I’ve been called Adam, Aaron even Nick. It’s part of life, I know what it’s like remembering people’s names. It takes a while to etch them to memory and it isn’t personal.

It’s perfectly reasonable to correct people on something like this. But I haven’t, I wonder why that is.

Honestly, I think being the grey man is a survival instinct these days.

It’s been niggling me for weeks, I can’t shake this feeling of toxic regret and shame and my name seems to be a trigger. Every letter and phone call seems to make me wince a little.

I’m still angry at myself. I know the me of now is far different to the “few me’s ago”. Life evolves, we change and to define myself by the past is to willingly and knowingly place myself under shame.

I recently heard one of these online self-help soundbite gurus on a reel clip talk about how not correcting people when they get your name wrong means you don’t value yourself. Perhaps there’s some truth to this.

My thoughts are drawn to biblical figures who are renamed by God, Saul the persecutor became Paul the leader, and Simon the fisherman became Peter the rock.

The lesson here is not so much in the names and the meanings but more that they represent the death of the former and the life and new birth that follows. Out with the old and in with the new.

The phrase dying to self is a religious one but in my recovery its an important priority in my life, my own way leads to destruction and oblivion. By putting my ways to death it creates space, time and opportunity to be present and show up in my life.

The process of that death that gives life is what my self-care looks like. I guess what I wrestle with is that my name represents a stunted, flawed and broken individual and I am still trying to make peace with that past without avoiding ownership and accountability.

While walking with my partner today she jokingly said I’m tired so I’m going to sleep, we happened to be on a hike with a little bit further to go, she closed her eyes as I held her hand and carried on walking and thought I was going to lead her in a ditch so she opened her eyes. I laughed and said, the problem isn’t where I will lead you, it’s that you don’t trust me.

This was a bolt of lightning moment for me. It’s exactly what my relationship is with my higher power, letting go of the steering wheel is so hard to do. Coping with life’s stresses with my addictive behaviour was like my vehicle suspension, I thought it was giving me a smooth ride.

I recently met with a fellow addict and we discussed what things were like for us in “the bubble” I used this week’s language of experience, I’ve been playing a video game with my partner, and we each take turns to make our way through the story of the game.

We observed how we both approach the game from a different angle, she explores, solves problems and builds up her inventory and equipment so that she can take on the bosses at various stages. A wise methodology that mirrors her pragmatic and patient approach to life.

On the other hand, I try to go straight to the monsters and try to beat them too soon. The trouble is I roam from one side quest to another and don’t stick to one thing.

I get distracted and take ages to make progress because I am ill-equipped, and not ready for the foes I face. I have the capacity for so many tools to defeat enemies but wonder in with one potion and expect to progress to victory but fail miserably. (Sounds a lot like basic me)

All of a sudden life sounds like a video game, I work on my inventory, and I know that there are many solutions to life’s puzzles, stresses and monsters.

I guess the lesson I take from the shame of one’s name, is a simple one, it’s all about the repetitive act of self-forgiveness.

I try to keep my focus on experience, strength and hope but from time to time there is an element of theory that needs exploration to gain a greater understanding.

As far as addictions go, sex addiction carries greater societal shame than its substance and other behavioural counterparts, often inducing outrage when discussed in a cultural setting. Many sex addicts work very hard to live in privacy and live a life of amends and carry the message discreetly, some live under a rock and live in the shadows.

I’ve not been comfortable with the idea of living under a rock, the programs mantra of from shame to grace leads me to focus on the redemptive latter than the former, I try to own my identity as a recovering addict while preserving my anonymity. Shame has to become a healthy boundary keeper rather than a monstrous accusor.

Recently I found myself on a sex addiction subject algorithm rabbit hole. There seems to be an ongoing debate over whether sex addiction is a disease or disorder, a legitimate addiction or a label for individuals of low moral fabric.

While this debate rages on, the real questions should be about the cause and what could be done to remedy the suffering of addicts and those affected by the fallout.

I find myself amazed, thinking why isn’t porn identified for the toxic cancerous industry that it is. Consumers and performers alike are victims on opposite sides of the coin, and a coin is an apt metaphor given the billions it generates every year.

Why are lads in their 20s needing viagra to perform sexually? And why are stats indicating that young people increasingly encounter oral sex before their first kiss? Pornography availability has exploded in the age of broadband and wifi and contributes nothing positive to the human experience.

In the stories of many addicts of all kinds, the common theme in shares, is that they came to their maladapted coping as early as twelve years old, some even before that, The distorted thinking that often finds it’s roots in childhood, leads me to believe that education is a great means of prevention. But how are we to go about better education when the modern day teacher of all things sex is porn, social media, celebrity culture?

As a seasoned veteran consumer of print, VHS, DVD and digital porn, my sexual compulsive behaviour would descend on me like a fog, despite my best efforts to swear off using or keeping things as beige and “normal” as possible, I would be overrun by what I can only describe as brain malware. I was more of a passenger than a driver.

We have the phrase, cunning, baffling and powerful when we remind ourselves of our powerlessness to overcome our addictive behaviour alone, originally coined by the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous in the “Big book” it’s a phrase all twelve steppers will be familiar with, from the gambler who despite all logic creates a financial black hole in their life regardless of the consequence, or the alcoholic who continues to drink after recently being kept alive when organs pack up, only to crack open another crate as soon as they can lift an arm to drink.

We all know that the things we did as addicts living in ignorance of our “disease of choice” only happened because we were not in our right minds, we had no brakes, and the perceived high far outweighed the possible consequence. We existed in contradictions sellotaped together by distorted thinking.

Sex addiction has been joked about, and ridiculed as an excuse for getting caught and I even laughed it off in the past saying “isn’t everyone a sex addict”? The irony was completely lost on me at the time.

The formative years are becoming all the more complex in our culture, making identity, gender, orientation and mental health some sort of human tapestry of dysphoria.

I have to stay away from issues of political and cultural debate as I find them quite depressing and to take care of little old me, I have to live my life in the present. Experiential-based living without getting sucked into the vortex of theoretical arguments that further nothing but divide and segregate us.

It seems that disunity, anger and outrage are currencies that are performing well. While intimacy, empathy and forgiveness are in shorter supply.

While medical professionals disagree with one another over the legitimacy of sexual compulsivity as a bona fide addiction, I thank God for those who choose to work with humans. As a recovering addict, a label or a status of disease isn’t important enough to me, what is important is that I get well and stay well, that I live a life of love, intimacy and authenticity, a life connected to others.

The world seems obsessed with the expression and recognition of the individual.

For me, all of my individual-centric focus landed me in a spiralling existence of shame, stunting and suppressing my authentic self.

In connection to others and dying to self (to use a religious phrase). I find purpose and true empowerment.

I hope that in time people can talk about the things that nobody likes to talk about, and we may then see some positive change in the area of people getting help.

Recently in the rooms of recovery, we read the opening chapter of Dr Patrick Carnes’ book “Out of the shadows” its detailed and gritty examples of how sex addiction destroys the lives of those locked in its orbit, was a difficult read, even for those of us living with the condition. Surely if we are uneasy with this, how much more is the rest of the population?

What may surprise you is that Out of the shadows was written in 1983, the year I was born and long before the internet.

It shows that this is a human condition and the internet is more an accelerant than a cause of this particular fire. I often felt many resentments towards the age of living with so much technology, heaven knows I would never have happened upon half of what I did were it not for high-speed internet with endless avenues and shady sewers to explore.

That being said, the internet isn’t some ethereal entity floating around but more like a supermarket whose shelves get filled with what we find, linger upon, consume, destroy, revisit and create a demand for more.

A disease of choice? As long as I am living out of the shadows, that’s all that matters for now.