Sex with husband

I’m 32, been married to Jake for eight years now, and I gotta say, things ain’t what they used to be, especially when it comes to sex with my husband. Back when we were dating, and even the first couple years of marriage, it was like we couldn’t keep our hands off each other—stolen kisses in the kitchen, sneaking off during family gatherings, the whole deal. But lately, it’s like I’m invisible to him. I catch myself staring in the mirror, poking at the extra softness around my belly, the stretch marks from carrying our two kids, the way my boobs don’t sit as perky as they did at 24. I feel like I’m not as attractive as I was, and it’s eating me up inside. Jake’s still handsome as ever—those broad shoulders, that easy smile—but he barely looks at me that way anymore. We’re lucky if we have sex once a month, and even then, it feels like he’s just going through the motions, like it’s a chore or something. I try to spice things up, you know? I bought this lacy red lingerie set last month, spent way too much on it, and when I slipped it on and walked into the bedroom, he barely glanced up from his phone. “You look nice,” he mumbled, then went right back to scrolling. Nice? Nice is what you say about a new throw pillow, not your wife trying to seduce you. I felt so stupid standing there, like some desperate teenager. I don’t know if it’s me, if I’ve let myself go too much, or if he’s just not into me anymore. I mean, I’m not the same size 6 I was when we met, but I’m not a slob either—I work out when I can, chase our kids around all day, keep the house together. Still, I can’t shake this feeling that he’s comparing me to who I used to be, or worse, to other women. I’ve seen the way he lingers on Instagram models or those stupid ads that pop up, all flawless skin and tiny waists. It’s not like he’s cheating, at least I don’t think so, but it’s like he’s checked out. I’ve tried talking to him, dropping hints, even straight-up asking what’s wrong, but he just shrugs and says he’s tired or stressed from work. And yeah, I get it, his job’s demanding, and we’re both exhausted with a 5-year-old and a 2-year-old running us ragged, but shouldn’t we still want each other? I miss that spark, that heat we used to have, when he’d look at me like I was the only thing that mattered. Now, when we do have sex, it’s so… mechanical. No foreplay, no passion, just quick and done. I’m left lying there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what happened to us. I’ve read articles, listened to podcasts, even bought one of those “rekindle your marriage” books, but it’s hard to fix something when only one of you seems to care. I’ve tried initiating, but getting rejected—or worse, that pitying “okay, fine” vibe—hurts worse than not trying at all. I wonder if he’s bored, or if he’s got some secret resentment he’s not telling me about. Maybe it’s not even about me—maybe he’s struggling with something he won’t share. I know men can have their own issues, like low testosterone or stress, but he won’t talk about it, won’t see a doctor, nothing. I’m scared to push too hard and make it worse, but I’m also scared of what happens if we keep drifting like this. I love Jake, I really do. He’s a great dad, a good provider, but I need more than a roommate. I need to feel wanted, desired, like I’m still his girl, you know? I keep thinking maybe I need to do more—lose the baby weight, get a makeover, be sexier somehow—but deep down, I know it’s not just about how I look. It’s about us, about whatever’s broken between us. I’ve been thinking about suggesting counseling, but I’m terrified he’ll think I’m overreacting or that it’ll make things awkward. What if he says no? What if he doesn’t care enough to try? I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to keep feeling like this either—like I’m begging for scraps of affection. I just want my husband back, the one who couldn’t wait to rip my clothes off, who made me feel like I was enough. I don’t know how to get there, but I’m not ready to give up yet. Maybe I’ll try talking to him again, really lay it all out, typos and all, just like this messy, aching heart of mine.

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