Reluctant Wives

Reluctant Wives

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Nearly three years after the wedding, I am coming to terms with being a wife. For the first two years I could never bring myself to say I enjoyed being a wife. I didn’t like being married at all.
I asked my husband if he thought that we would ever move away from my hometown. He said no. I asked him if it’s because I’ve never been known to thrive away. I’m not in love with my hometown, there are lots of places I would rather live, but despite my best efforts the comfort of sameness draw me near.
Sameness. It seems to be a running theme in my mental health. Being a wife was not the same. I was nearly 30 when I married. I had plenty of time to establish a lovely sameness in my adulthood. All of a sudden I had a new last name, odd in-laws, and this guy sleeping in my bed.
To say the first two years were difficult would be an understatement. I would have divorced him in a heartbeat if it was feasible. Not because I didn’t love him. Not because I wanted him out of my life. He was and is my favorite human. But for years I only had my own foolishness to deal with. Now he was in my kitchen, and my bathroom. He was in my bank account and work life. He was everywhere. And he wasn’t perfect. I not only had to deal with my own shortcomings (which is generally easy to do), but I had to deal with another persons shortcomings too. Yikes.
There was way too much change going on. In that time I never thought of myself as a wife. I wasn’t proud to use the word “husband.” I clung tightly to my maiden name especially when I was angry. “I cannot believe I changed my name for you!” Or even worse “I cannot have your mother’s name! She is Mrs. Jones, not me!” When his family would visit and they would laugh easily together in a way I just couldn’t understand I felt like an outsider. “I am NOT a ‘Jones’.”
It seems like it took a really long time, but somehow I have a new sameness. I am a wife. I adore my husband the many moments that I don’t want to slaughter him. He has become my whole world. I don’t have his mother’s name. I have our name. He supports me in all I do, he believes in me and encourages me. Yeah, we have what seems like a lot of arguments. We disagree on perhaps most things. But a nuclear engineer married a princess. It is what it is!
I am infinitely blessed to have him in my life especially as a husband. He is my very best friend. In a perfect world I would have sorted this out before the wedding, but I’m pretty sure the wedding would have never happened. Sometimes you just have to make the leap. I’m not convinced all the attempts in the world to “prepare” for marriage would have worked. There was no preparing me for all the shock involved in intimately dealing with another human. Friendship just doesn’t compare. If my best friend makes me really angry, we can take a little break. There is no taking a break from the person that you share your life with. Any attempts at “taking a break” seem likely to cause more damage.
Finally, taking a break from us would be taking a break from sameness. Lord knows I wouldn’t want that!
Adrienne Jones is a clueless newlywed trying to navigate adulthood. While she has been "playing" grownup for more than a decade,she realizes she really doesn't know much of anything about anything especially men.
She is a hopeless dog-lover with two beautiful rescues called Maverick and Goose. As it turns out, they are hopelessly devoted to their daddy, and with good cause because he spoils them rotten. As a family hobby the Jones' open their home to foster various dogs waiting for a new start.
Conveniently located in the west, the family lives for adventure and basks in the glory of all that God created through hiking and camping.
Professionally Adrienne feels like a bonified member of the Island of Misfits. She has a degree in Emergency Management and is a licensed helicopter pilot. Over-educated and unemployed, she is living the American dream.
http://www.idrathereatacookie.com
The message notification pinged on my phone. A woman, once one of my best friends, was reaching out to me via Facebook. Her message simply read, “Wanted to catch up and see how life was treating you!” I had very conflicting feelings. It seemed with that one single message, a flood of memories surfaced. Some held some great moments and laughter. Other memories held disappointment and hurt of a friendship that simply had run its course. Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked on her profile page to see how the years had been treating her. She was divorced and still...
We met online in October of 2005, by way of a spam email ad I was THIS CLOSE to marking as trash. Meet Single Christians! My cheese alert siren sounded loudly, but for some reason, I unchecked the delete box and clicked through to the site. We met face-to-face that Thanksgiving. As I awaited your arrival in my mother’s kitchen, my dad whispered to my little brother, “Hide your valuables. Stacy has some guy she met online coming for Thanksgiving dinner.” We embraced for the first time in my parents’ driveway. I was wearing my black cashmere sweater with the...
I have this one head. It is a normal sized head. It didn’t get bigger because I had children. Just like I didn’t grow an extra arm with the birth of each child. I mean, while that would be nice, it’s just not the case. We keep our one self. And the children we add on each add on to our weight in this life. And the head didn’t grow more heads because we become a wife to someone. Or a boss to someone. We carry the weight of motherhood. The decisions we must make each day—fight the shorts battle...
Tiny sparkles are nestled in the wispy hair falling across her brow, shaken free of the princess costume she pulled over her head this morning. She’s swathed in pink: a satiny pink dress-up bodice, a fluffy, pink, slightly-less-glittery-than-it-was-two-hours-ago tulle skirt, a worn, soft pink baby blanket. She’s slowed long enough to crawl into my lap, blinking heavy eyelids. She’s a little less baby today than she was only yesterday. Soon, she’ll be too big, too busy for my arms. But today, I’m rocking a princess. The early years will be filled with exploration and adventure. She’ll climb atop counters and...
Dear husband, I loved you first. But often, you get the last of me. I remember you picking me up for our first date. I spent a whole hour getting ready for you. Making sure every hair was in place and my make-up was perfect. When you see me now at the end of the day, the make-up that is left on my face is smeared. My hair is more than likely in a ponytail or some rat’s nest on the top of my head. And my outfit, 100% has someone’s bodily fluids smeared somewhere. But there were days when...
Stop being a butthole wife. No, I’m serious. End it. Let’s start with the laundry angst. I get it, the guy can’t find the hamper. It’s maddening. It’s insanity. Why, why, must he leave piles of clothes scattered, the same way that the toddler does, right? I mean, grow up and help out around here, man. There is no laundry fairy. What if that pile of laundry is a gift in disguise from a God you can’t (yet) see? Don’t roll your eyes, hear me out on this one. I was a butthole wife. Until my husband died. The day...
A couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at Chick-fil-A a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 apiece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded, “Not until you finish your nuggets,” to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even...
Twelve years have passed since my mother exclaimed, “I’ve died and gone to Heaven!” as she leaned back in her big donut-shaped tube and splashed her toes, enjoying the serenity of the river. Twelve years since I stood on the shore of that same river, 45 minutes later, watching to see if the hopeful EMT would be able to revive my mother as she floated toward his outstretched hands. Twelve years ago, I stood alone in my bedroom, weak and trembling, as I opened my mother’s Bible and all the little keepsakes she’d stowed inside tumbled to the floor. It...
I tried. We say these words for two reasons. One: for our own justification that we made an effort to complete a task; and two: to admit that we fell short of that task. I wrote those words in an e-mail tonight to a friend I had for nearly 25 years after not speaking to her for eight months. It was the third e-mail I’ve sent over the past few weeks to try to reconcile with a woman who was more of a sister to me at some points than my own biological sister was. It’s sad when we drift...
In the winter of 1985, while I was halfway done growing in my mom’s belly, my parents moved into a little brown 3 bedroom/1.5 bath that was halfway between the school and the prison in which my dad worked as a corrections officer. I would be the first baby they brought home to their new house, joining my older sister. I’d take my first steps across the brown shag carpet that the previous owner had installed. The back bedroom was mine, and mom plastered Smurf-themed wallpaper on the accent wall to try to get me to sleep in there every...

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Insight and support for Christian husbands
A whole lot of husbands who read our blog and/or listen to our podcast feel sexually neglected in their marriage. They might not have had any sex for a long time in their marriage, they may be experiencing a dry spell, or they may simply feel their wife agrees to sex only out of obligation and not from a desire to intimately connect.
One way or another, she’s holding out on you.
And it hurts. This woman whom you love, whom you vowed to share life with, whom you find beautiful … is reluctant to give you the physical love you long to have.
Our Knowing Her Sexually (KHS) Ministry focuses on helping husbands better understand their wives and what might reach them in their isolation, draw them out, and tap into their sexual interest. But today, I’m turning my eye to the wives. What do I wish I could say to that reluctant wife?
As soon as I spoke those words, a fair number of wives would look at me like I’d grown a unicorn horn and say, “What do you mean it’s not about sex? That’s what he wants—sex!” To which I would respond, “Yeah, but the sex isn’t just about sex. It’s about feeling loved, accepted, and connected.”
Now, all that happens in a physical way that involves pretty great pleasure (if you’re doing it “right”), but the intense desire isn’t simply for physical release. Higher desire spouses long for something deeper. Ejaculation—or orgasm for women—may scratch the itch, but it doesn’t soothe the soul.
I’d share with a reluctant wife some of the heartfelt emails I’ve gotten from husbands telling me how much they appreciate their wives and how lonely they feel without sexual closeness. I’d point them to my post on Hot, Holy, and Humorous about how a sexually rejected spouse feels . I’d share Chris’s posts for wives about his emotional need , his hurting , and facing that truth . I’d ask them to go read what husbands themselves say when asked, “What do you wish women understand about male sexuality? ”
I’d hope somewhere in there, a reluctant wife would realize that her husband doesn’t just want sex. He wants intimacy with her .
Women are told so many lies about sex, it’s hard to even know where to start. So what I usually do is ask a reluctant wife what her beliefs about sex are, and then I can address specific messages that have impaired her understanding and embrace of God’s design for sexual intimacy.
That’s a long list, but it’s still not comprehensive. Each wife has her own story, with its own twists and turns, and it’s worth listening to that story, sitting with her in her hurt and frustration, and answering the doubts and frustrations she’s had.
But yeah, I’d want her to know that we women (and men) have been lied to, and it’s time to reclaim what God intended for us and our marriages.
When I was living my worst sexual experiences (pre-marriage), I lacked understanding of God’s design, the emotional strength to resist the lies, and strategies to maintain sexual integrity. But in some ways, what I lacked most was imagination. I couldn’t imagine doing much better; being in a loving, covenant relationship with a husband who desired me as much as I desired him; having a God-blessed sex life.
I’d settled for a junk-food diet of fake intimacy when God wanted to give me the real gourmet feast. But I’d never experienced that feast, and my imagination—or really, my faith —wasn’t developed enough to give me a taste of what that might be like.
For so many reluctant wives, I wish I could cast the vision, show them what could be , if only they would step out in faith that God can heal their hearts, draw them closer to their husbands, and build mutually satisfying sexual intimacy in their marriage.
What if , I would say, having sex with your husband felt less like a physical obligation and more like a passionate longing? What if you could feel all those tingles of falling in love again, over and over? What if God really wants his precious daughter to enjoy the marriage bed He gave her?
Again, I would tailor my what ifs to her story, with some other common themes being:
All of it comes down to: What if sex could be wonderful—not just for him but for you ?
Finally, I’d assure wives that they don’t have to change that much—they just need to take that first step, then the next, then the next.
Yes, eventually a lot of change may, and should, happen for reluctant wives. But they aren’t expected to transform tomorrow. The destination is less important right now than getting on the right path.
I’d help a reluctant wife identify the next one, two, or three things to work on. Once those changes have become habits (and sorry, but that takes an average of 66 days ), then she can identify the next steps and work on those. And over and over, until she sees positive results she only imagined before and knows and feels the beauty of sexual intimacy in her marriage.
I’ve been around long enough to know that some wives wouldn’t be receptive to any of this. But I’ve also been around long enough to know that some would, and some who aren’t receptive now store such thoughts and mull them through later or hear the message from another source at another time and are convinced.
Hope is not dead just because you can’t see right this moment how things will unfold. Keep praying, keep talking, keep having hope.
And we’ll keep talking to wives, sharing how much their husbands tell us they love their wives and God’s design for sex in marriage.
February 17, 2022 February 17, 2022
Do you think maybe you could tell her that church/school/work/community activities will get done without her constant attendance? You think maybe you could shake her by the shoulders and say, “WAKE UP! You’ve got a husband who resents your neglect and a daughter that you drove away with your constant gaslighting! It’s too late to change it, but you can at least apologize and make a pretense of remorse for the past 3 decades!”
You think you could do that? Because she sure ain’t going to listen to it from ME, much less believe she has done anything wrong.
WE HAVE SAID THAT! We’ve talked about that very thing on our podcast for wives, Sex Chat for Christian Wives. I’m sorry that your wife hasn’t had that brought home to her, but we have talked about it to wives. I can’t be everywhere, though, and say everything to every wife. Believe me, we are trying to get the message out!
But as I see you’ve left over 20 comments on our site today with a lot of anger about the lack of sex in your marriage, may I suggest that perhaps your bitterness could be playing a role as well? I’m not saying that you started out that way, but even if your wife had no good reason to withhold for umpteen years, your resentment isn’t going to create a safe atmosphere for her to engage. She is likely to pull away even more. Believe us or don’t, but we’ve heard from many wives who say they might want to turn things around BUT FOR an angry, closed-off, or bitter husband.
Yeah, all my fault; even at the start when she avoided me like the plague on our honeymoon. Believe it or not, I haven’t always been this way. I’m sure you won’t believe me. Yes, I got your email. Don’t worry, I won’t be bothering you anymore.
You mischaracterized what I said. I didn’t say this was all your fault. In fact, I acknowledged that your wife may have deprived you for many years without good reason. What I did say is that your current approach is unlikely to yield any positive in your marriage.
(And for anyone else reading this, yes, I emailed Alan about the 40+ comments he left in the last couple of days on this site and my HHH site. I am more than willing to engage with readers and provide as much insight and assistance as I know how to give. But at some point, when the ranting becomes excessive, personal, and unproductive, enough is enough.)
It took many years of marriage before my wife began to understand one of the points you made above. Sex isn’t about sex.
She viewed sex as closeness and intimacy for herself, but for whatever reason, she assumed it was all about the physical pleasure for me. I think the orgasm gap probably had a lot to do with why she thought that way. There are times she’s content with saving it for next time, but because I want an orgasm every time, she assumed that was all I wanted form the encounter. Sure, having an orgasm is awesome, but I want the closeness and intimacy just as much as she does. It’s not all about the physical pleasure, it’s about bonding with my wife. When she began to understand that we both wanted the same thing out of sex, then our time together started turning into something we both truly enjoy.
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