A long, long time ago, I stopped having sex with my husband because I “just didn’t feel like it.”
And I didn’t think it was important.
And I was tired and “not in the mood.”
And he’s not a jerk; he didn’t push me.
When we first got together, we were horny for each other, and I often orgasmed when we had our sexy sessions, but usually not during intercourse itself. In my mind, fooling around was for me what sex was for him.
Until it wasn’t.
Two young kids meant four years of breastfeeding and essentially no sex for him (not even foreplay). I was receiving physical intimacy from my kids and had re-upped my on-again, off-again love affair with sugar, a failsafe comfort fix.
The closeness I had with my husband was replaced by a closeness with food and with the children. And then there’s the constant distraction of combining childcare with my career as a love and dating coach.
The sexlessness didn’t even seem strange to me until I hired a coach to help me in my business, who gasped in horror when I described my marriage. Knowing I loved my husband and had no plans for divorce, she asked if I was sure I wanted to tank my marriage. Then it was my turn to be shocked.
I had no idea it was that level of emergency.
Then she said something I will never forget because it burst my bubble so thoroughly and made me question my logic about everything:
“Sex is the only thing that differentiates your relationship from a friendship.”
It was like a loose screw suddenly tightening, and I had to ask myself: was I allowing my husband to turn into “just a friend,” or maybe a friend and a business partner (i.e., house manager and co-parent)? And, if so, what would be the cost to him and to me?
Spoiler alert: I only fully understood the cost when I started having sex with him again.