Everyone wants a husband who loves them to the moon and back.
I'm lucky enough to actually have one.
So when I sit here thinking and considering, I want to thank God for my blessings as well.
This painful sex thing may suck and it may be a royal drag, but the godly person that my husband is comes shining through because of it. How many other men would curl around their non-functional spouses and whisper sweet nothings in their ears and mean them, too? How many other men would stick around for this soap opera? How many other men would agree to do whatever it takes, whether it means visiting doctors or therapists or reading sex books or whatnot in order to help me out?
How many other men would deal with being really aroused and having their wife turn them away? And do it with good grace and without turning it into a blamefest?
My man has such a deep, pure, loving heart and for some reason it's easier for me to trust it, to see it and to feel it when I'm alone at home just thinking quietly. It's so much harder to do when I'm actually with him. But that will come with time.
It might also have to do with having an audience for my embarrassment. It's hard to be totally out there sexually or otherwise when the one you're with knows of this deeply personal and embarrassing failure on your part to have a normal sex life. And also knows the problem isn't with him but rather, with you. If I were a man, I'd be feeling emasculated. Since I'm a woman, guess I'm just feeling de-sexified.
How can I think of myself as the free spirit that I was- trusting, open, laughing, free and sexually adventurous (within the bounds of Judaism, obviously)- when the person my body is making me be is so much more withdrawn, shy, upset and worried that I'll just never be able to make this whole sex thing work and be pleasurable? It's a conundrum I don't have the answer to. There's the confident me and then the totally undone-hanging-off-the-hinges version.
My husband claims that he still sees me as a sex goddess, which might be him just trying to make me feel better but also might be the truth because it seems like no matter what I do I am still cherished in his eyes.
It strikes me that we are living a very private and very twisted version of a love story, where the enemy isn't Romeo or the Capulets but my own body. And when we win we'll have triumphed over it. Weird.