It’s one of those nights, and I’m feeling it—down, drained, and slightly grumpy. Honestly, it’s a pattern. By the end of the day, after being in constant motion with eight dogs, juggling my work-from-home chaos, and keeping this life together, I’m fried. Who wouldn’t be? It’s not that I don’t love it—this is my life, my home, my little universe—but damn if it doesn’t leave me feeling wrung out by the time night rolls around.
And tonight, it’s not just the dogs or the workload getting to me. It’s personal. Deeply, awkwardly personal. But let’s be real, you’re here because I don’t sugarcoat anything. This is my space to be honest, and if it’s uncomfortable, then you can click away. No hard feelings.
Here’s the thing: I’ve been married to Anthony for eleven years. Eleven incredible, wild, beautiful, and sometimes hard-as-hell years. I adore him. He’s my everything, my partner for this lifetime and any others the universe decides to throw at us. But let’s talk about the elephant in the room—or rather, the lack of one in the bedroom. We don’t really have a sex life. Yeah, I said it.
And let’s get it straight—this isn’t about bashing him or airing dirty laundry to get attention. This is me trying to untangle my own feelings, to figure out why the hell intimacy feels like it’s on life support. Because it’s not like I don’t want it. God knows I do. But every time I try, it’s like hitting a wall. Tonight was just another example of that.
I’ve been busy all day, grinding away at this computer, trying to get my art ready for the website. It’s my passion, my creative outlet, but it takes a toll too. And after all that, I thought, “You know what? Let me shake things up.” So, I sent him a message—nothing fancy, just a little flirty, a little sexy, suggesting we meet in the shower for some fun. What did I get in response? An “OMG” emoji. That’s it. Not a wink. Not a “hell yeah.” Just… that. And I felt deflated.
This isn’t new. Every time I try to bring up sex or intimacy, he either shuts it down or redirects the conversation so fast it gives me whiplash. It makes me wonder—am I not attractive anymore? Am I too much, too often, too something that he doesn’t want to engage with me like that? We’re together all day, every day, working from home, and maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe we’re too comfortable, too close all the time, to feel the spark anymore. Or maybe it’s something deeper, something neither of us knows how to talk about.
Next month, he’s starting college to become an EMT. He’ll be out of the house, doing something meaningful and intense. And part of me hopes that maybe the space will do us good. Maybe he’ll miss me in a way that reignites what we’ve lost. But right now, tonight, it feels like a long shot.
I didn’t sign up for celibacy. I’m human. I have needs. I didn’t take some vow to abstain from sex just because we’ve been married for over a decade. But here I am, feeling like I’m asking for too much every time I even hint at intimacy. I could try harder—God knows I could. But after so many rejections, it’s hard not to feel like giving up entirely. What’s the point of putting in the effort if it’s never reciprocated?
And yet, I love him. More than anything. This isn’t about love—it never was. It’s about connection, about feeling wanted, desired, like the fire we had when we first started isn’t completely snuffed out. I’d marry him again in every lifetime, even if it means nights like this, feeling like I’m shouting into the void.
So, yeah, that’s where I am tonight. Raw, frustrated, and a little heartbroken. But hey, this is me—honest, vulnerable, and unfiltered. If you’re married, maybe you’ve been here too. If you haven’t, count your blessings. And if you have, you know exactly what I mean. Maybe it’s something we all face after years together, or maybe it’s just me. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m not giving up. Because love is worth fighting for, even when it feels impossible. But damn, throw me a bone every once in a while, right?