This is Room #5 in my Social Anxiety At Home series. If you are new around here, you might refer back to the intro post, where you can also find links to the individual rooms as they become live.
This is actually the first post for this series that I wrote. I was originally planning to make this a series about Social Anxiety in Marriage, but soon realized that it needed to be more. This room scares me the most to post. I’ve read through it a hundred times, wondering if I should write it differently, since it doesn’t exactly match the other rooms. But I’m going to be brave and leave it as I wrote it originally. Then I’ll go hide in my closet until the dust settles…
My husband and I have been together for over 26 years and have had fairly regular sex almost all that time. You’d think that after that much time having intimate relations with the same person and neither of us having anything to compare to I’d be completely comfortable in the bedroom. That would be one of those assumptions that the saying “You know what you do when you assume” applies to.
Now, I can’t say how he feels, as I’m trying my best to stop doing the “reading minds” cognitive distortion, but I know there are times that I feel completely awkward and uncomfortable. I realize this is a very personal topic and I’m hoping my husband never comes across this post, as I’d hate to embarrass him. However, I must be absolutely clear that everything in this post is about my anxious thoughts, not reality. Maybe someday I will get to the point where I can share these thoughts with him (would probably be the healthy move), but for now I’m writing it out to help myself (and maybe you) see this situation for what it is. Social Anxiety, not reality. Here we go…
After a busy week of volunteering for school field trips and forcing myself through more social interactions than I’ve had in the last month, all I want is a day to recharge. For me that means sleep, scrolling Instagram, blogging, reading, and generally being alone. Thankfully, hubby has work to be doing for school and has disappeared into his study and I’m left to do exactly what I have planned.
And then it happens. I go into the living room to let a dog outside and he comes out of his office with that look in his eye. The one that says “let’s get frisky.”
“Hey, there,” he says as he puts his hand on my waist, wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and moves in for a kiss. I know it’s coming, but his “No one’s home, if you’re interested. It’s okay if you’re not,” makes me feel like I should to be interested. It has been awhile, given our busy schedules, and I’m due with my period soon, so if I say no today it might be a long while before the opportunity will arise again.
In my mind, I feel like I have to say yes. That I should want to say yes. What does it say about me that I’d rather go to my room and read a book about other people having sex rather than have sex myself? So of course, I walk into the bedroom and begin to disrobe.
“With or without toys?” is his question. He’s recently been adding the use of vibrators. On the one hand, they are effective. On the other, I feel uncomfortable saying they are more effective than just regular sex these days. So I simply say “Doesn’t matter to me” and leave the decision up to him. Because I fear my decision would be the wrong one.
“You’ll probably get more out of it if we do, since it’s been awhile.” While he’s most likely come to this conclusion because he’s afraid he’ll finish too fast, it doesn’t stop me from feeling like that’s an indication that I’m lacking in some way. When I look at it logically, I know that’s not right. He’s simply being a thoughtful partner that wants me to have as much pleasure as him, if not more. He really is mindful of me and not at all selfish in bed. Which sometimes feels like too much pressure. Today is one of those times.
There’s not a lot of foreplay involved in married sex. Sure, we may not leap right to penetration, but most of the time we’re both naked before we even get in the bed. Today is no exception. He reaches for me and begins to kiss me lovingly. Instead of fizzy bubbles of anticipation, all I can think about is our smells. I am uncertain, but I am pretty sure he hasn’t brushed his teeth this morning. I think about suggesting it, but don’t want to offend him. Besides, I hate the taste of his toothpaste. I try to get my mind off of that and start wondering if I used deodorant this morning or if I forgot. Or maybe it’s him that needs to. Really, why am I noticing so many smells when I should be focusing on how things are feeling. Wrong sense to focus on, brain!
He starts up the vibrator and it does the trick of moving my focus to the right one of my five senses. Only, it’s apparently been awhile since it was charged, and it dies before we really get going and my mind slips out of “the zone.” Of course, he’s got a backup and takes the time to make the switch as I lay there wondering if he can smell me.
His lips meet mine again and I try not to flinch at the smell of our combined breath. Really, what is my problem?! I’m relieved when he leaves my mouth and decides to give my breasts some attention. But then his chin digs into my breast and I hold my breath through the uncomfortable sensation and wonder if it’s an indication that something is wrong if my breast is tender. I’m due for a mammogram. Will it find a lump? My mother had breast cancer, maybe it’s genetic.
Focus. I’m having sex, not a mammogram. I like it when my breasts get attention. What’s wrong with me? He’s going to be offended if I can’t get there. He’s going to think he did something wrong and it’s totally not him. It’s me. He’s wonderful and patient and way too good for me. How can he even be attracted to me right now? I’ve gained so much weight in the last few years. There’s no way he thinks this body is hot. It’s just that he is horny in general, not for me specifically, I’m sure of it.
“What do you want?” He asks.
“I don’t know?”
“What do you need?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Well, they can be two different things.”
I don’t know how he doesn’t know exactly what’s going through my mind. Surely he knows I’m not completely in the moment. He tries. When he does enter me, with the vibrator still in, hoping to get me to climax, I flinch. “Too much?”
“Maybe a little.”
He adjusts things and the next thing I know, he’s done. And apologizing that he finished and I didn’t. I try to assure him, “Seriously, it wasn’t you. It was me.”
And that’s the end of it. We don’t talk about what happened because I’m way too embarrassed. We clean up and move to our opposite sides of the house, going back to our own worlds.
Has he moved on, not even thinking about it, or does he think he did something wrong? Is he offended that I wasn’t more into it? Will he think I’m not attracted to him? I totally am, I swear! I wasn’t lying when I told him it was me. Something inside my anxious brain wouldn’t shut up. I couldn’t shut down the anxiety long enough to enjoy the moment. Which makes me even more anxious.
You know, I read romance novels occasionally and the sex scenes are so different from my experience. But all because of me, not my husband. It’s my brain, not the mechanics. I’ve noticed that when I can quiet my brain and give all of my attention to the sensations of the moment, that’s when sex is great. But my brain gets in the way much too often. I wish I had a magic wand that would quiet those thoughts and let me focus on how I feel physically instead. What is it that makes the difference? How can I shut down the anxiety and be my honest self? Why haven’t I figured it out in the last 26 years?
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