Content Note
This post contains honest reflections on emotional and physical intimacy within marriage. Please read gently and take care of your heart first. 💛
My husband visits his mom every Sunday. She lives alone now that all of her kids are grown and married. It seems she likes that alone time. I imagine she would enjoy being able to do whatever she wants, whenever she wants, without having to worry about anyone but herself — being a mom of 9 kids and the widowed wife of a military man. She probably didn’t get to make a lot of choices just for herself; even her marriage was arranged. Still, she gives of herself without complaint. I love her. She’s one of the most beautiful souls I’ve ever met. For some reason, she seems to like me too.
He goes to visit with her, lets her feed him, and takes her shopping. She doesn’t drive, so it’s essential her kids live close enough to help her with such tasks. The grocery-getter is my husband’s Lexus. The thing is massive, completely over the top. It’s only driven to take her shopping and for special, formal parties. It stays at Mom’s. I doubt it has 4,000 miles on it. Once the shopping is done and he’s fed, he sleeps for a good 4-6 hours. Then he gets up, goes to visit one of his twin sisters, and takes our nieces out for ice cream. Almost every Sunday, this is the drill. He’s very generous with his family, and there’s no doubt how much he loves them.
I’m his family too. So why do I feel like I’m a burden and not loved? He was born into his family, but he chose me. Shouldn’t I get at least as much as they do? I’m not talking about material things — I’m talking about his time and attention. The way he sees it, he sees them once a week and he sees me every day. Sure, he has to see me every day. We work together and we have a home together. But we don’t talk. We don’t really spend time together. When he’s with me, unless we’re on vacation, he’s somewhere else. He’s on his phone. He’s talking to various friends or his family. He’s watching his “shows” — soap operas popular back in his home country. He’s scrolling reels on Facebook. He’s playing Candy Crush. Anything that’s not being present with me.
Sometimes he likes me to spend time with him, having a drink at the table in our kitchen. Sometimes we talk a little, but it’s mostly me trying to talk to him. Usually I get cut off at some point because he wants to pay attention to whatever’s on his screen and gets annoyed with my chatter — but I guess he enjoys that I share the space with him. Sometimes we’ll put on a show I like and watch it together, and cuddle. I love that most, even when we’re not talking. It still feels like he’s actually with me. We haven’t watched it in a while — he told me last night to finish the show by myself. He told me this while we were sharing space with a drink, once he got home from visiting his family.
When we went up to bed, I thought we might finally get some cuddle time in. I did get to nestle into the crook of his arm and lay my head somewhat on his chest. I love that. I feel warm, loved, and safe. Then he wanted me to “itch” him in an intimate way. I did. This is a nightly request. Most of the time I don’t mind, but sometimes I feel like I do all the giving to get little to nothing in return. I’m not saying he does nothing for me. I’m saying the scale is very unbalanced. I’ve been trying to count my gratitude, trying to note the ways he shows me he loves me, no matter how small. But sometimes… sometimes I just can’t.
Last night I tried to enjoy my sort-of cuddling. I was cuddling him, but he was busy with his phone. I was making him feel good, but I felt alone. Then came the time when he wanted more than just an intimate touch. I’m in perimenopause, so unless there’s been some intimate touching happening to me, things are sort of not going to happen, or they happen with pain. I don’t feel I should have had to, but I asked. I asked him to make me feel good first. I suggested we use something to enhance the feeling, and he handed me the bottle and told me to do it myself. At that point I was defeated. All I could think was, I don’t matter. Still, I begged him to do it. He refused, so I acquiesced just so I wouldn’t hurt. I tried to hand him the bottle to put it away, and he threw it across the room.
This morning I woke up empty.
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