LEARNING TO ACCEPT THE FEELING OF REJECTION

It’s something marriage experts tell us, advice our friends give us, and the main thing we’re told in self-help books and T.V shows: Good communication is the basis of a strong and happy relationship. And not much else has ever tested and strengthened my relationships like talking about sex. 

I’m a true believer that sex is a fundamental component in relationships, and changes, or dry spells, in my own sex life can leave me feeling lost and confused. Why are our sexual needs so taboo to talk about anyways? Why is it that it’s the topic so many couples are afraid to broach? The sex talk can make our palms super sweaty, and make us say “uhm” and “like” more times than we’d ever like to be made aware of. 

My husband and I have been married for a year, together for three, and like most couples, we’ve had to work on our communication — specifically when it comes to our needs in the bedroom. In our time together, there have been some drastic sexual ups and downs.

The first few times I was rejected, it was like being punched in the gut. How could someone whose hands used to be all over me now not want to touch me?

Laura Robbins

If I were to graph our sex life, it would start with a massive spike. When we first started dating, our hands were always all over each other. We would spend days in bed, often only emerging for food to recharge, then returning to the sheets. The graph kept climbing as we learned what the other wanted, how each other moved, and as our confidence grew. Our sex was a mix of fiery and fun, never short of lusty eyes and an awkward giggle. 

I loved us. I loved him. I loved our sex life.  

Eight months after our first date, we moved in together, and soon the graph took a bit of a bump. Living together was exciting, especially for me, who had never lived with a partner before. I loved waking up to him, spending nights on the couch, or having a kiss goodbye before work. But I realized after some time, just because we were now around each other a lot more, didn’t mean we were always with each other. Slowly, the touches became less frequent, the groggy morning routine felt less exciting, and couch cuddles were on a tighter schedule as other things took top priority. 

When we first started dating, my advances towards my husband were usually pretty outright. I felt sexually charged if he smiled at me, or kissed my shoulder in the morning, or if we had seen a sultry scene on T.V. Basically, it wasn’t hard to get me in the mood, and I would employ direct speech to get things going. A simple, “Would you like to have sex?” is usually how I’d initiate, and when the graph was at its peak, this used to end in a, “Hell yes.” 

But as our lives got busier, and we settled into more of a routine, that “hell yes” often became a, “Not today.” 

I turned to friends and openly shared about what I was experiencing. That when I wanted sex, my husband didn’t. That when he wanted sex, I didn’t.

Laura Robbins

The first few times I was rejected, it was like being punched in the gut. How could someone whose hands used to be all over me now not want to touch me? I wanted to act relaxed, low maintenance, so I played it off like it wasn’t a big deal. I’d shrug my shoulders, retreat to the couch, pick up my phone, and pretend like I wasn’t really interested anyways. But in reality, I was holding back tears, and my mind was dipping down into a negative space. A space that was telling me my husband didn’t want me anymore. 

After adding a few more rejections to the graph, my inner dialogue came for me. I overanalyzed every interaction my husband and I had, doubting myself constantly. The impact a simple “no, thank you” had on me was incredible. 

Did I do something wrong? Is it the sweatpants? Is it the way my breath smells in the morning? Maybe it’s because we fought three weeks ago. Maybe he’s still upset about xyz. Maybe he’s not attracted to me anymore. Maybe it’s none of those. Maybe it’s all of those. Maybe I’m just not enough. 

Those thoughts didn’t go away after one night, or one rejection. If anything, they progressed, causing my self-esteem, and the graph, to plummet. There wasn’t any visible distance between us, and from the outside, I’m sure we looked like your average young couple in love. But I, myself, had lost a bit of my confidence. I was second-guessing even my usual interactions with him. 

My husband works from his computer desk a lot, and I would often go over to kiss him on the cheek quickly, or give him a shoulder rub. Maybe I would interrupt what he was doing just to tell him I love him. I used to feel secure in doing that; now I felt confusion and distance, like I was nagging him every time I did any one of those things. 

It wasn’t long before I could no longer shrug off a decline to my advances. Instead, I began to cry or get mad, expressing all my hurt feelings in a way that only caused more pain. I was looking for attention and when I didn’t get it through sex, I tried to get it through coddling. And guess what? Good communication never happened through a face full of anger and tears. 

Then there were times when I wasn’t mentally or physically into the idea of sex, but rather than voicing it, I began to say yes. Even if I wanted to say no. I worried that no sex at all would rip us apart. 

Laura Robbins

To avoid my feelings, I stopped asking him. I waited for him to make a move instead so I could be sure he wanted sex, letting me avoid any feelings of self-doubt. However, this meant I was never taking my sexual happiness, our sexual happiness, into my own hands — and instead, passively (aggressively) waiting for him. And, because I was no longer initiating, I started to feel like less of an equal partner. 

Then there were times when I wasn’t mentally or physically into the idea of sex, but rather than voicing it, I began to say yes. Even if I wanted to say no. I worried that no sex at all would rip us apart. 

I turned to friends and openly shared about what I was experiencing. That when I wanted sex, my husband didn’t. That when he wanted sex, I didn’t. That we were no longer spending four hours in bed like we used to. 

What I found out may not be a shocker to you, but wow, in the moment I couldn’t believe it. Almost all of my friends have, or were going through, sexual dry spells in their relationships. Lives get busy, priorities shift, and while sex might not be on the forefront of both people’s brains, it doesn’t mean they love you less, or think of you any differently.  

So I drew a small line up on the graph again, and began to make sexual moves if I knew my husband had a good day, or was flirting with me a little more. It took a series of yes’s and no’s to my “Would you like to have sex?” advances before I finally understood what my friends had been saying: It had nothing to do with me. 

I thought about the times I turned down sex and what I had been thinking in those moments. I would say no because I was really wrapped up in something else. I would say no if I had eaten something that had made me feel a little ill that day. I would say no if I was so tired from the week’s happenings that I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I would say no for a lot of reasons. And not once, once!, has it been because I’m not attracted to my husband. In fact, he’s always remained my favorite human.

Our sex life is a work in progress, and I think it always will be. I’ve been trying to avoid spiralling into a negative headspace whenever our urges don’t line up. Instead, when the graph spikes up, I am learning to be incredibly present during those moments. And when the graph dips, I’m learning to not take it personally, and turn the moment into a gift of time to do something else. Maybe something just for me. 

As we grow as individuals and as a couple, so will our sex life. People say we learn more from our failures than our successes, so maybe rejection is like that too. Rejection taught me to understand myself better, so I could understand my husband and our relationship better. 

Here’s to an ever-progressing sex life and accepting, heck, even embracing, rejection as a part of that.

photography by Unsplash