Some people approach recovery like it’s a casual hobby: one meeting a week, maybe a podcast here and there, and a promise to “do better.” That almost never works—especially when the relationship is in crisis.

Our experience has been that those who invest heavily early—both personally and relationally—tend to see far more progress. That might mean:

• Multiple recovery meetings per week

• A season of therapy twice a week

• Intensive weekends or workshops

• Increased check-ins with accountability partners

The first 90 days of recovery can feel a little like trying to repair a leaky boat while you’re still out at sea. You’re bailing water, patching holes, and learning how to sail—while waves keep rolling in. If you’re in a committed relationship, you’re also carrying passengers who’ve just been through a storm you caused.

This is where a lot of people in recovery make a critical mistake: they try to steer the whole boat, rebuild it, and get everyone smiling and singing “Kumbaya” all at once. The problem? When you try to leap into relational recovery before you’ve established solid footing in your personal recovery, you can actually bring the whole process to a grinding halt.

The truth is: your primary focus in early recovery must be personal. That’s not selfish—it’s essential. The best gift you can give your relationship in these early days is to become a person who is steadily working on themselves.

In the early days of recovery—whether you’re healing from betrayal, working toward sobriety, or rebuilding your marriage—it’s easy to want to devour everything.
Podcasts, books, courses, blogs, videos, worksheets… If it says “healing” or “recovery,” you want it.

It makes sense. You’re trying to save something precious—your relationship, your integrity, your future. Information feels like safety. Knowledge feels like control. And in many ways, learning is a huge part of healing.

But here’s the thing: more content doesn’t automatically mean more healing.

In fact, there’s a point where too much information actually slows you down. Instead of feeling empowered, you end up feeling scattered, overwhelmed, and discouraged that “nothing is working.”

Let’s be honest—when most people first hear the word recovery, their gut reaction isn’t celebration. It’s not pride, or hope, or even curiosity. More often, it’s resistance. Shame. A quiet internal groan that says, This is going to be the thing I have to do because I messed up.

Maybe you’ve been there. Maybe you’re there now.

It’s easy to see recovery as a punishment—something you must suffer through to make up for the harm you’ve caused or endured. Or maybe it feels like a necessary evil: a way to become “functional” again, but never fully free. We hear people say things like, “I’ll never be the same,” or “This is just my cross to bear.” Recovery, in that view, becomes a life sentence. At best, you survive.

But what if we told you that recovery—real, wholehearted, messy, transformational recovery—is not a life sentence?

It’s a life rescue.

Recovery from betrayal isn’t just about stopping harmful behavior or healing from past wounds. At its heart, recovery is about building something new—a relationship that is healthier, more honest, more connected, and more aligned with who you both want to become.

But rebuilding doesn’t happen automatically. And it certainly doesn’t happen evenly—not at first.

In this final part of the Owning Your Recovery series, we’re exploring what it means to take ownership of the relationship you’re creating, not just the one you broke.

We’ll look at:

• Why there is an initial imbalance in the rebuilding process

• How proactive vulnerability from the betraying spouse becomes the engine of transformation

• What couples can expect as trust deepens and intimacy matures

For the Betrayed Partner

One of the most painful truths about relational betrayal is this: you didn’t cause the harm, but you’re still left to carry its weight. And that doesn’t just mean grief, trauma, or unanswered questions. It also means dealing with how betrayal has changed you—how it’s tried to rewrite your story from the inside out.

If you're the betrayed partner, this can feel like the cruelest double bind of all. Not only were you hurt by the person you trusted most, but now you have to fight to reclaim your identity, your voice, your safety—and maybe even your sanity.

And still, here’s the deeper truth: the impact is real, but it doesn’t get the final say.

In this post, we’ll explore:

• The emotional and neurological cost of betrayal

• How trauma distorts your identity, not just your trust

• What it looks like to reclaim your healing—even when it’s unfair

• Stories from real (composite) clients who chose to take their power back

In Part 1, we explored how ownership in recovery begins with your sobriety and continues with an honest examination of the sexual legacy you inherited. But ownership is not complete until you’ve also addressed something even more sobering: the legacy your choices have left behind.

True relational healing requires more than changed behavior—it requires ongoing responsibility for the harm caused and a long-term commitment to being a safe, present, and trustworthy partner.

In this post, we’ll explore:

• How to take responsibility for the relational wounds your betrayal created

• Why grief—not guilt—is key to healing

• What it means to become a man who leaves a new legacy

As with Part 1, the stories included here are composite and fictionalized for confidentiality, drawn from years of coaching work with men and couples navigating the fallout of betrayal.

One of the most foundational—but often overlooked—aspects of relational healing is ownership. In the context of betrayal recovery, ownership is the courageous act of taking responsibility for your choices, your healing, and the impact you’ve had on others. It’s not about blame or shame. It’s about maturity, clarity, and growth.

In this first part of the Embracing the Journey series, we’ll explore two critical areas:

• Why sexual sobriety is essential for relational healing

• How to identify and begin healing from the sexual legacy you inherited

To illustrate how these principles come to life in real recovery journeys, we’ve included anonymized and representative client stories drawn from years of coaching work. These examples are fictionalized to protect confidentiality, but they reflect common patterns we’ve seen in many men’s lives.

When Jill and Brandon finally reached out for help, they’d been living in quiet chaos for months.

Brandon had confessed to years of hidden pornography use and an emotional affair. Jill, who had always trusted him completely, was devastated. She felt like the life they’d built together had been based on a lie—and now, everything was in question.

They tried to patch things up on their own. They read books, prayed together, scheduled date nights, and made promises. But no matter what they did, they kept hitting the same wall: Jill couldn’t feel safe, and Brandon didn’t know how to rebuild her trust.

Eventually, they began searching for professional help. But even that was discouraging.

“We saw three people before we found someone who actually got it,” Jill told me. “One counselor just told me I needed to stop obsessing. Another said Brandon just had a ‘midlife void.’ One even suggested that we separate ‘for space.’ It was like no one really believed we could come through this—together.”

So when they reached out to our team, they had one non-negotiable:

“We want someone who believes in our marriage.”

Every couple’s healing journey is unique. The pain, the backstory, the timing—it all looks different. But over the years of walking with hundreds of couples through the deep work of restoration after betrayal, we’ve noticed a consistent rhythm to the recovery process.

Whether the betrayal involves infidelity, compulsive sexual behavior, or years of hidden secrets, healing tends to unfold in three key phases. And the kind of help a couple needs changes in each one.

We call these the Recovery Phase, the Restoration Phase, and the Renewal Phase. Understanding which phase you’re in—and what support fits best—can bring both clarity and confidence to a process that often feels overwhelming.

When Mark and Jenn first reached out to us, they were exhausted.

They had already seen three different therapists. “They were nice,” Jenn told me during our intake call. “But none of them got it.”

One counselor told her to stop checking Mark’s phone because it was “feeding her anxiety.” Another suggested that Mark find a new hobby to help him manage his urges. A third seemed more interested in improving their date nights than helping them unpack the rupture caused by Mark’s pornography addiction and Jenn’s deep sense of betrayal.

“They just didn’t understand what we were going through,” she said.

And sadly, that’s not uncommon.

Good Intentions Aren’t Enough

Let’s be clear—most therapists and coaches are deeply caring professionals. They want to help. They are trained to listen, reflect, and offer insight. But in the realm of betrayal trauma and compulsive sexual behavior, general education is rarely enough.

You need someone who understands the landscape you’re walking through.

Someone who doesn’t just hand you a workbook or talk about “trust issues,” but who knows how to guide a couple through the layered, painful, sacred work of healing after betrayal.

Mark and Jenn weren’t asking for perfection. They were simply asking for a guide who had the right tools—and who knew how to use them.

When betrayal or broken trust enters a relationship, the question isn’t “Should we get help?” The real question becomes: “What kind of help do we actually need?”

That question haunted Tasha for weeks.

After discovering her husband Eric’s secret pornography use, her world spun into chaos. It wasn’t just the lies—it was what the lies meant. About their connection. About her worth. About their future.

Tasha was ready to leave. Not out of spite, but self-preservation. But her individual therapist urged her to consider a structured disclosure process first—something guided and intentional, rather than chaotic or incomplete.

Meanwhile, Eric was working with a recovery coach. This coach wasn’t just there to “cheer him on”—he challenged Eric daily. To track his behaviors. To be honest with himself and his wife. To show up with integrity, not excuses. To build a plan—and stick to it.

Six months later, Tasha and Eric weren’t just surviving. They were doing the messy work of healing. And when I asked them what made the biggest difference, their answer was clear.

“Honestly? Both. We needed both.”

When betrayal shatters a relationship, love alone isn’t enough to heal it.

If that sounds harsh, I understand. Love is what brought you together. It’s what you’ve clung to through life’s storms. It’s what made you believe that, no matter what, you could find your way back to each other.

But betrayal changes the rules. Whether it’s infidelity, compulsive pornography use, a secret second life, or emotional disconnection rooted in hidden behaviors, it doesn’t just break trust—it fractures the foundation of safety, meaning, and shared reality. It leaves one partner spiraling in confusion and pain, and the other often swimming in shame, fear, and disorientation.

And what many couples try to do in those early days… is white-knuckle their way forward.

In the first two parts of this series, I wrote about the power shame holds when left unchecked—and how we begin to dismantle it through the balance of grace and responsibility. That work is essential. But if the journey stops there, it stays mostly internal. It’s personal, yes—but shame isn’t just a private struggle. It shows up in how we relate to others, how we respond in community, and how we lead (or withhold) in the spaces we’re part of.

Part three is about taking the healing work of recovery and letting it transform how we show up in the world around us. Because healing doesn’t end with personal peace. Real freedom becomes a gift we offer others.

Even after years of doing the hard work of recovery—both in my own life and walking alongside others—it still sneaks in. On bad days, it whispers that I haven’t changed at all. That I’m too much. Or not enough. That I’m one wrong step away from losing everything I’ve fought for.

But I keep fighting. Not just for myself, but for the people I love. For the men and couples I walk with. For anyone who still believes their shame means they’re broken beyond repair.

On August 1, 2013, a guest speaker came to Joanna's first class in her Marriage and Family Therapy program. The class was titled "Shame and Guilt." This pastor stood up and told the truth publicly about his struggle with pornography and addiction. Joanna brought that story home to me that day, and the wall of fear and self-loathing cracked when I heard it. That was the day I stopped hiding and betraying Joanna. It was the day I began to fight back against shame and the hurt it was causing the people I loved.

I grew up in a house where the rhythm of fall weekends was set by college and pro football. Saturdays were about the SEC game of the week—loud, rowdy, with the smell of chili on the stove and the hum of a hopeful crowd through the TV speakers. Sundays? Those belonged to the Dallas Cowboys. It wasn’t just background noise; it was part of our family language. Wins were celebrated with cheers and snacks. Losses were mourned (loudly). But nothing—and I mean nothing—frustrated us more than when our team had the lead late in the game and switched to that infamous “prevent defense.”

If you’ve ever watched football, you might know exactly what I’m talking about. The prevent defense is a strategy teams use when they’re ahead, designed to avoid giving up the big play. The irony is that it usually does the opposite. All it seems to prevent is momentum—and sometimes, even the win itself. I remember hearing one exasperated commentator say, “The only thing the prevent defense actually prevents is… winning.”

This weekend, I (Matthew) was standing at the edge of the elementary school track, cheering for our kids as they wrapped up their final races of the season. And I noticed something — something that immediately reminded me of my own recovery journey and the experiences Joanna and I had rebuilding our marriage..

Again and again, kids would sprint out strong... and then right as they started to feel tired, they would look to the left or right.

• Who's catching up to me?

• Am I ahead?

• Is someone passing me?

And in that split second of looking around, they would slow down, veer off their lane, or even lose their footing.
They lost sight of their race because they stopped focusing forward.

It's the same trap so many of us fall into in recovery.

When we get caught up comparing ourselves to others — how fast they're moving, how "good" they're doing, how much validation we can get from the outside — we lose focus on what really matters: running our race with integrity, humility, and heart.

Recently, Joanna was reflecting on the experience of a couple impacted by betrayal and the inspiration of new life springing up in our garden. And it got me thinking about another landscaping metaphor.

You see, the other thing we’ve noticed in our planting beds this time of year—besides the new growth on the bushes and the budding signs of life—is the proliferation of weeds. Just like the fresh growth, the weeds come fast. It feels like we blink, and suddenly they’re everywhere, crowding out what we actually planted.

That picture hit me hard. Because for me, it’s a lot like the struggle I’ve had with sexual addiction.

Those destructive patterns didn’t care that I was trying to grow something beautiful in my life. They didn’t care about the dreams Joanna and I had for our marriage. The addiction wasn’t concerned with the kind of man I wanted to be. Like weeds, it grew fast, deep, and wild. And left untended, it choked out almost everything that mattered.

One of the biggest barriers to healthy and honest communication is assumption. Instead of seeking clarity, we often interpret messages through our own experiences, biases, and emotions—which can lead to misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and unnecessary conflicts.

When we assume, we create a narrative based on what we think the other person means rather than what they are actuallytrying to communicate. This can cause frustration on both sides: one person feels misunderstood, while the other reacts based on an inaccurate interpretation.

Healthy assertiveness is the key to breaking this cycle. It means checking in instead of jumping to conclusions, asking for clarity instead of making guesses, and expressing ourselves openly while creating space for others to do the same. It allows us to communicate with confidence, curiosity, and a genuine desire for mutual understanding.

Let’s explore how to practice healthy assertiveness to enhance communication, eliminate unnecessary conflict, and build deeper connections.

Recovery sometimes feels like springtime in Memphis.

This is one of the first places I’ve (Joanna) lived where spring feels like a true transition—from the cold, gray, lifelessness of winter into something vivid, alive, and full of hope. The shift doesn’t happen all at once. It creeps in gently, a little more light in the evening, a slight warmth in the breeze, and then—suddenly—you see it: green.

I remember walking outside just a few weeks ago and spotting tiny green shoots on a plant I had long since written off as dead. It had been nothing but bare sticks for months. I had mentally added it to the compost pile, assuming it wouldn’t make it through the winter. But there it was—life. The excitement welled up inside me, and I almost jumped for joy. It’s alive. It’s alive! I couldn’t believe it.