I wish this wasn’t my story. But it is. I’m sharing it because someone out there might be sitting in a quiet kitchen like I did, staring at a cold cup of coffee, wondering if they’re losing their mind. You’re not. If you’re searching for more perspectives beyond mine, this brutally honest divorce story lays out a journey that might echo some of your own worries.
Quick snapshot
- My rating of the process: 2 out of 5 stars
- My rating of my life after: 4 out of 5 stars (not perfect, but peaceful)
- Would I do it again? Yes, once I knew the truth
How I found out (and how I tried to un-see it)
It started small. Late nights on the couch with “work emails.” The phone, always face down. Our Wi-Fi history cleared. The vibe was off, you know? Then I checked Screen Time on his iPhone. Hours in “Entertainment,” at 2 a.m. My stomach dropped.
Next came charges on our joint card. Little ones, but often. $4.99, $9.99. They hid in the feed like crumbs. Some were to “subscription” sites. And I found a stash of Reddit bookmarks in a folder named “Receipts.” Cute. Not cute.
I felt crazy. I snooped. I cried in my car outside Target. I kept asking, “Are we okay?” He kept saying, “It’s just stress.” I wanted to believe him so bad that I almost did. Almost.
What we tried before I left
I didn’t run right away. People think it’s simple. It’s not. I loved him. We had a life, a dog, a favorite booth at a diner. I tried things.
- We went to couples therapy. Two months. He was sweet for a week, then cold the next.
- He put Covenant Eyes on his phone. Then he got a cheap tablet “for books.” Sure.
- We set rules: phone in the kitchen at night, no hidden accounts, weekly check-ins.
- I set bank alerts. He used gift cards. There’s always a workaround if someone wants one.
Some partners choose to stay and fight alongside their spouse; one woman shared how she actually helped her husband with porn addiction and what that looked like day-to-day.
I kept a little notebook. Dates, lies, promises. It felt gross. But my brain needed receipts because my heart kept making excuses. Funny how that works.
The crack that split the floor
I remember the exact night. A Thursday in December. The house smelled like pine. He said he was “wrapping gifts” in the spare room. I knocked. No answer. I opened the door anyway. He jumped like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. The lie came fast. My face got hot. I didn’t scream. I just felt very, very tired.
That night, I slept on the couch. Our dog curled at my feet like he knew. I stared at the ceiling and counted the tiny holes in the tiles. I think I made it to a hundred.
The nuts and bolts (because feelings and paperwork live together)
Divorce sounds like one big “boom.” It’s actually a lot of small steps. Some are boring. Some sting.
- I met with a lawyer. The consult was $250. Worth it for clear next steps.
- I made a Google Doc with tabs: money, house stuff, accounts, passwords, dates.
- I opened a new checking account and moved my paycheck there. I also froze my credit.
- I saved screenshots and statements in a folder. Label things. Your future self will thank you.
- When we spoke, I used BIFF: Brief, Informative, Friendly, Firm. It kept me from spiraling.
We didn’t have a big fight scene. No plates thrown. Just paperwork, boxes, and two people who stood in the hallway and couldn’t hug goodbye.
What helped me stay human
- S-Anon meetings. I sat in a folding chair and cried. No one flinched. That mattered.
- A therapist who said, “You didn’t cause this. You can’t cure it.” I needed those words on repeat.
- Walks. Every evening, 30 minutes, no phone. I watched leaves change and then fall.
- A money plan. I used a budget app and made a small “peace fund” for tea, gas, and socks without holes.
- Telling one friend the whole truth. Not the cute version. The real one.
You know what? Also oatmeal. Warm, simple, filling. It made mornings a little softer.
What made it worse (for me, anyway)
- Midnight fights. No one wins after 10 p.m.
- Checking his phone for “closure.” It gave me a headache, not peace.
- Bargains with myself. “If he quits for 30 days, I’ll stay.” I moved my own goalposts so often the field was a mess.
- Comparing my marriage to strangers on Instagram. Please don’t.
The part where I felt both broken and okay
After he moved out, the house was too quiet. I kept the TV on while I folded laundry. I cried once in the cereal aisle because I didn’t know which granola bars to buy for just me. Then I slept. Like, really slept. Eight hours. No more late-night dread. The dog snored. I laughed out loud at a dumb sitcom and felt my shoulders drop.
I’m not the hero of some movie. I still have days where I miss the good parts. A silly joke he used to tell. The way he made coffee. Grief is weird. It walks beside you and then sits down for a bit. But I’m okay. Better than okay, most days. Honest beats perfect.
Real talk on porn addiction and marriage
Some people stay and rebuild. I’ve seen it. They have strict plans, real honesty, a strong support net. It can happen. Seeing the slow climb of sobriety laid out in a week-by-week recovery timeline can also give you a realistic picture of what healing may demand.
Research backs up the toll porn can take on couples: a comprehensive meta-analysis of 50 peer-reviewed studies covering more than 50,000 participants linked frequent use to lower relationship satisfaction, particularly among men (ifstudies.org). Meanwhile, a study presented at the American Sociological Association reported that people who start watching pornography are about twice as likely to divorce—and for women, the risk jumps threefold (time.com).
That wasn’t my road. Not with my person, not with all the hiding. My line was trust. Once it snapped, I couldn’t tape it back together and call it new. If you ever need a reality check on how endless the content stream can be, take a two-minute scroll through wildpornreviews.com and you’ll see the firehose your partner might be up against. For a reminder that porn dependency can touch even the rich and famous, check out this reflection on Kanye West’s own struggle with porn addiction and the ripple effects it can have.
What I wish someone had told me sooner
- Your boundaries aren’t mean. They’re a map back to yourself.
- Secrets grow in silence. Speak to someone safe.
- Keep records, not revenge lists.
- Eat. Drink water. Move your body a little. Simple care counts.
- It’s okay to quit trying when trying is breaking you.
Who this path fits (and who might want another route)
- Fits: If there’s repeat lying, money issues, broken promises, and you feel small in your own home.
- Maybe try more support first: If there’s real remorse, a clear recovery plan, shared access to devices and money, and you feel safe and seen.
Final verdict
Divorcing a porn addict is a slow, heavy lift. Lots of feelings, lots of forms. It hurts. But it also gives you your name back. My life now is quiet, lighter, and real. I cook for one and play music while I mop. Some evenings feel lonely. Many feel free.
Whenever the loneliness does bite, I remind myself that low-stakes, consent-focused flirting can be a gentle way to rebuild confidence without rushing into another serious relationship. If you’re curious about dipping a toe back into safe, adult-only chat spaces, Sext Local connects you with nearby users for discreet, no-pressure conversations—perfect for practicing new boundaries and rediscovering playful intimacy at your own pace. For folks in western New York who prefer scrolling local personal ads instead of live chats, visiting Backpage Lockport offers an updated, scam-screened directory of nearby singles and casual meet-up opportunities, so you can explore potential connections without straying far from home.
Would I recommend it? I’d recommend telling the truth. Then follow where that truth leads, step by step. For me, it led to a small apartment with plants in the window and