When I was in my 20s and thought I knew everything there was to know about life and relationships, I was certain that when I got married—for it was inevitable that I would end up married—we’d be in it for keeps. My relationship with my husband would be built on mutual respect and a deep, abiding, unwavering love. Of course, of course, we would also share a crackling physical attraction. Sex, I was certain, was the most important indicator of a marriage’s success.
When I fell for Alex*, I congratulated myself on finding a mate who checked all the important boxes. We were crazy about each other and had a great time together, but most importantly, we shared a value system. We followed a pretty traditional trajectory in our shared life together. After dating and falling in love, we moved in together, grew our careers, got married, and had two kids. In that order. I had always been a bit conventional. I sought comfort and consistency over excitement and unpredictability. I’d found myself a life that felt comfortable.
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Losing interest in sex
A little over a decade later, with two kids and two demanding careers, my romantic life with Alex had stagnated. Our libidos had never really aligned, and as the years slid by, his appetite for sex grew as mine shrank toward nonexistence. I attributed this to the usual factors, like stress, exhaustion, and the hormonal roller coaster of childbirth times two. I was also on antidepressants, which had transformed my life and relationships for the better. The price was an additional hit to my libido. I knew I had my reasons for my disinterest in sex, but I still felt incredible guilt. Alex was loving, reliable, and unselfish. He was wickedly smart and wildly attractive too—but for me, the sexual attraction was no longer there.
“Alex was loving, reliable, and unselfish. He was wickedly smart and wildly attractive too—but for me, the sexual attraction was no longer there.”
Alex felt frustrated by my lack of desire, but he wasn’t angry. He understood that I wasn’t choosing my low libido. Still, as the years passed and the stressors multiplied, our sex life became one factor in a growing pile of resentment. Alex would make overtures, I would either brush him off or give in half-heartedly, and the distance between us continued to grow. We tried couples therapy, date nights, and solo time away from the kids to regroup. They all helped in different ways, but nothing touched our sex life.
Suggesting an open relationship to my partner
I had a really difficult time with the demands of motherhood, plus a job that required me to be “on” all day. Our kids are hilarious, incredible little people, but they are also incredibly energetic, noisy, messy, and prone to meltdowns. Neither slept very well, and nights were spotted with wake-ups that left everyone cranky and exhausted. I didn’t have the headspace for intimacy, in the bedroom or outside of it. I had no desire to make myself available to Alex during what little me-time I felt I had. Finally, I suggested he see other people.
I was desperate to alleviate some of the guilt and pressure I felt in my life. After years of waning attraction, I didn’t even think I’d care much to know Alex was sleeping with other women. I wanted him to be able to have a sex life—I felt like he deserved it. And as cold as this sounds now, sex felt like one thing I could outsource to give myself a break.
“As cold as this sounds now, sex felt like one thing I could outsource to give myself a break.”
We joked about it at first, and floated the idea to another couple we were close to. The husband thought we were crazy. They had two young kids themselves, and he said he “couldn’t imagine adding a side-piece” into the chaos. The wife was quietly a bit more understanding. She wasn’t sure she would ever be willing to open her own marriage, but she knew me well enough to know that it was a realistic option for me and Alex.
Exploring sex with other people
We set ground rules. As contradictory as it sounded, we both wanted our marriage to work out. Alex would be upfront about his situation with the women he met. Ideally, he would find someone equally as interested in no-strings-attached sex. But he also didn’t want to date around for new partners all the time; he wanted to be as discreet as possible, both for my sake and the sake of his public-facing career. Alex hoped that he could find a regular partner, someone interested in a long-term arrangement.
We considered this an open marriage, but it wasn’t open on both sides. I still wished for a more exciting sex life, but not with another man. And I knew I couldn’t hold up the terms we’d agreed to. Sex and love were too tangled up in my mind. I knew the chances were good that I’d fall into something like love. Alex did not feel the same way, but I always knew there was a risk he’d fall for someone else, too. It was a risk I was willing to take.
“Sex and love were too tangled up in my mind. I knew the chances were good that I’d fall into something like love.”
One night after entertaining some friends at our house, Alex told me he was heading out to a local bar. I knew what that meant. I woke up around dusk the next morning, just as Alex was returning home. A few hours later, we packed up our kids to spend a week at the beach with Alex’s family. We didn’t talk about his night away from home, but I felt an odd sense of exhilaration about it. I imagined him at a bar, chatting up another woman. I could picture them smiling and flirting, and instead of feeling jealous, I felt something like satisfaction. On that trip, Alex and I had sex. I initiated it. The pressure I’d always felt had eased some.
“We didn’t talk about his night away from home, but I felt an odd sense of exhilaration about it.”
Alex’s encounter didn’t miraculously transform our marriage. Through the next year, we struggled with most of the same issues we always had, just not our sex life. One evening, he left the house angry after we had bickered, and I got a text from him right away. “On my way,” it read. “Can’t wait!” A few seconds later, he texted, “Oops! Sorry, that was meant for my buddy.” It was an obvious lie, and it was the first clue I had that he was seeing someone regularly. Still, Alex never shared details with me about what he did outside the house, and I didn’t ask. I felt a little thrill at seeing the text, for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But I pushed it aside and we continued as usual.
Questioning if an open relationship was right for us
Several months later, Alex took a solo trip with a friend for a week while I stayed home with the kids. It was something we’d agreed to years earlier as a way to continue the less kid-friendly travel we loved. I had taken a trip abroad the year before with my best friend, and now it was his turn.
But Alex’s trip came during mid-winter when I was already feeling caged up and bored, not to mention the usual seasonal depression. Nothing much happened during that week, but we didn’t talk while he was gone, and I felt a distance from him when he returned. One night, we sat up late talking after the kids were asleep, and I sensed that something had shifted. I said we should consider separating, which is something we had spoken about before. But this time, he agreed. I suspected right away that he now had someone to fall back on.
“I said we should consider separating, which is something we had spoken about before. But this time, he agreed. I suspected right away that he now had someone to fall back on.”
For the first time since we’d agreed to an open marriage, I began asking questions. Yes, he had a girlfriend, he admitted. He’d been seeing her regularly for the better part of a year. She knew about us, about our kids. When I asked why she had agreed to the arrangement, he said they had a mutual attraction, were both lonely, and enjoyed sex. I was crushed, but what did I expect? I pressed him further. Alex said he felt I’d fallen out of love with him. He said that seeing this other woman had softened the heartbreak.
Deciding to fight for our marriage
We talked late into the night. Alex was very upfront in answering my questions. They’d met at a bar, saw each other a few times a month, and while she wasn’t the only woman he’d been with, she was the only one he’d seen regularly. When I asked if he was in love with her, he insisted the answer was no. But he admitted that he’d been debating whether to call it off or dive in deeper. It felt like they’d been seeing each other for too long to continue to consider it casual.
I still struggle to explain, even to myself, how my outlook on our relationship changed that night. By the end of our conversation, I felt a connection to Alex that had been dormant for years. I had no desire to pursue the separation I’d suggested earlier in the night. Suddenly, all I wanted was to preserve this marriage and hold tight to Alex. Maybe it was jealousy over his relationship with another woman, or maybe I’d just needed a wake-up call. I still haven’t worked it out, but following that conversation, I was ready to start fighting for my marriage again.
Finding each other again
It felt like the exhilaration of falling in love. Suddenly, I couldn’t get enough of Alex, and he enthusiastically reciprocated. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other and couldn’t wait to get the kids to bed for some alone time together. Not only were we taking the time to go out together, but we stayed up late talking and got our kids a sitter so we could spend some overnights away. We became more adventurous and uninhibited with one another, and shamelessly honest.
Alex shared stories about his experiences meeting women, and we folded them into our own nights out. We pretended to meet for the first time at a bar, and flirted openly with other people. Fantasy and role-play had never really entered our relationship sphere before. It felt new and exciting but also comfortable and safe.
Reflecting on where we are now
It would be so satisfying to say that our experiment with open marriage resolved all of the lingering problems Alex and I had in our relationship. But life is only that neat and tidy on the big screen. Alex and I still face the same stressors as most couples trying to get by. We still have to navigate the sometimes overwhelming terrain of raising little humans. And a few months ago, we welcomed our third baby to the world (surprise!)
Alex and I didn’t become immune to the chaos of building a life and family together. And the heat of our little romantic renaissance has cooled some, as we both knew it would. But we also know that spark is still there, and needs as much tending as our more conspicuous priorities.
I sometimes look at Alex now and try to imagine myself as the other woman—how lucky she’d be to share this life with him. At times, it hits me that he spent a year of our marriage having sex with other women. I know that has been enough to sink even the strongest of relationships. But now that I’ve been in one for so many years, I know that sex isn’t the one true measure of the strength of a marriage—at least not mine. It’s just one of a million factors that ebbs and flows, that requires patience and consideration and imagination from two people determined to keep choosing each other.
*Name has been changed
