“When Touch Is Only About Sex”

A Story of Emotional Starvation in the Arms of a Husband


It took me a long time to realize what was missing.
At first, I couldn’t even name it.
There was a strange emptiness I carried around, like hunger in a body that looked well-fed.
A yearning I couldn’t explain.

I was married.
I had someone who touched me—often, even.
But every touch was a prelude.
Every hug turned into a grab.
Every kiss led to expectation.
Every moment of closeness had an agenda.

And so, eventually, I stopped leaning in.

He didn’t notice right away.
He thought I was just tired.
Stressed. Busy.

But I wasn’t just physically worn out—
I was emotionally starving.
Because what I needed wasn’t always sex.
What I needed was comfort.
Gentleness.
Safety.
Someone to pull me in just to say, “I love you,” not “I want something.”

But that kind of affection?
That non-sexual tenderness?
It was rare.
Almost extinct in our marriage.

He didn’t see a problem.
To him, physical affection was sex.
Touching equaled intimacy.
And if we were still having sex, then everything must be fine.

But to me, every time he reached for me only after a long day, only after I’d folded the laundry, helped with homework, washed the dishes—
only after I had done everything else to keep our world running—
it felt like one more thing on my to-do list.
Not connection. Not desire.
Just… obligation.

And that broke something inside me.

Because here’s what people forget:
Women crave physical touch too—
but not only when it’s convenient for someone else’s arousal.

We crave the hand that finds ours under the table.
The kiss on the forehead when we’re stressed.
The arms that wrap around us while we’re washing dishes, not to grope—but to say, “I see you.”

We want to be held, not handled.

But in my marriage, affection came with strings.
Touch was currency, and the exchange rate was always the same.
Every back rub had an expiration date.
Every cuddle came with an unspoken countdown.
If I pulled away too soon, I was cold.
If I said no, I was frigid.
If I needed closeness without sex, he looked confused—maybe even offended.

And so, like many women in my shoes, I began to retreat.
Not because I didn’t love him.
But because I was tired of being seen as a vending machine for desire.
Insert kindness, receive access.
Repeat.

Eventually, I stopped leaning into the hug,
because I feared it would turn into something I didn’t have the energy for.
I stopped initiating the kiss,
because I knew it would lead to a place I wasn’t emotionally prepared to go.

Not that night.
Not again.

And that’s the part that’s hardest to explain—
To friends, to therapists, even to ourselves.

Because it’s not about rejecting sex.
It’s about rejecting conditional love disguised as intimacy.
It’s about mourning the softness we never got.
The affection that didn’t come with pressure.
The love that didn’t ask for something in return.

When I finally brought it up,
I was met with confusion, defensiveness.
"You’re the only one who ever complains about this."
"I thought physical touch was your love language."
"You act like I’m the bad guy just for wanting you."

But he never asked what I wanted.
What I needed.

He never considered that the kind of touch that turns you on
comes after the kind of touch that makes you feel safe.

So, I stopped fighting.
Stopped explaining.
And started grieving.

I grieved the woman I used to be—
the one who used to lean in, open up, reach out.
The one who felt wanted for her soul, not just her body.
The one who didn’t have to flinch when affection felt more like an obligation than a gift.

And when I finally left?
It wasn’t because we weren’t sleeping together.
It was because we were touching all the time
but hadn’t truly connected in years.

So if you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt taken for granted,
If you’ve ever felt like physical affection was just a gateway to someone else’s needs—
I see you.
You’re not cold.
You’re not broken.
You’re not ungrateful.

You’re just tired of being touched by someone
who never really held you.

And once you realize that,
you’ll never settle for anything less than love that wraps around you with no expectations—
just presence.
Just peace.
Just love.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

“When Would I Have Time to Cheat?” — The Story of a Woman Who Did It All Until She Didn’t

Image
“When Would I Have Time to Cheat?” — The Story of a Woman Who Did It All Until She Didn’t They say marriage is about partnership. About lifting each other through the storms, being teammates in the chaos of life, and knowing—deep down—that someone’s got your back. I believed that once. Until I realized I wasn’t in a partnership. I was in a performance. And I was doing all the work while he stood backstage, clapping when it suited him and criticizing when it didn’t. I met Terrence when I was 24. He had charm, smooth words, and the kind of laugh that made strangers turn their heads. He was funny, spontaneous, and had just enough ambition to make you believe he might be going somewhere—eventually. I had goals. I was building a career, supporting my family, taking care of aging parents, running errands, cooking, cleaning, managing bills, and preparing to start a family of my own. He said he admired my drive. Said I inspired him. But somewhere between “I do” and “I’m done,” that adm...
Read more

“If I Have to Do It All, I Might As Well Be Alone” — A Story About Leaving to Finally Live

Image
“If I Have to Do It All, I Might As Well Be Alone” — A Story About Leaving to Finally Live It didn’t happen overnight. It wasn’t just one argument, one broken promise, or one bad day. It was every single day— Doing it all. And slowly realizing that being in a marriage where you’re doing everything… feels lonelier than being alone. That’s why I’m leaving. Not because I want someone else. Not because I’ve stopped believing in love. Not because I didn’t try hard enough. I’m leaving because I’ve done it all—and I’m still expected to do more. And if I’m going to carry the full weight of a life, a home, a family, and my own damn emotions— Then I’ll do it without someone sitting beside me acting like he’s doing me a favor by being present. People say marriage is partnership. That it’s two people, side by side, holding up the roof. But what happens when only one person is holding the house, and the other is just watching? Let me paint you the picture: I wake up first. I pac...
Read more

"Never Again": A Story of Divorce, Freedom, and Finding Peace After Letting Go

Image
"Never Again": A Story of Divorce, Freedom, and Finding Peace After Letting Go I used to think marriage was the final destination. That once you found someone, stood before a crowd, said the vows, and wore the ring, the hardest part was over. I thought love was enough. I thought commitment would carry us through. I thought I’d grow old next to the same person I danced with at our wedding. But life has a way of revealing what love alone can’t fix. Now? I’m divorced. And I’ll never get married again. Not out of bitterness. Not out of pain. But because I’ve learned too much. I’ve grown too wide for the box they tried to keep me in. Because I’ve tasted freedom—and no ceremony could ever replace the peace I have now. When I got married, I believed in partnership. I believed in showing up. I believed in pouring love into another person, building a life, a future, a foundation. I gave my all—emotionally, mentally, physically. But what I didn’t realize was that I was...
Read more