Simple. Not easy.
By the way, if you’re curious about alternative methods outside the classic therapy lane, a friend swears by the approach covered in I Tried Hypnosis for Porn Addiction—What Actually Happened. I passed on that route, but the write-up shows what it looks like when you mix headspace apps with a hypnotist’s couch.
2) Group program on the east bench: awkward, then helpful
I thought groups would be awful. They were—at first. Plastic chairs in a circle. Dry cookies. Weird silence. But then week four hit. We drew a “values ring” and shared one thing we’d protect this month. Mine was sleep. A dad next to me chose honesty with his wife. Different lives, same ache.
Real example: We used a green-yellow-red system for urges. I texted “yellow” to my buddy after a hard day. He replied, “Go to the gym. Ten minutes.” I went. I didn’t want to. But the urge passed. Not magic—just a nudge I needed.
Pros:
- Real stories. Real tools.
- Cheaper than weekly therapy (I paid $50 a week).
- Accountability that didn’t feel heavy.
Cons:
- One guy overshared at first. The coach fixed it, but yeah—uncomfy.
- Homework stack got big in week 6.
- Some faith talk was a bit much for me. Still, most folks were respectful.
Standout tool: Three circles. Inner circle (don’t do), middle circle (risky), outer circle (healthy stuff). When I was in the middle circle—late-night scrolling, closed door—I would move to the outer circle fast. Dishes. Push-ups. Journal on the porch. Tiny moves that break the loop.
3) SAA meetings downtown: free, frank, and steady
Donation can. Folding chairs. Quiet men and a few women. No one asked for my last name. I heard words I’d been scared to say out loud. I didn’t feel broken anymore.
Real example: My first 30-day chip felt silly. Then I put it in my pocket and rubbed it during a tense work call. It grounded me. I know that sounds small. But small wins stack.
Pros:
- Free. Easy to show up.
- Sponsors who pick up the phone.
- Structure when my week felt wobbly.
Cons:
- Quality varies by meeting.
- A few steps didn’t click for me at first.
- If you want deep therapy, you still need therapy.
Standout tool: Bookend texts. “I’m starting a risky task.” Then later: “I’m done and safe.” It’s gentle pressure. The good kind.
If the SAA approach doesn’t click for you, another option in town is Sexaholics Anonymous; you can skim their Utah meeting schedule here and see if the format fits better.
A heads-up if you’re worried about the physical side effects that sometimes trail heavy porn use—there’s a no-BS discussion of erection issues over at Porn Addiction and Impotence: My First-Person Review of What Helped and What Flopped. Worth a read if that topic keeps you up at night.
Tools that actually helped in SLC life
- Phone lock box at 10 p.m. Night brain is a trickster.
- Screen filters: I used Canopy on my phone and Covenant Eyes on my laptop. Were they perfect? No. But they added speed bumps, which I needed.
- Liberty Park loops. One lap, no podcast, slow breath. If you see me there, you don’t.
- “Two-minute rule.” If I feel a wave, I set a timer, stand up, and change rooms. Most urges shrink by then.
- Seasonal thing: Winter inversion hits hard. I got a cheap sunrise lamp. Morning mood got less gray.
- Oddly enough, reading no-nonsense breakdowns of popular adult sites at Wild Porn Reviews helped me spot exactly which triggers to block, so my filter list started making sense.
Another blind spot I had was live cam or chat sites; the rabbit hole isn’t just videos— it’s the real-time thrill of talking to strangers. I didn’t even know the most popular chat platforms until I stumbled across this rundown of where to find free adult chat online, which lays out the biggest chat hubs and lets you see exactly which ones you might want to pre-emptively block or avoid.
Another escalation pattern came up in small-group chats: when the thrill of videos and live cams flat-lines, some people start browsing local hookup classifieds to set up in-person meetings. To see exactly what that digital marketplace looks like—so you can recognize the triggers and maybe block them before they snowball—check out Backpage Suwanee which walks you through how modern escort ads are organized, deciphers the pricing shorthand, and flags the safety red-signals worth noting if you’re tightening your online filters.
One app readers keep asking about is Remojo—a blocker that mixes coaching, journaling, and hard stops on explicit sites. I ran it for two weeks, and the full pros, cons, and quirks are in I Tried Remojo to Calm My Porn Habit—Here’s What Actually Helped. Short version: speed bumps beat brick walls.
Culture check (this matters in SLC)
Some groups felt churchy. Some didn’t. I’m not LDS, but a lot of folks were. People were kind either way. If faith talk helps you, there are faith-based tracks. If it doesn’t, there are neutral rooms too. I learned to ask up front: “What’s the vibe? Faith-forward or neutral?” They told me straight.
If you ever move—or are just comparing scenes—there’s a sister write-up on the coastal vibe in My Honest Take: Getting Help for Porn Addiction in Long Beach. Same problem, totally different surfboard jokes.
Money, time, and the not-so-fun bits
- Cost: Therapy $120–$160. Group $40–$60. SAA donations were a few bucks.
- Insurance: My plan covered part of individual therapy with a superbill. Group wasn’t covered.
- Waitlists: Two to three weeks for a CSAT. Groups rotated every 8–12 weeks.
- Relapse: I had two slips in month two. I told on myself fast. That speed mattered more than being perfect.
Those stumbles tracked