I didn’t plan to write this. But here we are. If your gut is loud and your heart is tired, I see you. I’ll share what I saw at home, the tools I tried, and how it feels now. I’ll keep it real and simple. I’ve written a fuller blow-by-blow of that season in this detailed first-hand review if you want every gritty timestamp.
The stuff I saw at home
It started small. Little things. Then it got loud.
- He took his phone to the bathroom. A lot. Long showers. Cold coffee.
- Private browser tabs. “Oh, it’s just news.” Sure. At 1 a.m.?
- Bank charge for a “premium” site I didn’t know. I called the bank. He said it was “a mistake.”
- He stayed up late on the couch. The blue glow from the TV and his phone hurt my eyes. And my chest.
One night, I woke at 2 a.m. The kitchen light was on. I found him with his head down, scrolling. I said nothing. I just stood there with my mug and felt small. You know what? I still remember the hum of the fridge.
Realizing how simple it is for online fantasies to blur into real-world acting-out hit me hard; websites designed for anonymous hookups, like OneNightAffair, make casual, no-strings encounters look friction-free, and browsing just for research showed me how urgent it was to set clear boundaries about “offline” behavior too. For example, I landed on a Prescott-area personals board — Backpage Prescott on OneNightAffair — and scanning the explicit posts there was a gut-punch reminder of how real-world hookups are only a few clicks away, a glimpse that can help any spouse assess the true scope of access their partner has.
What I tried (and actually used)
I’m a product nerd. When life breaks, I test things. I ran with tools, apps, books, and rules. Some helped. Some made it worse. Here’s my plain talk review.
Couples therapy with a CSAT
A CSAT is a Certified Sex Addiction Therapist. Fancy title. Simple aim.
- What we did: Weekly sessions. Homework. Words we didn’t want to say out loud.
- Good: We learned what a “trigger” is. We made a plan for slip-ups. He looked me in the eye more.
- Hard: Costly. We paid $170 a session in our city. Also, waiting list. We waited three weeks.
- One real thing: In week three, he said, “I feel lonely at night.” I said, “I feel invisible.” We both cried. It wasn’t neat. It was honest.
Covenant Eyes (accountability app)
We put this on his phone and laptop. We activated the Screen Accountability feature, so reports go to a partner. I was the partner. Not sexy. Very real.
- Good: Friction helps. He knew I’d see a report. Screen time at night went down.
- Weird bit: It flagged a “lingerie” story on a news site. False alarm. We laughed, and then… we talked. That part mattered.
- Bad: He found it heavy. He said it felt like I was his mom. Ouch. We tweaked it. Reports to our therapist instead of me. Better.
Apple Screen Time (iPhone) and Downtime
Free. Built in. No fluff.
- What I set: A 4-digit code (I held it). App limits on browsers. Downtime from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m.
- Good: Quick win. He’d hit a limit and pause. Sometimes a pause is all you need to choose better.
- Bad: He tried “Ask For More Time.” Nope. He’d wait me out. Also, a new browser sneaks around limits.
Router-level filter (CleanBrowsing Family Filter on our Eero)
This blocks adult sites on Wi-Fi, not just one device.
- Good: It covered the whole house. TV, tablets, the works. Less whack-a-mole.
- Bad: It blocked a health site and my work portal once. I had to whitelist it. Also, data plan on his phone? It got around the filter. We turned off cellular at night. Felt strict. Also felt calm.
Remojo app (habit change)
It’s a quit-porn app with daily steps and check-ins.
- Good: Short lessons. Simple steps. Day 7 asked him to list triggers. He wrote: bored, stress, late night, fights with me. That list became our map.
- Bad: Pushy pings. We trimmed notifications. He rolled his eyes at the “streaks.” Same.
Books and voices that helped us talk
I like short chapters and clear words.
- Out of the Doghouse (for men): He read it and learned how to rebuild trust. Less sorry, more action.
- Hold Me Tight (Sue Johnson): We used one talk script. It stopped one car fight. I count that as a win.
- Your Brain on Porn: We don’t agree on all the science. But the brain talk gave him a way to name urges without shame.
- Esther Perel’s podcast: We heard a couple like us. It softened the “we’re broken” feeling.
- A reality-check read: The concise site reviews on Wild Porn Reviews showed us how polished porn platforms hook users, which oddly helped us talk about why quitting matters.
Boundaries we set (the “rules” review)
We wrote them down on a sticky note. Not cute. Very helpful.
- No phone in the bedroom. We bought a $15 alarm clock.
- Bathroom phone stays on the sink, not in the shower. Silly rule. It worked.
- Weekly check-in on Sunday, 20 minutes. Not a fight. Just, “How was the week?” If there was a slip, we used the plan, not blame.
- If he relapsed: Tell within 24 hours. Take a walk together. He texts our therapist. We reset sleep and food. Simple care first.
Did we nail it each time? No. Once he hid it for five days. We started again. Painful, but not the end. For a step-by-step account of what actions actually moved the dial, here’s how I helped my husband quit porn, the real and messy version.
Support for me (because this part matters)
I needed ground under my feet.
- S-Anon meeting online: I listened with my camera off for three weeks. Then I spoke one line. It helped my lungs work again.
- A friend who knows: I texted her “green or red day?” She didn’t fix it. She stayed.
- Journal: I wrote one page each night. Three facts. One feeling. One small plan. It built a bridge from panic to action.
What didn’t help (and made it worse)
- Shaming. I tried it. “How could you?” It shut him down. Then he got sneaky. Then I felt crazy. We lost twice.
- Spyware. I tested a stealth tracker. Hated myself. He found it. We fought for hours. We removed it. We chose open guardrails instead.
- Cold turkey with no support. Day 6 hit hard. He binged. Then the shame spiral. We learned that a plan beats willpower.
- Counting streaks like a sport. Day numbers became the focus. When the number broke, hope broke. We moved to “What happened? What helps next?” Seeing a week-by-week recovery timeline from someone who’s been through it kept us realistic about plateaus.
Money and time, quick view
- Therapy: $170 per week for three months, then every other week.
- Apps: Covenant Eyes ~$17/month. Remojo ~$15/month. Worth it for us. Your budget is yours.
- Time: Setup weekend, two hours to set filters. Then 20 minutes a week to tweak.
Real life now
We’re not “fixed.” We’re better. Reading a few victory stories from people further down the road keeps us believing that progress beats perfection. I’d say 70% calmer at home. He relapsed last month after a bad work week. He told me the next day. We took a walk, ate tacos, and planned the next night’s bedtime. I was angry and sad. Both can live in the same room. We didn’t sleep in separate rooms that week. That felt new.
Small wins stack:
- He comes to bed by 10:30 most nights.
- We take a Saturday morning walk, no phones. Rain or shine.
- He texts me “late urge” if he’s stuck. I reply with a shoe emoji. It means “go outside.” It sounds dumb. It works.
If you’re standing where I stood
- You’re not nuts. Your body knows when something’s off.
- Set one boundary this week. One. Then keep it.
- Pick one tool. Not five. Add slowly.
- Eat. Sleep. Move your body. Your nervous system votes