I am ashamed and angry that as an intelligent woman, I never figured it out until now.
I am a sexual person. In my teens and early twenties, I might have been
called plain slutty. That being said, I think sex can be satisfying,
interesting, comforting and even funny...and to be honest it just plain
feels good. When I began looking for love in my early twenties, the
relationships I found myself in were usually with a similar kind of guy,
charming, macho, handsome, selfish and horny. I would sometimes be a
"typical girl" and not want to have sex every single night.
Fast forward to the fall of my 22nd year and by complete chance, I meet
my husband. He is gentle and handsome. Very funny and extremely smart.He
is a talented musician and an excellent friend. We waited a few months
to have sex and when we did, it was extraordinary! Too good to be true?
Apparently. We were married nine months later and life was grand! The
sex was still amazing but less frequent but we still got pregnant.
All sex stopped.
I gained an absurd amount of weight with the pregnancy and having always
been a slim, good-looking girl, figured that it was me who was the
problem. But still...we were SO good together! We had a similar sense of
humor, we enjoyed the same sports and activities and we told each other
daily how much we loved one another. I would bring up the lack of not
just sex, but the absence of physical affection in general but he would
claim to just be stressed out about money or work and reassure me that
he still loved me very much and that he would do better at showing me.
When we decided to get pregnant with our second child, we conceived on
the first try (lucky for him) and then we didn't have sex again until
the night before I went into labor. And to be honest, I kinda told him
we were going to do it because I really needed to have this baby! Life
remained wonderful and fun and comfortable, but we had sex maybe two or
three times a year with stretches ranging from weeks to months (and
months). In the meantime, my self esteem was slowly slipping into the
toilet and my emotions were in complete turmoil. Here was this man
saying that he couldn't live without me, yet I would get a peck on the
lips in the morning, one at night with almost no physical contact in
between. This same man shows endless love and affection to our girls,
is the most amazing Dad I have ever known and has been a wonderful
provider for our family.
...It has been almost 14 years and we are currently in a 3+ -month dry
spell. A few months back, after bring it up (yet again) he told me that
he felt like he was never going to be good enough for me and that I was
expecting him to be someone he can't be and isn't. I have stopped
making the advances, I don't scoot closer to him on the couch and to be
honest, even just laying in bed next to him makes me want to cry. I
feel so lonely and supremely unimportant. I am constantly keeping
myself in check and won't allow myself to think that something
(anything) might happen because the let-down is just too painful. It
has become plainly obvious that all of these years, I was the one who
made the advances and the first moves and since I have stopped that, he
is content with being roomates. I CANNOT imagine my life without this
man, but I also wither with the thought of the next 40 some-odd years of
no affection. I see-saw back and forth as to if it is more selfish of
me to stay with this man, and continue to build animosity or split up
with him and know that no matter how much sex or hand-holding or
cuddling I could have in the future, that man will not hold the love
that I feel for him, have his smell, or know our inside jokes. Which is
worse?
