Stuck Between Mom and Wife: Reclaiming Intimacy

After the birth of our second daughter, our marriage went tumbling down a steep hill and crashed into about a thousand different pieces.

Between the unending sleep deprivation, taking care of two children under the age of three, and the physical trauma that my body suffered from birthing two hefty-sized humans, my relationship quickly resembled a dysfunctional partnership rather than the cheesy love story it had once followed. The severe, debilitating postpartum depression I suffered certainly didn’t add any warm-fuzzies to the equation, and our sex life… well, it was part of the nightmare.

We ended up in therapy, and we quickly learned that our problems as a couple and exhausted parents wasn’t stemming from a lack of love and caring. It was a result of poor and little communication, which was intensified by the fact that I felt an unspoken societal pressure to take care of everyone else but myself.

We had homework after our first therapy session. First, we had to make a point to go to bed at an earlier hour. No more staring at our computer screens until two in the morning. And second, we had to find time to spend with one another- preferably in the morning before the kids awoke- to talk about our hopes and dreams.

Hopes and dreams? I couldn’t resist an eye-roll when I heard that last bit. Here I was struggling to find the willpower to get out of bed, and I was supposed to have hopes and dreams? Was this some kind of joke? My husband insisted we take the homework seriously, though, so I couldn’t escape the sarcastic-snort-inducing advice we received.

It was more difficult than I thought it would be. I couldn’t think of anything. We talked about what he wanted, about the kids, and touched on every subject other than what I hoped for because I simply didn’t have an answer. I went to the next counseling session alone and told my therapist what we had discovered.

“I don’t have any hopes and dreams,” I told her, feeling defeated. “I don’t even care about myself. I feel so blank, like I have no emotion other than anger. And most of the time I feel like I’m stuck in a haze. Everything is happening around me, but I’m just dreaming. I’m not really there. It’s horrible.” And then I said the unthinkable. I admitted that sex had transformed into nothing but a damaging chore- I actually felt used when we did the deed, even though my husband was warm and loving and only had the best of intentions. I didn’t want to be physically close to anyone, and it was impossible to enjoy. The words were tumbling out. I couldn’t stop them.

Together, we determined that I had been focusing so hard on everyone else that I had completely forgotten about myself. You never see the moms on television upset that they haven’t slept more than three hours, or irritated that they have to run the kids around before changing out of their pajamas or drinking their morning cup of coffee. Moms are supposed to be completely selfless 100% of the time, right? My therapist assured me that I was wrong for thinking that.

My homework for that week was to start paying attention to my own needs and communicating them clearly to my husband. If I needed sleep, I was to tell him to get up with the kids. She instructed me to ask for help, to tell the hubby that it was his turn to clean the dishes, and to speak up if I needed an hour in the house alone. I had to have the guts to lovingly stop sex from happening if I wasn’t in the mood.

In other words, I was supposed to admit that I had needs and expect my husband to take care of them. What a concept, huh?

I had to accept that the societal pressure to be just a mom and take care of everyone else’s needs was not only completely unrealistic, but damaging as well. It was making communication impossible and stifling the intimacy I once had with my loving companion.

Within a month, my husband and I discovered a new means of communication. We continued therapy together, and I learned how to ask for help. It was difficult at first, and we both struggled to learn how to listen to each other and communicate without getting upset when we heard something we didn’t necessarily like. With the help of counseling, though, we learned to appreciate how the other was feeling, and to take a deep breath before answering if we didn’t love what came out of the other’s mouth. We started finding positive solutions that we both agreed upon when we hit snags in our relationship.

Then finally, one day, it happened.

My husband looked at me with loving eyes over dinner one night and asked, “What do you want out of life?”. For the first time, I actually had an answer. A tidal wave of hopes and dreams came pouring out of me. I filled the next hour with details of how I longed to move to a bigger city, how I had career goals that I’d never spoken aloud, and how I envisioned our life together with the kids.

And that was the moment at which the healing of our broken intimacy truly began.

Once I’d learned to communicate my needs, not only were they met, but it opened the door to allow me to look beyond just the basic necessities of life. There was plenty of room for me to discover that I had hopes and dreams for a better future as well. It made it possible for me to focus on my relationship with another human being.

Slowly, the physical intimacy followed our newfound communication skills. No longer was I stuck between the life-consuming roles of mother and wife, but instead I had found a clear separation between the two and managed to find my role as a woman as well.

Almost a year past the birth of our second daughter, our marriage is stronger than we ever imagined. But it’s not without constant reminders that I have to take care of myself first and communicate effectively before closeness and intimacy can ever be possible.

Was any of it easy? No way. The therapy, admitting I couldn’t be Wonder Woman, learning to scream ‘uncle’ when I’d had enough, and asking for help… it was all difficult. But it was so worth it. It saved my marriage, my sanity, and gave us the ability to reclaim the intimacy that we had lost.

Tamra is a writer, a dancer, a teacher, and a website designer. Most importantly, though, she is a wife, and a mom to two adorable little boogery girls.