How would you like to be loved? Does a deep emotional connection with your partner mean he loves you? What about intimacy; would you say a man who instantly arouses you is your soulmate? Would you be fully content if he buys you all the luxuries you want?
Women seem to be extremely happy in the initial stages of marriage. But after some years, this feeling fades away and is replaced by resentment. They become unsatisfied and feel unloved. The bold ones, opt for divorce or separation, while others choose to stay in “dead” marriages.
Today, many men rely on advice dished out by their fellow men during banter at the bar. Others pick references from Mills & Boons, the British romance novels they read in their youth. But who knows how best to be loved than the woman herself? These four women, who still love their husbands, give their points of view on this subject.
If only you knew the number of times, I feel conflicted when it comes to our marriage. We look good on paper. To the average person, we can even be termed as role models. Out in public, you shower me with attention and gifts. In private though, you do not want me.
I cannot say I disgust you or that you detest me, no. You just do not see me. I could as well be a piece of furniture or a log of wood when it comes to intimacy. Yet you always claim you find me attractive. Of what good are words without action?
It is not for lack of trying on my end. I spent months…years trying to get your attention or some kind of reaction, but your body just never responds. You do not even try to see if your body will respond to my touch.
Every time I bring up the subject of intimacy, you are so unbothered, so nonchalant, as if a married couple not engaging in sex is the most natural thing in the world.
I wish you would tell me exactly why you are okay with this so that we can both come up with a solution. I wish you would love me enough to ensure I’m not lonely while married. Trips to the doctor have confirmed you are okay. So many doctors have given you medication that never seems to work, yet you are still unconcerned. I keep wondering if there is any drug that treats lack of desire, because I feel you do not desire me, yet you love flaunting me as your wife.
You keep saying that you love me and maybe in your own way, you do, but is it enough? Are there happily married couples who are also celibate?
I wish I had statistics, maybe then I would know that this is normal. What does the future hold for us?
This is not the way I pictured married life to be. I thought all men had animalistic instincts when it came to sex. What a rude awakening.
I know I am not in prison, so why am I still here? Because I hope, I trust that there is a way for this to work out. Doesn’t God say, “He knows the plans he has for us? Plans to give us a future and a hope?” I hold onto that because, in most ways, you are kind, caring, and generous. You are truly my best friend. We talk, we laugh and we cuddle, but then it ends there.
I wish you would listen, really listen when I communicate. I also wish you would be more open and let me know how your mind works, and that you would keep your promises, the solemn vows you made before God and man on our wedding day.
I wish you would love me the way God intended for a man to love a woman – wholeheartedly. I wish you would need me the way a man needs a woman. I’d like to feel that passion, that desire…I would love to feel wanted.
Jaoda. That is how I saved you on my phone. “The owner of my home.” That is what the word means in your mother tongue. I chose you, and accepted you as you were. I hurriedly took to the altar and said the vows, which have since been broken by both of us. For that, forgive me.
I chose you to play the role of a God-fearing, loyal, loving, leader, lover, friend, mentor, partner, provider, adventure partner, father, and much more. You played this role very well until things got complicated.
You, on the other hand, wanted a Proverbs 31 woman – submissive wife, mother of your children, partner, lover, family member, friend, cheerleader, chef, and much more. I guess I also excelled in these roles until the script got complex.
None of us was fully prepared for this journey. I expected you to be a stable captain and protector since you were the man. I saw you get scared on many occasions, and I had to be the courageous one. I don’t blame you, I just became brave all of a sudden and that didn’t sit well with you.
Things got heated and I began running. I ran to work or to any other place where I could escape the heat that melted our love and left ashes of resentment, insecurity, hopelessness, regret, and broken vows. There was no peace, no love, no satisfaction, no acceptance, no hugs, no concern in our marriage.
Those who got hurt the most from this were our three children, who were products of our love, yet they witnessed more war than love. They were tormented but not more than me. It killed me to know that I was no longer good enough, and I sought to change the storyline. It was not easy. I had to get off the ship with my three passengers.
Now, I am on a peaceful island of separation, and it has not been easy. I miss your presence even though I enjoy more peace. I write from a place of peace, and I say sorry for abandoning the ship. I had to. I had to rescue the little girl in me. Thank you for making me realise what I needed to heal. I know you will heal. I know I will heal. Please release me.
Release me as I release you. I pray you get someone whose love will put out the anger I ignited. I release you to heal and live your best life. I release myself to find my ordained partner so that we can both be free.
You remain a part of a beautiful chapter of my life. You can write your own story now, I know it is going to end well too.
I thought sex was love. That is what you made me think. I will never forget how you used me as if I were a tool for your experiments.
I was young and naive and I thought being desired was equivalent to being loved. At first, it was exciting. I would tell my friends about it. They envied me.
And every time you had a new experiment, one that left me with bruises, I thought, ‘he really loves me.’
When you started showing me off to your friends, my love for you grew. It was flattering.
When I started hearing rumours of your cheating escapades, you would ask me, ‘Can you even compare yourself with girls I’m being accused of having affairs with?’ Then the sex would somehow erase all the doubts.
I became pregnant and out of the many women I had suspected you were dating, you chose me to live in your beautiful home. I come from a humble background and living in such a house was exciting.
We married and had four children, then everything changed. I realised I needed a helper, a listener, a friend, and a companion; someone I could sit down with on a Sunday afternoon and watch a movie or cook a meal for, together with our children.
I wanted you to help me change diapers at night even though you were the one paying for our two nannies. I wanted you to drop the children off at the football club, even though you were the one who paid for that too, and bought me an SUV. You assumed that because you splashed the cash, I was to do everything else.
I want a husband who is my equal; someone with whom we can discuss family projects before he buys them.
Resentment started a few months after moving to our very big home. You felt like you were a king, and treated me like a slave.
I started dreading the nights you’d be home. I yearned for the long months you would go out of the country.
I slowly started resenting you for not carrying your plate to the kitchen. Or making your own breakfast. Or calling the plumber to fix the sink. I wondered why I ever started washing your inner clothing.
I have been a good wife to you and a good mother to our children, but I don’t know who I am.
Three years ago, a friend showed me a different kind of love. He would help pick up our children from school so that I could rest. He would buy me coffee and books. We would park outside a mall and talk for three hours. He would sit and work on his computer and I would lie next to him. Silent but together. We connected.
I want to tell you the truth, but I cannot. It will bruise your ego.
From the outside, people assume I have everything. Perhaps I do. But this is not how I want to be loved. I have this emptiness that is hard to explain. I have no plans of leaving you, at least not before our children leave the nest. I wish I could openly ask you to get a sexual partner and leave me alone.
I look at you and think to myself, who is this stranger? But did I ever know you? Or was ours a marriage of convenience? Even now, I want the best for you, but I don’t understand how we got it so wrong.
We were once close, or so I thought. I remember our friends refer to us as ‘twins’. You are the one person who seemed to understand me in this cold, hard, lonely world. I remember how I fell in love with you. You took my hand, lay it on your chest, and asked me,” Do you hear that? My heart beats for you.” I was madly in love.
But it was not long before the rumours of your cheating started. An ex here, a workmate there. But I told myself that you were the soulmate I had been searching for, and ignored the red flags. Amid the periods of inconsistency, we had an enviable union. We held each other through some pretty heavy stuff. We promised each other that marriage was forever. But was it?
Our period of dating was quite tumultuous. Moments of bliss, especially when surrounded by friends, would suddenly turn bitter, even when you were unprovoked. It was as though an outside force was keeping count and shouting, “Enough fun, a healthy dose of strife is needed.”
I did not understand it. I chalked it down to my inadequacies. I tried to be better, to understand you better. But the buck did not stop with me. I did not start the strife, so I had no way of stopping it. Had I been wiser, I would have known it was a sure sign of future trouble.
I remember our wedding day. It was big and joyous. But I don’t remember us making any promises to each other as lovers should. We wanted to be companions to each other, and to start a family. We were friends. Good friends. That should have been enough, but was it?
Three years into the marriage, I had lost all my joy. I was a shell of what I had been. Were you abusive? No. But you were neglectful. Almost disdainful. I could never seem to do anything right. I was undesirable to you. I was an unappreciated beast of burden who somehow had taken up most of the household bills. So much was going on in my life that I never stopped to ask myself why I had lost my sense of self.
After years of trying for children, we finally became parents. I cannot fault you for that. You were at every doctor’s appointment. I lacked for nothing. Ironically, it was during this period that I allowed myself the permission to see and feel what I had denied for so long. Your coming home late at night, your financial irresponsibility, the lack of respect for my parents, the look of disgust you often gave me.
I had to ask myself, did you fall out of love with me, or were you just never in love from the beginning? If so, why did you marry me? One thing I have come to realise is that love might not be enough, but its absence is torture.
Now that we are contemplating divorce, I know I cannot get into your world. I know you are not happy as is evidenced by the long days and nights you stay locked in your room. But I also know this is a journey you must take on your own, as I have taken mine. I hope you find your peace as I have found mine.
