Your work has been profoundly impactful for me and has given language to experiences I did not understand for many years. I wanted to share something from my journey, in case it is helpful for your work or others’.

I was brought up by my wonderful Christian parents.

They modelled love, parenting, and marriage really well for me. They were demonstrative and affectionate, and openly answered questions—we could talk about anything.

My husband was also raised by Christian parents. However, in his family, there was very little use of words of affirmation or spontaneous affection. “I love you” was rarely expressed. In fact, I have never heard his parents say that to him, and they do not use those words with our children either.

I was brought up in a complementarian framework, although in practice, my upbringing felt quite egalitarian. As a girl with two brothers, I was encouraged to do anything they could do—playing football, climbing trees, exploring—as well as Bible STUDY, speaking, and growing in leadership.

In the 1990 and early 2000s, I was part of a large church England where I became the leader of a certain ministry. I was allowed to preach and lead groups across the church, even though it held complementarian beliefs and male eldership. There was also a period of teaching around head covering and male headship.

I was comfortable with these beliefs.

When I married my husband 25 years ago, I expected a shared, thriving life together.

I believed we would make decisions together, though I accepted that in difficult situations, he would have the final say.

In practice, our marriage was largely egalitarian.

When we married, we were both virgins. We were excited about sex, though I was a little nervous. However, from the beginning, there were difficulties. My husband experienced ongoing erectile dysfunction, and despite seeking help—including medical assessment, Viagra, and psychosexual therapy—the issues were never fully resolved.

Over time, this became a significant strain. My husband has never ejaculated with me present in the room, even now, decades into our marriage.

Twelve  years ago, during a period when my husband was depressed and we were seeking further help, we were also supporting a close friend who was experiencing severe mental health struggles. I found our friend after he had taken his own life. It was profoundly traumatic.

Just 2 weeks later, despite my being in acute shock, my husband asked me to attend a psychosexual therapy appointment with him.

Driven by my desire to be a “good Christian wife,” I went.

The session felt very strange. On the way home, I had a sudden thought and asked my husband directly if he had been watching pornography. Over the following days, he disclosed a long-standing struggle with pornography and masturbation.

I was devastated.

He was repentant and sought accountability through church support and software. I tried to seek support myself, but the responses I received were unhelpful and, at times, deeply painful. I was encouraged to forgive quickly, and at one point was even asked if I might be “frigid.”

I couldn’t find language or frameworks that fit what I was experiencing. Everything I read seemed to describe more overt forms of betrayal, and I struggled to understand my own reality.

About a month after his disclosure, I agreed to attend further psychosexual therapy sessions with him. Looking back, I cannot believe I did this so soon after such trauma.

Much of that period is now missing or fragmented in my memory. By the end of 2013, I experienced a complete mental health breakdown and was off work for months.

In the years that followed, our sexual relationship was deeply confusing for me.

My body would respond, but internally I felt distress, disconnection, or even aversion. I didn’t understand how I could be physically aroused while emotionally wanting it to stop.
I did not have the language then, but I now understand this as sexual non-concordance.

In 2020, during another difficult period for my husband, I began seeking more informed support for him. In that search, I realised I had suffered betrayal trauma and entered therapy myself. This has been a long process of growth.

In 2021, we began couples counselling, and it was during this time that we realised my husband is autistic, which brought significant clarity to many aspects of our relationship.

In 2025, I began setting clearer boundaries for the first time.

I recognised how difficult it had been for me to speak up for my own needs. I had often controlled situations indirectly rather than expressing myself directly.

In early 2026, after supporting another woman through serious abuse, I experienced a strong trauma response that did not initially make sense to me. This led to a series of intense nightmares about the psychosexual therapy sessions in 2013—memories that had previously been inaccessible.

In these dreams, I saw myself as terrified, paralysed and unable to speak, internally shouting “stop,” but outwardly compliant.

This has led me to a painful realisation:

My theological framework around submission and prioritising my husband’s needs has silenced me.

I believed I was being kind, supportive, and faithful—but in doing so, I lost connection with my own voice and boundaries.

It feels as though I have been harmed by the theology I held. And yet, I also recognise that I embraced those beliefs willingly, which leaves me with a complicated sense of having betrayed myself.

This has brought anger, grief, and deep confusion.

At the same time, I am growing.

I am beginning to differentiate, to understand myself, and to rebuild a sense of safety and agency.

We are currently engaged in a neurodiversity-informed coaching programme, and I am having individual trauma-informed therapy. I am holding onto hope that, with the right support, there may still be a path toward healing—both individually and in our marriage.

I am also reflecting on my place within church contexts. While I am currently in a church that is largely egalitarian in practice, I am unsure whether I can fully express my views on the harm I believe male headship teachings can cause.

For now, I am focusing on my recovery and not making major decisions.

I am slowly learning that healing may look like coming back to myself—with honesty, courage, and kindness.

Thank you again for your work—it has made a real difference to me.

I know so many of you can relate to her story

Whether it’s traumatic counseling situations, or having to make sense of a deeply dysfunctional sexual dynamic and betrayal, you’ve felt like you were crazy, that you were the problem. But you’re not.

And it leaves real wounds!

If you see yourself in this, and it’s still early in your marriage, draw boundaries now. Seek help from a QUALIFIED licensed counselor. Insist that your spouse get appropriate help. Remember that they made certain vows to you, and if those vows aren’t being kept, it’s okay to make a big deal out of it, especially now before you’ve had years of trauma to unpack.

And if you see yourself in this, but it’s later in the marriage, you’re going to need even more help. 

I’ve got a series on how to build a healthy sex life if it’s been deeply dysfunctional here (with multiple posts on how to understand coercion and marital rape too). I hope that gives clarity on whether you can move forward or not (because it isn’t always possible).

But for today, please know: you are not alone. You never should have been put in this situation. And if his sexuality is deeply distorted, that is not on you. At all. 

What do you think? How can we empower people to get help earlier in their marriage? Let’s talk in the comments!