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What Happened to Our Sex Life?

Guest post by: Joan Childs

Article Overview: This is a compilation of 7 stories with an introduction. Each story can be its own article. Begin with the introduction and the first story, then add each additional story, one at a time. The stories reflect the sexual dysfunction that occurs in marriages due to mitigating circumstances and conflict that manifests into the bedroom. This stories chronicle how each woman resolved their sexual apathy and dysfunction by going to the source of their issues in marital counseling. These are the kind of articles that Cosmopolitan readers would enjoy!

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What Happened to Our Sex Life?

OH WHERE, OH WHERE DID MY SEXY SELF GO? Every relationship and marriage has its ups and downs. Sometimes the downs can last longer than most relationships can tolerate. However, given tools and resources, couples can learn how to negotiate differences and navigate through the stormy times, often preventing break- ups. One of the most common problems relationships encounter is sexual dysfunction. Sexual dysfunction in women is usually a symptom of another underlying issue that may be conscious or unconscious. There are several reasons why sexual dysfunction occurs with women. It can be due to intra-personal reasons, whereby the issues lie within the woman and not the relationship; or, it can be due to inter-personal reasons, whereby the issues are due to the unresolved conflicts within the relationships. More often than not, these issues do not arise until the couple has either taken the vows or the relationship has progressed to long term. In the beginning, the “honeymoon” stage, everybody’s singing tenor and enjoying the best part. Susan Campbell once wrote that each stage of a relationship mimics each stage of human psychic development. In the first stage, when we are infants, we look to our mothers for all our dependency needs. This stage is called, CO-DEPENDENCY. It’s the stage of “falling in love” when we are adults. All the boundaries collapse and we feel nothing but the magic and splendor of the newness with each other. We meet each other’s needs not unlike how a baby and new mother meet the needs of each other. The baby looks into the eyes of the mother. The mother looks down into the eyes of the baby, and the feeling is, they are one; not unlike the feelings experienced in the first stage of a relationship. We have often heard the couple refer to each other as their “soul mate”. This is the title expressed when we are in this first stage of the relationship. In the second stage of life, called COUNTER-DEPENDENDCY, the child begins to move away from mom and explores the world. This is the beginning of what psychologists call INDIVIDUATION AND SEPARATION. It is part of our normal growth and development. In relationships, we begin to adjust to the same changes. The boundaries begin to pop back up, and each partner moves a little away from each other, noticing the differences rather than the sameness that was seen in the first stage. This is when most marriages and relationships fall apart. This is when the “soul mate” title is often dropped and exchanged to “dog” or “prick”. It’s tough to hang in there and go for a resolution because things begin to happen unconsciously that we are not always in touch with. This is when some of our unresolved childhood issues surface and interface with the issues that are occurring in our relationships. It is the time when each of our pasts, collide with the present and most of us don’t have the conscious awareness, tools, skills, and resources to work it out. Most people are not even aware of how their personal history contaminates their relationships. We grow up in homes with poor role modeling and use that as our frame of reference of how a relationship should be. We bring in our own set of baggage and unresolved conflicts with our parents and unconsciously want to work it out in our adult relationships. So we repeat patterns from the only modeling we knew. Doing what comes naturally, is not necessarily healthy. Without the insight and understanding of all this, we tend to fight it out, often times unfairly, using blaming, shaming and judgment on each other. Most of this behavior we learned in our own homes. This inevitably causes a rift in the relationship resulting in sexual disinterest and/or dysfunction. This is when most couples or individuals in the relationship come into treatment, and this is about the time, it’s too late to repair. However, this is not always the case, and I have found that with discharging the pain, beliefs and hurts from the past, everyone has a chance to make a new start. This of course depends on the willingness of both parties to move forward and if there is enough healthy tissue left to repair. The third state of human psychic development (according to Erik Erikson, a social psychologist), is called INDEPENDENCE. In childhood, this is when we go to school and become somewhat independent, discovering our autonomy and independence. It’s our first time away from home, and we have to face issues without Mom and Dad there to take care of things. As we learn to do this successfully, we grow more self assured and build our self esteem. In relationships, there is no intimacy without autonomy. When we reach this third stage in our relationships, it can be a threat to our partners, as they are not needed as much as in the first and second stages. Depending on the mental health and maturity of each partner, determines how successful they work through this stage. The fourth stage, where most couples never go, with 60% of divorces taking place in the second and third stage, is called INTERDEPENDENCE. It takes years for this stage to mature. This is when each partner supports the autonomy of the other and enriches each other’s life, rather than completes or competes with it. This takes, maturity, self esteem, insight into our own stuff, owning our own stuff and becoming enlightened. It was Socrates who said, "A life unexamined is not a life worth living." Most people require a therapist to help couples get to this stage. The good news, it can be done! All through these stages, the most common reactions to the anger and hurt that arises in ALL relationships, except of course if two people agree never to disagree, and that is not an authentic relationship, is getting “turned off”. That is when sexual dysfunction raises its nasty head. This can happen to both men and women. Sexual dysfunction is one manifestation of a relationship turned sour. It may not be the relationship’s fault. It may be the folks that live inside the relationship that have not done their family of origin work; that is the unresolved issues that have been dragged into the present from the past. Most issues that are the baggage people carry in their gunny sack will get played out in the relationship. If these issues included any abuse, whether, physical, emotional, verbal, sexual, or other, abandonment or neglect that was connected with either/or partner, and worse, if both, then the relationship becomes “the killing field”. This is why it is so important that these matters be treated just like a broken bone. If left untreated, they won't heal on their own and will surely get played out in the relationship, potentially destroying what was once so wonderful. It is important to note that most of us come into relationships with unrealistic expectations, and when our unrealistic expectations are not met by our significant other, that’s when the disappointment, disillusionment and bitterness is born. Our sexuality changes as these expectations are not realized. So changing those expectations are paramount to a successful outcome. Poor role modeling and unrealistic expectations are perhaps the two most common reasons why most relationships fail. It might be worth mentioning that with the onslaught of Viagra, Cialis, Levitra and other sexually stimulating drugs manufactured for men with nothing as yet to match it with for the female gender, it widens the gap in the natural process of aging. Men can maintain their sexual prowess with the help of Viagra, and women are left in their natural aging process without chemical support. This has been a pandemic sexual issue in couples in their fifties. Women are slowing down and men, with the assistance of Viagra and other sexual stimulants are still in their twenties, thirties and forties. The aging factor as it specifically pertains to sexuality, no longer maintains compatibility. In addition, living in the world today, with all its stressors and variables that we cannot control, contributes to the lack of longevity in relationships. What used to be “forever, until death do us part” is less than 60% in marriages today. Our fast world, with high speed technology and high speed advancements, has left the human spirit panting and exhausted just trying to keep up with the times. Our minds and soulful content can’t expand as fast as our technology is moving. We barely speak to each other. Email and texting has become the cornerstone of communication. This leaves us with little time to nurture each other and keep our happiness in perspective. Perhaps our recent economic crisis might be a double edge blade. It may have provided a time for us to slow down, spend less, work together and develop a “team” effort to move forward both economically and spiritually. This could become a blessing for many couples. It forces us to re-examine what is really important. It makes us become aware of our strengths as well as our weaknesses. Adversity can strengthen our relationships or destroy them. It becomes our choice. Here are seven stories of how couples worked through the issues that nearly destroyed their relationships and how the healing raised their level of intimacy both in and out of the bedroom. The stories are true with some facts changed to protect the confidentiality. Not all the stories have resolution. Some are still a work in progress. I highlighted sexual dysfunction which is most common to women who are struggling in their relationships. I am sure that you can find yourself in one or more of these stories. WHY I BECAME A SEX POT JENNIFER’S STORY Jennifer: I was a “hottie”! I had been told this by the boys in high school and men since that time. I had a few nose jobs, a few boob jobs; a pretty face, long, beautiful raven hair that cascaded down my broad shoulders; a body that made men wild. All I had to do was show up! When I married Bob, he thought he had won the lottery! I satisfied every inch of his mind, body and spirit. I sucked his lips, his toes and his cock. We spent the first six weeks in bed which we left only to void, have some coffee and shower. We ordered in food, took baths together, lit candles, drank wine, sucked on cream filled chocolates, danced around the house naked until we fell exhausted into each other’s arms only to do it all over again. And then, something happened that was inexplicable. My sensual pleasuring and sexual needs diminished slowly, and after about a year of marriage. I noticed they vanished completely. Why? I knew I loved sex before. Why had I suddenly gone dry? Why had Bob been unable to titillate the girl who never had to be titillated? Within a few months after our wedding, the lust and thrill we had once known had morphed into a performance and finally disappeared without warning. What made my sexuality vanish? Bob hadn’t changed that much. He still had his warm brown doe shaped eyes. He still stood 6’3” in his bare feet. He still wore the same cologne and the same size pants and shirt. Bob looked just like the picture on our wall that was taken on our wedding day, and, so did I. How could one year of marriage change my sexual behavior so radically? I knew the answer, but didn’t want to admit it. I wanted Bob then; perhaps more than anyone I had ever known. He was kind, sexy, rich and madly in love with me. He could offer me a life style that every girl dreamed about. I knew I made him fall in love with me. It was my mission to do just that. I knew I had the stuff of a femme fatale, capable of bringing most men to their knees. Had I really been in love or was Bob just a conquest? Every man I ever dated lusted for me. I drove them crazy and when I won them over, I dumped them. I never married any of them because I waited for someone like Bob to come along. I felt I could be faithful, sensual and make him happy. Boy was I wrong! If I had to be honest with myself, I just wanted to conquer this guy because he was the hottest, most eligible bachelor around. What a trophy husband he would make. Only I didn’t know this about myself. It was only in therapy that I learned I was an addict; a love addict. I needed men like an alcoholic needs a drink. I thirsted for a man who I could conquer in order to satisfy my low self esteem. Now you may wonder why a woman like me, beautiful, sexy, intelligent and classy would have a low self esteem. After all, I had the face, the figure, an alluring personality capable of getting whomever I chose. How could that be a representation of someone with a low self-esteem? With the help of my therapist and long term treatment, I was able to uncover my authentic self. It wasn’t easy. It took a few years, but it was the best investment I ever made. The rewards were more than I ever expected. In fact, once I realized that my need to conquer men was a result of my abandonment issues in early childhood, I was able to not only heal the little girl in me, but my marriage as well. I used my looks to cover up my pain. The sexier I looked and the more I could get a guy, the more I massaged my ego. My ego had to protect my wounded self. My ego, although trying to help me feel better about myself, was actually causing more damage that good. It wasn’t Bob who caused me to lose my sexuality, it was my toxic shame and pain from early childhood losses that were carried into my adult life and brought into my relationships. My need to conquer men fed my ego, but only temporarily. I needed more and more. It was an insatiable wound that could never be filled. Once I discovered my wounded child and learned how to nurture her spirit and affirm her, (something I had been missing all my life), my true self emerged. I learned how to love myself, something I didn’t even know I lacked. Once I could love myself, I was able to love another. I was fortunate. Bob was patient and relentless. He knew there was someone inside me who was very wounded and needed help. He also knew he could not fix me. He encouraged me to get professional help before we threw in the towel. Our marriage was on the brink of disaster and it was divorce or counseling. I chose the latter and we went together. But soon into the couple’s sessions, our therapist uncovered my history and saw the dots beginning to connect. She suggested I come in and work with her alone for a while. As she uncovered my past, she and I discovered that I had been abused by abandonment and left alone to prove that I mattered. I was an adult child of an alcoholic. My mother drank to bury her pain in the bottle. My Dad was physically and mentally abusive to both my mom and brother. For whatever reason, he left me alone. But the pain I felt when I was subjected to his violent behaviors, felt like they were perpetrated on me too. Most of my memories were repressed I guess because they were just too painful to remember. But I learned that brain memories never die; they become repressed, but then, acted out in some kind of compulsive behavior that fools you into forgetting your past. But, sooner or later your wreckage catches up and bites you in the ass. I used my sexuality to get my needs met; that was all I thought I had, but that never really worked because I had to learn to love who I was. If my parents couldn’t love me, then how was I to know how to love myself? How was I to feel loveable? It was my therapist who mentored me through my past, guiding me and supporting me with tools and resources that I never knew existed. As I healed, so did our marriage and my sexuality returned. Today, Bob and I have three daughters and although our sexual life has shifted from what it was to what it is, we are both engaging in a loving, sexual relationship that meets our needs and enriches our lives. My sexual dysfunction was about me and my history. I had to confront my past to repair my present. Once I uncovered my demons, my recovery discovered me, and my present became authentic. WHY I FAKED MY ORGASMS ANNE’S STORY Anne: Jim and I had been married for six years. Over the six years, I felt my sexual interest wane bit by bit. I remember the nights when we couldn’t get enough of each other. We had no issues experimenting with different fantasies, positions, toys and foreplay. We were playful and laughter filled our bed. We were like kids, feeling a sense of wonder and curiosity with each other. Slowly over time, it all diminished and I had to ask why. Months would go by and I would not have any interest in sex. Then it became a chore, until finally I couldn’t do it anymore. I faked my orgasms for years until sex became repulsive to me. Jim became angry and obsessed with having sex with me. The more he pressured me, the less I wanted him until one day he said we are either going to fix this or end up in court. I knew I didn’t want a divorce, but saw no way out. I was depressed and anxious every time we went to bed. I knew I would have to perform, and it would make me want to disappear. Jim became aggressive and demanding. At first I was submissive; anything to get it over with. But there came a time that I couldn’t tolerate sex or him. That’s when we went into counseling. It was there I learned that I was angry with Jim. I had lost control of my life in so many ways because I was submissive and subservient that withholding sex was my only way of controlling my life. I was unconsciously using withholding as a tool or weapon to gain some control in my life. What I learned was that I had to find my voice. I had to learn how to express myself when I had a feeling. I had so long been avoiding my feelings that I didn’t even know how I felt. I went along with Jim on just about everything. He chose the movies, the restaurants, the vacations and the cars. I had little to say about anything. I was collecting emotional stamps and our marriage was deteriorating because I was too fearful to be honest. I didn’t even know how to be honest. I had suppressed and repressed my feelings so long, that I was split from them. They were buried down there somewhere, but I didn’t know how to reach them. That had been my way all my life. My parents made all the decisions for me, and then Jim got the job. I chose Jim because he was strong and decisive. The very thing that turned me on to Jim when we first met was the same thing that turned me off. I never felt that my opinion was as good as his or that it really mattered. I didn’t even know I had an opinion. When we entered therapy, I could barely speak. The therapist had to guide me through the wall I weaved so well to protect myself. It took months for me to recognize that I was angry. I was not only angry at Jim, but at my parents and all the other people I allowed to bully me or dissuade me from what I wanted, what I needed and what I felt. I was like a robot. I didn’t know who I was. My only recourse to control my life was to withhold sex from Jim until the therapist helped me work through the anger and fear I was harboring from my past. I thought it was my way to exert control over my body. The irony was that I never had control. My lack of sexual desire was my body trying to communicate with me that unless I resolved my issues, my sex life would be a flat line; a representation of death. The next step was to teach us how to communicate. This came long after I learned to recognize and verbalize my feelings. I was so numbed out that I didn’t even know I had a feeling. Instead, I acted them out. Once I was aware of my feelings and learned to express them, my marriage and my life changed. Jim and I talk now. If I have a feeling, I express it. I have learned how to communicate without shame, blame, judgment or criticism. Our therapist gave us tools and resources to use. She taught us how to fight fair and not be afraid to share our feelings for fear it might hurt or anger each other. I learned that there is no intimacy without conflict. My withholding sex and not feeling sexy anymore was my anger being acted out. Once I had permission to voice my feelings and see that the level of intimacy rose, my sexuality blossomed again. I now know that my sexuality is me; not just a part of me, but all of me. If I love myself enough to express my needs, wants, and feelings, then my sexuality will surface along with my self esteem. I could be heard now. I found my voice, I experience my orgasms and best of all, I love having sex! SEX AND $$$$ MAGGIE’S STORY Maggie: I thought I was going to go crazy. I hated Michael, I hated his voice, I hated his walk, I hated his smell and I hated the way he chewed his food. Everything Michael did was repulsive to ortgage. Michael lost his job soon after the recession started and that’s when I lost interest in sex. He was earning a good living as a manager of a major department store. We both thought he had job security as over the years he moved up in the company to an executive position. The company paid for our health insurance, provided a 401K and gave us a 3 week paid vacation. In addition to his yearly salary, we enjoyed the bonus he received every year as the store’s earning increased yearly and Michael took home a nice chunk of change. The money was appropriated for a vacation and some of it for house improvements and new clothes for the boys. In a few months, seven, to be exact, Michael lost his job, his bonus that we had already appropriated for our yearly family vacation and we were about to lose all our health benefits. Two years ago we took out a home equity loan to begin the addition onto the house and this year we were building a swimming pool. All our hopes, wishes and dreams were shattered due to the economic crisis. We were the victims of something we never saw coming. My job was still intact. I was a teacher; however, in order to compensate for Michael’s loss of income, I had to take a second job teaching Pilates three evenings a week at a fitness center. Michael became depressed and his depression infiltrated our relationship. It felt like a malignancy that was gripping us. I became angry and my anger exacerbated his depression and impacted our marriage. We were a mess! My best friend, Phyllis, a therapist, coached me into counseling. She suggested someone she thought could be helpful and who would understand my feelings. Phyllis felt a professional was exactly what I needed and she couldn’t counsel me due to our friendship. Thank God for girlfriends! I made an appointment and with more reluctance than hope, I followed through and went to my first session. I didn’t know what to expect. The problem seemed so obvious to me that paying money for professional help was irrational and not necessary, especially during these critical times and no health insurance to reimburse my costs. Even with health insurance, there had never been any mental health benefits. Anyone with half a brain could figure out why I was so angry. Not so. Being clueless to the therapeutic process, I thought after he heard my lamenting over our economic crisis, he would say something like, “Save your money, use it to pay down your credit card debt and as soon as Michael finds a job, you will be back to normal. It was nothing like that. That was the furthest thing from what he presented to me. Sam, my therapist asked me some questions about myself, my parents, siblings, school, etc. I suppose that’s what they all do on the first session; gather information. Then towards the end of that session he asked what I wanted to achieve from the therapy. “To get my sexy self back in this marriage and feel good about Michael”, I responded without hesitation. “Good. That’s a positive goal. It’s going to take some time and patience, but in the end, the results will be worth it.” In the second session Sam explored some more of my history. When he asked about the relationship between my parents and how they resolved conflicts, I went back to the same old movie. I heard my mother’s hostile words charging across to my father, who stayed silent until he could no longer bear her shrills. Although I had forgotten most of the content, I couldn’t forget her face squinting up revealing her scowl lines between her eyes and ropes emerging from her neck. In that moment I disappeared and morphed into a little girl feeling helpless and scared. I never really understood why she was angry, except that seemed to be her general state as I gazed back thru my rear view mirror in my mind. “My mother was always angry”, I said in almost a whisper. Dad had lost his job. I don’t remember why. It was something about a merger, now that I’m thinking about it. I remember he was out of work for a long time after the company he worked for merged with a company that bought them out. My father had been with them since before I was born. Then without warning, his job was gone, probably replaced by the new company’s staff. “ I went silent for a few moments. I stared into the past. Sam said nothing. He just looked at me as if there was a moment of insight between us. Then I remembered my grandmother, (my mother’s mother) telling me how bad it was when she was married. They went through the Great Depression and had to stand in long lines just to buy bread. She told me stories about the depression that made me feel so sorry for them and so scared that it might happen again. If felt like the movie in my head was giving me hints as to why I was so bitter towards Michael. My unconscious fear had become my rage. It all came to a crashing epiphany. I had carried that nightmare for two generations holding on to both my mother’s and my grandmother’s history shrouded in fear, anger and despair. When Michael lost his job, it triggered my fear and all my family’s history was brought into my present relationship. Michael was the recipient of the collective unconscious of my mother and my grandmother’s history. That was just the beginning of my treatment. Now he had to help me heal those wounds of childhood. Sam used many different techniques in treatment that allowed me to confront my history and how I felt when I was little and too helpless and innocent to fully understand what was going on. I was only a container for the feelings I heard expressed. Sam had to somehow desensitize my past to liberate my present. His tools were designed more for transpersonal work by going into my feelings, leaving the cognitive stuff for later. He used methods that were foreign to my friends who had been in therapy. He called it experiential psychotherapy. I didn’t care what he called it, only that it helped me. In a few months I noticed my behavior changing towards Michael and I felt the tension leaving my body like a ghost. The knot that was living inside my gut left with it. I felt that I had broken the ties with my past and could be free to live my own life. When I looked at Michael, I saw the man I married; not my father or grandfather who so vehemently disappointed my mother and grandmother. I became un-enmeshed from my history. I could now be more patient and supportive to Michael while he was going though this rough patch. With the therapy and giving back the shame to the people who gave it to me, I learned to accept my situation and trust that Michael would work again, and our family would be OK. I learned that life can sometimes throw some curve balls. So, we have to be ready when they start flying out of left field. But, you can’t get to second base if you have one foot on first. SEX AND THE DEAL JUNKIE LIZ’S STORY Liz: Brent and I have been married for seven years. Maybe that’s the magic number; I mean they made a phrase of out it once; THE SEVEN YEAR ITCH. I know it was meant for men, but I think woman can have the same itch! We have no children together, but I have a son and a daughter from a previous marriage and Brent has three children, the oldest girl nineteen and a set of twin boys, sixteen. The kids are a problem and almost tore us apart, but hey, that’s part of the deal. That seems to be an ongoing saga. Blended families are difficult at best. Generally speaking, Brent is a great guy. We have a beautiful home in the suburbs, a family vacation once a year and Brent and I usually take some time for ourselves every couple of months. Sounds perfect, right? Well, it’s not. Brett’s got one bad habit. He’s a deal junkie. He has two phones growing out of both ears, four computers with four different email addresses and he spends more time with them and the gadgets and attachments to them, then with me. His idea of a relationship is to provide well so his wife can be one of his gadgets when and where he wants to use it. Well, I didn’t sign up for this. In truth, I knew Brent loved his toys when I married him. Every new technical instrument that came on the market, he was first in line to buy. What I didn’t know was that I would be on the back burner when his deals and gadgets took priority. My sex life felt like I had to plug myself into some receptacle to turn on, like a computer, and then become a receptacle for him. I felt like one of his gadgets. Yes, we would talk about it; perhaps too often. I didn’t like the way I sounded. I reminded myself of my mother who ragged on my father for spending too much time in the basement building his model airplanes. I once promised myself that I would never be like her. But, like everything else I promised I wouldn’t be like, I seemed to have inherited many of those unattractive traits. However, in deference to me, I would have to say that Brent went beyond using his technical toys as a hobby. They were integrated into him. Brent lived and breathed deals. His gadgets were his vehicles to pursue his deals. Our magic moments on the get-a-way weekends included all his mistresses; that being the gadgets. Brent was having an affair with his gadgets. Talk about an addiction! I tried to find a 12 Step Meeting for Deal Junkies, but as of now, there are none. Some men are sports addicts; some are alcoholics or drug abusers; others are womanizers, sex addicts, etc. Brent is a deal junkie and with that come the tools of the gadgets! I don’t think we ever had a single conversation without being interrupted by his phone, is texts, his email, or his beeper. The beeper has waned a bit since text messaging swept the world. Technology has taken over intimacy and, I hate it. How can a woman who is ready to cum, enjoy an orgasm when those tech noises interrupt the moment? How can I finish a sentence and hold onto my thought while he answers his phone? I feel like I live in an early Woody Allen movie and my competition are his addictions. The worst part is he doesn’t even realize that I’m turned off; and even worse, he doesn’t seem to care. So after seven lonely years, we did what most couples do, we went to counseling. He wanted to know why I thought we needed someone outside ourselves to help us with something that we fix ourselves, but was willing, although reluctant, to go. Brent and I were clearly on two different planets. The therapist, Paul, discovered quickly what was going on. I was not sure how he interpreted it, because I talked nearly the whole session, so it required another just for Brent to tell his side. I found it interesting that what Brent said no way matched what I had said. We saw our relationship as if we were living in two different marriages. Strangely, when Brent spoke, he sounded like a stranger to me. Was this my husband, I thought. Brent’s tone was soft and his words, carefully chosen. He was articulate and appeared very interested in my welfare. I on the other hand, sounded like a shrew, almost hysterical, certainly pressured and frustrated. Brent minimized my complaints, stating that I am over-reactive and tended to exaggerate somewhat. Our perception of the same thing was totally different. The therapist showed us both a picture of a woman that you could see two ways. One looked like an old hag, and the other, a beautiful young woman. We each saw the same picture differently. What an eye opener! Brent appeared relaxed and comfortable; I was clearly angry and agitated. As I imagined, Paul asked to see us separately on the third visit. I gave Paul some history. I loved Brent from the moment we met. He was powerful, flashy, fun, exciting and confident and most of all, very communicative. In fact, I thought we mirrored each other. Although, not quite the entrepreneur as Brent is, I thought I brought a lot to the banquet. I had a background in mental health. I was the director of Social Work at a hospital when we met. Brent had a law background, but slowly recognized his entrepreneurial interests, skills and talent, so he exchanged the practice of law to deal junkie. He was good at both. Actually, his law background enhanced his business acumen. He was charming; people fell in love with him, trustworthy and always on the wave of the newest technology. I was loving, open, intelligent, albeit, not as brilliant as Brent, but could hold my own in any situation. I explained my frustration to Paul, fearful not to vilify Brent, but told him I was concerned that Brent’s priorities were often misplaced. My major complaint was that he had no boundaries; couldn’t say no to anyone and that he didn’t protect me emotionally. I felt like I was second to his business and all the accoutrements that went with it. I also felt that Brent had hypo-mania and would sometimes go the other way; depressed. I explained that these moods could last for years before they would shift. Having had a background in mental health, I told Paul that I thought that Brent was Bi-Polar. In that moment, I felt like I had betrayed Brent, as If talking behind his back. Paul asked me if he had ever been treated for Bi-Polar disorder, and I advised him that he had. However, he was not as compliant with his meds as the doctor had hoped he would be. I wasn’t helpful either. I felt the meds were dangerous, making him worse in both moods, so I did not encourage him to take them, except when I felt he was morbidly depressed. That was not the Brent I knew. However I told him that when he was depressed, that’s when I moved into first position. That’s when he needed me. When he shifted to the manic state, I was chopped liver. “How is your sex life?” “What sex life? Brent is too busy to come up for air, but when he wants it, he wants it and I can’t just turn it on or off to the beat of his drum.” Paul asked a lot of questions about my past and how we met. What were some of the things I loved and liked about Brent, etc? I found myself answering these questions easily. I found more things I loved about him, than not. I praised his intelligence, his self confidence, his kindness, and on and on. It appeared that I was bestowing accolades onto Brent that I had not considered for a while. However, when it came to what I didn’t like, I realized that much of the behavior was out of Brent’s control due to his mania, which he was presently in. My life had become chaotic. Brent’s children hated me upon my arrival. I understood this and tried my best to work around this. They were relentless with their animosity towards me. This was a huge part of my anger. This was where I didn’t feel protected. I thought I had gone out of my way hundreds of times to please his kids. I thought they were spoiled brats who gave no respect to their father or me. They had feelings of entitlement that were excessive. They lacked boundaries, consideration for us, and had their own agenda: to drive us apart and nearly did. But we’re past that now. They live with their mother who also makes our life difficult. She is still carrying rage from the divorce. “Life in a blended family is just not easy”, I said, with my head beginning to bow and tears welling up. We worked with Paul for several months separately and together. My history was a dumping ground for our marriage, as was Brent’s. Paul helped us sort out the muck and mire and separate Brent’s stuff from mine. We learned some tools to communicate and some exercises to strengthen our intimacy and new ways of navigating in our relationship without bumping into each other and banging heads. The key was acceptance and compromise. There were just too many positive things in Brent for me to consider divorce. I had to come to terms with loving him with the gadgets, chaos, disruptive, spoiled kids and risk taking as much as I loved the brilliant, caring, exciting Brent. I had to accept the things I could not change and find my own way through this manic mice maze. I concluded that the good out- weighed the bad. I was smart enough to know that you can’t have everything; that we have to give up something to get something else. I needed to find my voice and to get out of his life and find my own. I had checked out of our marriage to save my life. Sex was all I had left to control it and that was not the answer. I was terrified and found myself spiraling into my own depression. I was becoming somatic and ill from the loss of my own life. Once I realized that two people can live together with two different opinions and behaviors, as long as we didn’t hurt each other, I saw no better way than what I already had. I knew the grass wasn’t greener on the other side and I had to give up my fantasy like everyone else who finally grows up. This was a lot easier said than done. My therapist encouraged me to find my own life and hook up with Brent’s whenever it served us both. He cited my success in past endeavors and helped me make a decision that would ensure my self esteem and self worth without leaving the marriage. SEX AND THE HAIRDRESSER JANET’S STORY Janet: Mark and I were married nearly twenty years. We have four wonderful children, Julie, age ten, Denise, age twelve, , Anthony, age fifteen,, and Michael, age seventeen. Mark has always been a great participant in parenting. If there was a contest as to the world’s greatest father, I think our children would nominate him and I would second the motion. In fact everything Mark did was exemplary. I always felt inferior to his abilities and accomplishments. The only way I felt I could measure up to Mark was to be so pretty and sexy that he wouldn’t notice all my shortcomings and if he did, he would hopefully ignore them. He would often say, “It’s a good thing you’re so cute!” We lived in the gilded ghetto. Everyone in our community were either millionaires, close to being millionaires or multi-millionaires. All the wives had Botox, facial fillers like Juvederm, Restiyn, silicone, etc. The plastic surgeons could make a living just from the women in my community. I’m sure they had a few male patients as well. The women had everything imaginable worked on. My neighbor even had her vagina fixed; and I don’t mean tightened. She had that procedure done years ago. She told me she had it made “prettier”. Anyway, you get the picture by now. All the husbands worked long, hard hours and most genuinely wanted to give their wives and children the best that money could buy. The kids all went to private schools. They all played in some kind of sport activity, had far too much homework and many were so overloaded with extracurricular activities that they were worn out each evening, hardly able to get up for school without prodding from their parents. They were under pressure to perform and succeed so their teachers and parents could feel better about themselves. The competition was outrageous. We were creating the next generation of automatons. Many of my girlfriends, who are moms, stay in bed each morning until everyone leaves. Some, like me, wake up early to make breakfast. Some have live- in nannies and many kids just have to figure out what to eat on their own. Mark was not a typical husband and father. I guess one might think of him as obsessive/compulsive. I certainly did. He had to be the best. His compulsivity affected his health. He developed high blood pressure at an early age. He was only forty-five. His father had a heart attack at the same age. Mark wanted to make everyone happy to a fault. He was also a workaholic. He worked himself sick to make sure we had what everyone else had because his earnings were not quite as high as most of our neighbors and friends, but you would never know that. I mean, he made a very good living, but I guess everything is relative. He just didn’t want to deny any of us anything everyone else had. I suppose it would have made him feel like less than a man. Mark was a control freak and I was a typical dependent housewife, trying to do the best I could to meet his expectations. He was generous to a fault but I never could meet up to his standards. Taking the path of least resistance had always been my nature. I really don’t know what came first; my ineptness or his “take charge of everything” personality. It doesn’t matter, only that we managed to find each other. I guess my dependence was seeking someone who I could count on to take care of me. I didn’t realize when I married at twenty-two that the price would be so high. I convinced myself and everyone else that he was perfect and we made the perfect couple. My father was absent most of my life. My parents divorced when I was ten, but they argued for years, since the dawn of my memory. I was the youngest of three and depended on my two older brothers to do the job that should have been my Dad’s. My brothers resented the surrogate role of Dad and husband they had to take on, and I always felt that something was missing. I was not unlike my mother who cried like a baby most of the time, complaining she had no one to help her. I will admit that except for the crying, I identify most with her. Mark and I rarely had much to say to each other, except perhaps on the weekends when we would go out. But even then, it was always with other couples, most of which I chose and he disliked. One of my positive features was that I was sociable, so I arranged most social events. Our communication with one another was minimal, as we rarely saw each other due to his self imposed heavy work schedule and picking up the slack of what I didn’t accomplish. Mark’s need to “make it” over shadowed everything; although he would take a defensive posture to that. He would justify his long hours and noble effort to the cause of giving the kids and me a better life. I believed him, but somehow, it felt like bull shit. Not that is wasn’t so, but I think he also enjoyed the feelings of being powerful and providing plentifully. He enjoyed wearing the white hat, being “super” Dad, “super” coach, and just plain “Superman!” I am sure it fed his ego to enable my shopping addiction. Now that I think of it, he never said no to any of my wishes, even the ones that were inordinately unnecessary and some that were even risky. Our intentions were good, however the outcome was disastrous. Mark came from a family where he had to learn very early to take care of his mom and younger brother. His Dad was sick from the time Mark was born and died when Mark was eleven. From that time forth, Mark was also the surrogate husband to his mother and the surrogate father to his younger brother. That didn’t play out well for him as he literally had to give up his childhood to become an adult before his time. His training as a child to behave like an adult prepared him for marrying me. So, we each did what came naturally. As the years progressed, so did my plastic surgery. I had my nose done, my eyelids, two boob jobs, regular Botox injections, all kinds of skin enhancements and fillers and I am sure by any standards of the American Psychiatric Association, I was Anorexic. I only ate raw foods and hardly enough to feed a rabbit and worked out excessively. I think it was about control. I had to find a way to balance my life and feel like I had some power over it. I guess those were the ways I did. The other way was to pretend to enjoy sex. In reality I hated it. I can’t understand how Mark couldn’t feel my absence during our love-making; either he never noticed that I was MIA or he never expected or even asked me to initiate any sex; a role he always assumed was his. Our sex life was a reflection of our dysfunctional marriage. I wanted a father to take care of me, so how could I be sexy with a father figure? No wonder I hated it. Strangely enough, Mark never complained. Meanwhile, with all the beauty treatments, exercise, shopping and playing wife and mother, I was exceedingly bored and obsessed with my looks. I was your typical upper middle class Barbie Doll who was an accident waiting to happen; and it did. Yep, just what you’re probably thinking. I had an affair with my hairdresser and Mark found out. Oh, it could have been anybody; anyone who would give me the attention I craved. The hairdresser flattered me with long awaited affirmations that filled my empty ego the same way Mark’s work habits filled his. However, I didn’t expect to get caught. I guess I underestimated Mark’s technical skills and overestimated mine. I wasn’t very good with computers, I phones or a Blackberry. My life was filled with all the excitement that had been missing since the kids were born. Bill, my hairdresser, told me all the things I needed to hear from Mark and rarely did. Bill was the most well known hairdresser in our town, and probably the only one who wasn’t gay. He even styled Mark’s hair as well as the kids. I think it was the sneaking around and the forbidden fruit syndrome that made me feel alive. It overshadowed everything else; most of all, reality and what could be lost forever. I became an addict. I was to find out in therapy that I was cross-addicted with an eating disorder as well. When I think about it now, years later, I can’t imagine how I got away with it for six years. But I did. I guess when each partner fills the neurotic needs of the other, the marriage feels normal, until the pathology pours out the sides and then it’s too late. The marriage was rotting away and neither of us had a clue. Bill was married too. I think his wife knew about us, but it was business as usual for her. After all, this was Bill’s life style unbeknownst to me at the time. He had behaved like a dog all his married life, why should he be any different now. She chose to close her eyes and I didn’t know about all the others he was screwing and complimenting. I was so naïve and self absorbed, that I thought I was the only one. Boy was I in for a shock! Need I say anymore? The things that could have happened and didn’t were miraculous. I could have contracted HIV, Aids, and assorted sexually transmitted diseases. Mark in his blind rage, could have killed Bill as a crime of passion. I could have ended up a widow with blood on my hands and the children fatherless and perhaps even motherless if he decided to kill me as well. God only knows. We landed in therapy because we both knew our marriage was over if some miracle didn’t happen. Even the therapist thought our chances were slim and none. He warned us that this was going to be tough goings and it may not work. There may have been too much damage done and not enough healthy tissue left to save it. I was a mess. I felt so ashamed and guilty that I had done something so vile. I became an object of contempt to myself and Mark capitalized on my feelings, bringing me even lower than I had brought myself. Now, he sounded like my father when he would scold and harass my mother. Although I was only ten when he left the house, I remember his rages like it was yesterday. How could I let something so morally against my value system happen, and for so long? Mark was devastated. He felt cuckolded, humiliated, emasculated, and betrayed by the woman he loved and adored, never considering me capable of such an unconscionable and deceitful behavior. I remember sitting in the counselor’s office trying to get out of my own skin-- escape, disappear---go anywhere to get away from the reality I was confronting. In my wildest dreams, I never expected that I could be capable of such a transgression. I wanted my life back. But I knew there was no way of turning back the hands of time. I had to sit there and own my actions, make my amends, and pray that Mark would forgive me for this most despicable crime I had committed and thrust upon him. Could he ever forgive me, I kept wondering and asking. Could I ever forgive myself? Meanwhile, the therapist wanted to understand what were the elements that created this perfect storm? This didn’t happen once or twice. It didn’t happen occasionally, it happened for six years and it might have gone on for six more if I hadn’t kept the emails and the texts and got nailed. I felt like I was “pinned and wriggling on the wall.” (TS Eliot) Interestingly, the therapist wanted to know Mark’s part in this. Was Mark aware of any disconnection or void in our relationship and if not, why not? I was the easy target to blame. After all, I was the one who committed adultery. I cheated, lied and betrayed Mark. I felt like a criminal waiting to be sent to the gallows. Mark was clearly the victim. The therapist pinned no blame on me or Mark. He said the marriage was a cauldron waiting for this to happen. And if there was to be any blame, it would be due to the pathology we each shared equally and unconsciously that contaminated the relationship. He pointed out the dynamic as opposed to stressing the content. Our work was cut out for us. We made a decision together that day in the therapist’s office, that no matter how hard is was going to be, no matter how long it would take, we vowed to be together. We believed we could come out of this whole and healthy, learning a new way to live together, talk together and love together. The jury isn’t out yet. It’s been four years and some months of many hours of counseling; each of us going alone and together. I can’t tell you how many tears we shed, how many nights we both lost sleep; how many arguments and endless battles we fought. The worst part is how it affected all of us, including my extended family. I want to think it was a blessing in disguise, but the torture still out- weighs the blessing. I would give anything if I could fast forward and see us happy again. I wonder if perhaps divorce might be the better resolve than trying to crawl our way out of this mess. But, we made our choice, and for now, we have chosen to live with it until we can’t live with it anymore. My therapist is trying to help us put the pieces of the puzzle back together by re- constructing our lives from the past. I think it’s easier for me to understand the process than it is for Mark. Mark just wants us to be OK. In the meantime, we keep struggling. Mark’s blood pressure has been affected. He sometimes complains of pain in his chest. We’re both so fearful of the implication. I know that it’s not my fault alone. Mark’s type “A” personality had a hand in it as well; at least that’s what the therapist says. I know I added salt to the wound and plowed into his already fragile ego, which made him try harder than anyone to succeed. I can’t take back what I did, or I would. All I can do is trust the process, be brave and have faith that we are doing the right thing by trying. We’re young and have the years ahead to raise our children and see our grandchildren. This was a sobering event that changed our lives for the better and for the worse. It certainly changed our lives forever. All I can do is to take it one step at a time, one day at a time with hope and prayers that we can find each other again. I want us to work; but if it doesn’t happen, perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. This is one learning lesson that won’t ever be forgotten. SEX IN THE OTHER CITY BETH’S Story Beth: Alex and I were married twenty five years. We had three children; 2 boys, Sam age 23, Brian, age 20 and a daughter, Kim, age 18. The first ten years of our marriage had been good. Although Alex was not a demonstrative man, I always knew he loved me and our relationship was satisfying to us both. For some inexplicable reason, after we were married about ten years, Alex began to withdraw sexually. I was perplexed as our love making was important to both of us. I always enjoyed it and thought Alex was fulfilled as well. Over the following five years, it was apparent that Alex had lost his sex drive and withdrew from me emotionally, physically and sexually. The cuddling stopped; no more pillow talk, no kissing and finally no more sex. When I confronted him, his response was apathetic. When I suggested we get counseling, he was not interested. Alex was twelve years my senior and I had not been ready to give up sex when I was at my peak. We married when I was twenty-three and at forty-eight I was more sexual than ever. I missed our closeness, the fondling and most of all, I missed our intimacy. I felt rejected, undesirable and resentful. I reached a block in the road of my marriage. Confused and bitter, I began to seek my needs outside my relationship. At first I wasn’t aware of my flirtatious affect when I would go out with my girlfriends. But soon it was apparent to them and finally, I owned it. Because I felt so hungry for love and affection, I wasn’t selective with my choices and seemed to be happy just to get the attention of any man; and there were quite a few. My absence from the home grew more with a yearning that seemed to be out of control. I had a voracious appetite to be desired and affirmed and was willing to take it from anyone who was willing to give it. I was still very attractive, and took good care of myself, so I knew the problem in the marriage wasn’t about me. Even Alex assured me that it wasn’t me. “It’s my fault”, he would say when I would confront the issue, however he never offered a solution or showed a willingness to work on it. I am sure I made a contribution to the demise, but without his cooperation, the marriage was over. Cheating was something I would have never considered. It was outside my value system. Yet divorce was not an option. I felt love starved and had no answers from Alex. When I told him I wasn’t ready to live the rest of my life in a sexless marriage, he had no response. When I said that if he wasn’t going to get help and try to resolve the problem, he left me no choice but to find my needs elsewhere. This didn’t encourage him to seek the help we so desperately needed so in time I found someone who would make me feel like I mattered and that I was desirable. I suppose a therapist would say this was a rationalization. I don’t believe it was. My efforts were exhausted and I felt abandoned, thus justified in getting my needs met. The sadness in me was profound, and with each new lover, I felt unfulfilled and confused. The sex alone was not enough to meet my needs. I wanted to be loved; to feel like a woman again. I became depressed and found myself lying to Alex and the kids as I slipped into a depression. My relationship with Alex changed from husband and wife to a critical parent and child. He was the parent and I, the child. We quarreled endlessly, often shouting at each other, and often in the presence of the children. They were subject to this deteriorating and dysfunctional marriage. To make matters worse, Alex lost his job after serving his company for twenty-five years. I think that loss coupled with my missing in action, threw him into a depression as well. We seemed to thrive on insulting one another with disparaging comments that affected each of us and the children. The children shouted at us and each other. We lived like five gutter rats biting and fighting endlessly. Our home felt hostile. I felt like a prisoner. My life was one big nightmare that I felt would never end. We were going nowhere, and I could see nothing but hopelessness. Divorce was out of the question, due primarily to economics. We were forced to live together simply because we couldn’t afford to live apart. I felt trapped, bitter and my temperament around Alex grew into contempt. He lectured me endlessly about my lack of responsibilities to the children as I ran away as often as possible, just to get out of the apartment. We lived in a small, two bedroom apartment in Ft. Lee New Jersey, just across the George Washington Bridge from NY. The boys shared a room and we made a make shift room out of the dining room for our daughter. There was hardly any wiggle room for her and certainly not enough space to have sleepovers and pajama parties. My sons grew tall and angry as they settled into their teens. Privacy was scarce as we all shared one bathroom. The city became my refuge, the escape from my reality. I ran there to catch my breath, because at home, in that tiny apartment I felt trapped and suffocated. But, I was only running away from my unhappiness and had to return each night to the same thing I left earlier in the day. When it was clear that Alex was not going for counseling, I went alone and was told that my marriage was no longer a marriage. I was living together with the father of my children and except for the shouting matches, there was no communication. I felt totally disconnected from Alex and myself. I told the therapist that Alex had checked out five years earlier and I was lonely, frustrated and sad. Despair and desperation had become my constant companions. My childhood had been one and the same. I witnessed my mother and father fight endlessly until my mother learned to ignore him. We were five kids. My mother disappeared into a job as soon as we were old enough to be somewhat independent. My father eventually died of alcoholism. I was eleven. I couldn’t believe that my life mimicked my mother’s in some fashion. My mother never wanted a man again after my father died. She had had enough. Alex wasn’t an alcoholic or drug addict. He really wasn’t a bad guy; just boring, detached and unhappy with me and the way his life was turning out. He didn’t do very much except find fault with the kids and me. Most of the time he was home playing Mr. Mom and tried to compensate for his loss of interest in sex by taking care of the house chores and helping the kids with their homework all the while resenting my absence. He tried to please me. He made attempts at fixing things in the house, buying plants and new household items. He did most of the cooking and shopping. I did my share, but had to work to subsidize the loss of income from Alex’s lost pay check. My job gave me a sense of self esteem and I loved it. I had somewhere to go each day, someone to dress for and felt I was contributing to others as well as myself. I worked in a lawyer’s office in Manhattan as an executive secretary, but mostly, I felt like an office manager. I loved my co-workers and adored my boss. No, I didn’t have an affair with him. This is where my story begins: After many dead end relationships, I met Frank. We met in the elevator of our apartment building. Frank lived on the 8th floor, and I on the 3rd. Frank is Italian, born and raised in Italy and I am Jewish born and raised in New Jersey. I found myself trembling when the elevator was full and we stood silently close to each other. He spoke fluent Italian, and when I heard him speaking Italian on his cell phone, I wet my panties. Months passed with occasional glances and smiles. Finally, I took the first step and said something. His response was affirming and I began to move into that familiar feeling of seduction and coquettishness; an affect that came by me naturally. Frank had seen Alex and I together and assumed we were married. This made any interest he might have had vanish. Frank was not going there. However, I was. I made him my conquest. The more I advanced, the more he retreated. After many months of coffee, tears and laughter, I convinced him that I had no marriage. I explained my situation and made myself irresistible until he capitulated. The months turned into years and then Frank fell sick with an illness that nearly took his life. He fought the cancer with a vengeance that won his battle. All the while, I nurtured him through the toughest time of his life. I stayed by his side night after night, embracing him, loving him and making him laugh until the cancer gave up. I never gave up my fight for him and he never gave up his fight for life. Every night I would cover his body, slip out the door, take the back stairs down to the third floor, slip into the silence of my apartment and fall asleep next to Alex, only to get up early, shower and dress, slip out the apartment in silence, and go back up the back stairs to the eighth floor. I would unlock the door, brew the coffee, and slip into the covers next to Frank. Our kisses started the day for each of us, followed by love making, chatting, coffee and more kisses. By now, Alex had left the apartment to get his morning paper and coffee at the corner grocery store. The kids had left for school and I hopped on the bus into the city, where it dropped at the Port Authority on 175th St. I took the subway to 59th St. and skipped light heartedly seven blocks wearing the smile I had on my face when I left Frank’s apartment to my second most favorite place: my job. Alex never once questioned my relationship with Frank. I explained early on that Frank was gay, but a great guy and we were good friends. That seemed to satisfy Alex. He never dug deeper; perhaps because he didn’t want to. And so the desperate housewife and her gay buddy hung out together for five years. My life had changed. I felt like a caterpillar that had morphed into a butterfly. I was free, flitting about the city like I owned it and happier than I had ever been in my life. I managed two distinct lives and lived in a state of bliss and wonder. I was making up for every lost moment in my marriage. Frank was my world and somehow, someway, I was going to find a way to make a life with him. I did. I made a decision to leave Alex during the sixth year of my relationship with Frank. The economy had taken a dive. People were losing their jobs. Real estate collapsed, the stock market crashed, the country was in economic despair, restaurants were closing; restaurants that had been open since I was a little girl. New York was no different. My boss was feeling the pinch too. Most of his clients were elderly and many had passed on. It didn’t make sense for him to stay in business as the cost of running it out weighed the earnings. He was 84 years old, a widower, and worked to feel productive and alive. He loved his profession and his clients loved him, but I could see the writing on the wall. The time was now. My job ended, my marriage ended and my new life began. Sam had graduated and worked in the city for a bank. Brian was still going to City College and Kim was just leaving for college out of state. I felt my job was done and I could live my life and live out my dreams. I wanted to leave New Jersey and all that was behind except for my girlfriends and my mother. My mother was aging and although she was healthy, I didn’t want her to be left alone. My siblings all lived in other states, and I was the only one who could look after her. Telling her about my life changes was my next challenge. Telling her that I was leaving with a man I had known for six years and had come to love was more difficult than telling Alex. Of course, I was not about to tell Alex any of this. I had to concoct a story so he would never know the truth. Since I had been living a lie so long, that was easier than telling my mother the truth. In the end I learned that what other people thought about me was none of my business. I heard Ellen Degeneres say that once and applied it to my life. Alex seemed unaffected by my decision to leave. I told him I had an offer to work in Florida and wanted to try it for a year. If it didn’t work out, I would return, leaving the door open until time would tell. He was agreeable, perhaps even relieved. This would be the first time he would be alone since we married and the solitude seemed welcomed. The guilt he must have felt from not being able to meet my needs leveraged his ability to accept my decision without contest. Frank was affected by the economy as well. His business had seen better days; however, he had stashed away money over the years so he could comfortably retire until he felt the need to work again. We left for the southern state and decided on Naples. We felt the Gold Coast was too close to New Jersey in many ways and wanted a fresh start in a fresh new place. As we traveled south through the states along I95 we sang songs, laughed, talked and when we stopped to think about what we had done, we knew our happiness

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