I discovered something about myself and now I have to tell my husband. I was feeling at odds with me, with him, with the world. I needed to write it all out. The act of doing so has brought me back into alignment.
Meaning, I have taken off my skin, shaken out the crumbs, and now I don’t feel so irritable. Except, well, now we have to have this discussion.
I binge watched a mini-series to escape all that I did not want to face in myself. This morning, I woke at six and wrote it all out.
I discovered I don’t want to bother with sex.
Ugh. There I said it. That’s what’s been on my mind. I’m too old and fat for it, not that I’m fat, but I am overweight, according to medical charts, by about fifteen pounds. I prevaricate. That’s how much I want to avoid this subject.
God. Such a bother. So much effort. Not like when we were young and nubile and moist.
You get the picture.
I love to lie next to him. To hug every morning for long moments after we make the bed. That’s about the tempo of our intimacy these days. Plus, we have a huge bathtub and get in together once in a while and just talk, chitchat, but sometimes more meaningfully.
What self-discoveries we have made lately
That’s one thing that has never changed regarding intimacy between us—the need to talk to one another, not about chores, not about work but about who each of us is in this moment, where we stand with ourselves and each other, what self-discoveries we have made lately.
I think we both wish we were different. Younger, perhaps.
Even if those discoveries are not, shall we say, pleasant.
Except that this isn’t a new discovery. It’s an old one I wish would change. But the older we get that’s not likely to happen.
I need to tell him that’s what I’m thinking about. Again. We talk about making more of an effort. Always the same old discussion, but nothing ever changes.
We exercise. We take long hikes in the mountains together and that’s fun. The baths and the hugs are nice. But I think we both wish we were different. Younger, perhaps. We laugh about getting old, about how difficult it is to stand from a squatting or kneeling position. We groan and exclaim. We laugh at ourselves and each other.
But this sex thing is no laughing matter. We haven’t learned how to laugh about that yet. I hope someday we do. It might be more fun than chastising ourselves for the lack of sex in our lives. In the meantime, we still have fun together, as I said. Just not in that way, or at least not as often, and I wish that was really okay.
This article from the National Council on Aging helped. This: “Sexual intercourse can be enjoyable, sure, but you can build intimacy without it.” Sounds like we’re doing all the right things. How reassuring!