Sleeping Inches Apart, Feeling Miles Away

 There was a time when going to bed was my favorite part of the day. It wasn't because I was tired—it was because I knew it meant uninterrupted time with my husband. Just the two of us.

We would crawl into bed and spend time talking about our day, laughing about random things, cuddling, kissing, and just enjoying being together. Sometimes we'd roll over and fall asleep, and sometimes that closeness would naturally lead to sex. No matter what happened, I always felt connected to him. That was when were the closest we have ever been. 

Now, I dread bedtime.

We walk into the bedroom, the lights go off almost immediately, we exchange a quick "Good night. I love you," and then I lie there waiting to hear him start snoring.

How is it possible to spend every single day with the person you love—from the moment he gets home from work until the moment he leaves again the next morning—and still feel so incredibly alone?

How can I miss my husband so much when he's lying right beside me?

Last night I cried myself to sleep because I miss him. Not just physically—I miss feeling close to him. I miss feeling like he couldn't get enough of me in the little ways that mattered most.

I miss the random hugs. I miss him wrapping his arms around me while I'm cooking or washing dishes. I miss him reaching for my hand while we're driving. I miss the way he would put his hand in my hair when he kissed me. I miss feeling like he wanted to touch me simply because he loved being close to me.

Those things don't happen anymore unless I initiate them.

When he gets home from work, he'll hug me, but throughout the evening it's usually playful grabs at my butt, smacking it, jiggling it, or looking at me in a way that makes me think he wants me sexually. Those things make me feel like he's attracted to me, so by the time we go to bed, I think maybe tonight will be different.

But then bedtime comes.

The lights go off.

I get a quick peck goodnight.

And that's it.

He doesn't reach for me. He doesn't kiss me the way he used to. He doesn't touch me. He simply rolls over, gets comfortable, and falls asleep.

It's confusing because the signals throughout the day make me think he wants me, but at night, when we're finally alone, it feels like that desire disappears.

Even when we do have sex, every single time the lights are off. We never really get to look at each other. We never get to watch each other smile or laugh or enjoy one another. We never get to make eye contact or truly take each other in.

Ironically, I used to be the one who hated having the lights on. I was self-conscious. But I'm married now. I know my husband loves my body. I know he doesn't judge me or criticize the way I look. Somewhere along the way, I stopped worrying about what he sees.

Now I wish he wanted to see me.

People always joke that women are the ones asking for the lights off while men want them on. Somehow, we're the opposite. I'm not saying I want bright lights every time we have sex, but every once in a while would be nice. To me, it's not about seeing every inch of each other—it's about intimacy. It's about feeling connected enough to actually look at one another. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if he just doesn't care about the intimacy and just cares about getting off, and that thought breaks my heart.

Lately, I've been craving my husband in a way I haven't felt in a long time. Not because I just want sex, but because I want him. I want the closeness, the intimacy, the connection that comes with feeling desired by the person you love.

The night before last, we had the most amazing, intimate sex we haven't had in a very long time. It wasn't just physical—it felt emotional. It reminded me of us.

Afterward, I didn't feel finished not because I wanted another orgasm. I felt unfinished because I wanted more of him. I wanted to stay connected. I wanted him to keep touching me, to keep holding me, to make me feel like he wasn't ready for the moment to end either.

I laid there for a long time debating with myself. Part of me wanted to take his hand and place it on me, but another part of me felt embarrassed. I kept telling myself not to ask because I didn't want to feel rejected.

Then I reminded myself, "He's my husband. He's always told me that if I ever wanted him, all I had to do was ask."

So I reached for his hand.

As I started guiding it toward me, he quickly pulled away and said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. We're not having sex."

It wasn't just what he said.

It was how quickly he pulled his hand away.

It was the tone in his voice.

In that moment, I felt rejected, embarrassed, and honestly... stupid.

I wasn't asking for another round of sex. I just wanted my husband. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel close to him for a little longer.

Then last night, I wanted him again. I wanted to feel that same closeness we had the night before. But as soon as we walked into the bedroom, the lights were already off, his pillow was between his legs, and I knew before either of us said a word that nothing was going to happen.

So I laid there beside him and cried.

The hardest part is that he knew I was crying.

He heard me.

He knew I was lying there beside him crying myself to sleep, and he didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't ask if I wanted to talk. He just let me cry until I eventually fell asleep.

That silence hurt almost as much as the loneliness.

We don't really talk anymore—not about the important things, anyway.

Last night we sat on the couch together for almost two hours. He was on his phone the entire time. I was on mine too, because what else was I supposed to do? We can watch TV together every night, but sometimes I want to actually dosomething together.

Eventually, I asked if he wanted to go for a walk or go outside and play a yard game because I wanted something different. I see couples walking past our house together all the time. I see couples at the gym encouraging each other through workouts. I see people choosing to spend quality time together.

Meanwhile, all we seem to do is sit on the couch and watch television.

I honestly don't remember the last time we had a real date night that wasn't planned by me.

I'm always the one who has to make it happen.

I'll text him on a Friday and tell him the kids are going to my mom's, hoping he'll say, "Let's go out to dinner."

He never does.

The last time I even dropped hints that I had been craving a steak, secretly hoping he'd surprise me and say, "Let's go get one."

Instead, he cooked dinner at home.

And don't get me wrong—I appreciate that. I would have been perfectly happy with a date night at home if it actually felt like one. But instead, it felt like every other night.

We ate dinner.

We sat on the couch.

We watched TV.

That was it.

That's our routine almost every single day.

Every now and then, I just want something different. I want us to go bowling. Go see a movie. Go to Dave & Buster's and play games. Take a drive with no destination. Try a new restaurant. Literally anything where we're spending intentional time together instead of simply existing in the same house.

But unless I think of the idea, plan every detail, and make it happen, we don't do anything.

I don't want to always be the planner.

I want my husband to think of me.

To think about what would make me smile.

To realize we haven't spent quality time together in a while and decide we should.

To understand that marriages don't stay close by accident—they stay close because both people continue choosing each other.

I miss feeling like he chooses me.

Sometimes I feel like we're already that couple who's been married for twenty or thirty years and simply coexists. The couple who goes to bed every night without talking, without touching, without making each other feel wanted. The couple where the next step is sleeping in separate bedrooms.

But that's not what I want for us.

I don't need expensive gifts.

I don't need elaborate vacations.

I don't even need constant sex.

I just want my husband back.

I want the man who reached for my hand without thinking. The man who hugged me from behind while I made dinner. The man who couldn't wait to crawl into bed with me because that was our time together.

I miss feeling chosen.

I miss feeling desired.

Most of all, I miss feeling close to the person sleeping only inches away from me.