Intimacy Wasn’t the Real Problem

I still loved my husband. I just couldn’t understand why being close to him had started to feel like another responsibility.

This is a little uncomfortable to write about.

But I know what it feels like to experience something you don’t understand, then wonder how the hell you’re supposed to explain it to the person you love.

So, let’s talk about it.

Josh and I started couples therapy because we were having intimacy issues. I knew something had shifted between us, and I wanted us to address it.

I still loved him. I still wanted him in my life. But somewhere along the way, being close to my husband had started to feel like something else I needed to do.

Another responsibility.

Even writing that feels shitty. Who wants to describe closeness with someone they love as a chore?

But pretending I wasn’t feeling it wasn’t helping either of us.

I went into therapy thinking we needed to figure out what was happening between us. What I didn’t expect was how much I would discover about what was happening inside me.

I Never Clocked Out

Looking back, I can see how the responsibilities accumulated.

When my brother moved in with us after leaving the Air Force, I wanted to help him find his footing. Josh and I had already made that transition, and it made sense to offer him that support.

What I didn’t anticipate was how living with my brother again would bring back feelings connected to our childhood—and that enormous sense of responsibility I had felt for him.

Then there was my business. My clients. Family visiting. Later, my mom moving in. Our dogs. My miscarriage and everything that came afterward.

These were people I loved, work I cared about, and experiences that mattered. But somehow, my brain kept putting everything into the same category:

My responsibility.

Someone needed something? I was already thinking about how to handle it.

Someone might need something? I was trying to anticipate that, too.

I wasn’t just doing things. I was mentally carrying them even when nothing needed to be done.

I never clocked out.

Eventually, my marriage ended up in that same category. An invitation to be close could land in my head as another need I was responsible for meeting.

I didn’t consciously decide to see Josh that way. I didn’t even realize it was happening.

That was part of what made it so confusing.

Apparently, Spending Time With Myself Required Practice

Our therapist suggested that I start taking time just for me.

A few hours. Half a day. Something that gave me room to exist without dedicating every moment to someone else.

Sounds simple enough, right?

The first time I tried, I got ready to leave in the morning—and then kept finding things to do around the house.

By the time I looked at the clock, it was about 1:30.

Oh, shit. If I didn’t leave then, I wasn’t going to leave.

So I dropped what I was doing and went.

And then I had another problem: I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Walking around a historic neighborhood, I kept thinking about who would enjoy being there. Josh would like this. Mom would enjoy that. Maya would love this walk.

Even while I was alone, I kept mentally bringing everyone with me.

I had to remind myself over and over:

I am here for me.

It felt awkward. I wanted to go home. I had to practice letting an experience belong to me without finding someone else to share it with or make it worthwhile.

Over time, those days started feeling good. Really good.

I began looking forward to them.

But there was still more going on.

The Part I Didn’t Expect to Talk About

Our therapist suggested that I reacquaint myself with my body.

Touch my skin. Notice what I liked and disliked. Explore what felt good, including pleasure.

My first reaction was that it felt wrong.

That surprised me. When I was younger, touching myself hadn’t been a problem. Why was I so resistant now?

Eventually, I gave myself room to explore. And immediately afterward, I remembered something I hadn’t thought about in years. A small forgotten memory.

When Josh and I were engaged, I had started to pleasure myself and stopped because of a thought:

Why am I doing this? I have Josh now.

That was it.

Somewhere in that moment, I had decided that this part of me no longer needed to belong to me.

I hadn’t revisited that decision. I hadn’t even recognized it as a decision.

When I brought it up in therapy, we explored what it meant to me. I began to see how I had handed over a part of my autonomy because I was getting married.

But as I’m writing this, I realize there’s something I didn’t fully put into words in the episode:

I gave Josh complete control over my sexuality.

In my own mind, I had put that entire part of me in his hands. My pleasure, my sexual expression, my permission to explore my own body—I had tied all of it to him.

Josh never asked me to do that.

That matters.

He hadn’t told me I couldn’t touch myself. I had made a rule for myself that he hadn’t requested. I didn’t even hold him to the same rule.

I was comfortable with him having his own relationship with his body and his pleasure. Somehow, I had denied myself that same freedom.

And yet, there I was, years later, realizing how completely I had accepted it.

Holy shit.

I thought we were going to therapy to talk about intimacy. I hadn’t expected to be examining an unspoken agreement I had made with myself before we were even married.

I No Longer Felt Like I Belonged to Myself

The more I sit with this, the more I realize that the weight of responsibility was only part of it.

Somewhere along the way, I had stopped allowing myself to experience pleasure—including, and especially, connection. In my own mind, I had put all of me in Josh’s hands: my sexuality, my pleasure, my happiness.

I no longer felt like I belonged to myself.

Under that unspoken rule, how could I freely explore what I wanted? How could I connect with myself when I no longer felt like I was mine to do anything with?

Looking back, that’s what I mean when I say I felt disconnected because I had to.

Disconnecting seemed to follow the rule I didn’t even know I was living by. Connecting with my own desires would have meant claiming something I no longer felt was mine to claim.

Meanwhile, I kept taking responsibility for everyone and everything around me.

I had put my own pleasure and happiness in Josh’s hands while making everyone else’s well-being my responsibility.

Where did that leave me?

Somewhere in that combination, I got lost. I felt depressed, and I buried myself further in responsibility. I kept focusing on what needed to be done while losing touch with what I wanted and what felt good.

There was always something to take care of. And I kept taking care of it.

Now I’m beginning to understand how much of myself was getting buried underneath.

Making Room to Want Again

There was another part of this that was difficult to admit.

After rehoming Maya, I grieved deeply. I still miss her. I check in with her new family, and knowing how well she is doing brings me happiness.

As the heaviest grief began to ease, I also noticed that I felt lighter.

I had been carrying so much worry about her needs, our planned move to Japan, and how we would manage everything. I hadn’t understood how much space that worry occupied until some of it was gone.

Then I started noticing little things.

I wanted to hold Josh’s hand. Hold his arm. Cuddle.

Those thoughts began showing up again without me having to make them happen.

It was a strange realization: I had more room to notice that I wanted closeness.

Loving Maya, missing her, and feeling relief could all exist together. That was complicated to sit with, but it was true.

Having some of that weight lifted helped me notice the difference. Alongside what I was learning in therapy, I was starting to recognize feelings and desires I hadn’t felt connected to in a long time.

What I’m Learning

I’m beginning to understand how much responsibility I had attached to the people and things I loved—and how much of myself I had unknowingly given away.

That affected my marriage.

Intimacy was where we noticed the problem. But the work reached into how I spent my time, how I understood love, and whether I believed I was allowed to have a relationship with myself.

I’m still learning.

I’m learning to notice when I’m taking on something that doesn’t have to be mine to carry.

I’m learning to enjoy time alone.

And I’m learning that I can love my husband and still have a body, an identity, and a sexuality that belong to me.

I am allowed to belong to myself.

I’m allowed to feel pleasure. To experience happiness. To notice what I want. To enjoy connection without immediately turning it into another responsibility.

I want to choose closeness with Josh. I want to be present in our marriage because I want to be there, with enough room inside myself to feel that desire.

I don’t have all of this figured out. Some of it is only becoming clear as I write it.

But I finally have words for something I lived with without understanding.

Talking about this is uncomfortable. Keeping it unnamed left me confused for a long time.

If any of this sounds familiar, maybe it gives you a place to begin putting your own experience into words.

Have you ever become so responsible for everyone else that you stopped feeling like you belonged to yourself?

I’d love to hear as much—or as little—of your experience as you feel comfortable sharing.

Until next time,
Cat

I also talk about this in Episode 34 of Cat Unmuted, “Intimacy Wasn’t the Real Problem.” To watch or listen, visit b-unhinged.com and go to Shows → Cat Unmuted.