“My Boyfriend No Longer Initiates Intimacy With Me”
Now, this year has been a rough year for us. He broke up with me for a few months and then we got back together. I won’t get into it, and no trust was betrayed, but he felt very remorseful about it. We spent the majority of the summer together and for the first couple weeks, our sex life was comparable to how it was before. But the last few weeks felt different. We would often go a few days without having any sex at all, and he wasn’t sexually playful with me anymore.
I brought this up a couple times while we were together and each time he was defensive, we both ended up getting emotional, and nothing really felt solved. He was offended by me bringing this up, even though I tried to center it around wanting to connect with him. He thought I was being superficial and said that that stuff shouldn’t matter to me, and honestly I’m not sure if he’s right, and I feel bad for letting this bother me so much. He also mentioned that I don’t try to turn him on, but I’ve never really had to before and it’s not in my nature as I’m so reserved which he knows. The times I did try to initiate, he wasn’t interested.
Now that we are apart again, he hasn’t brought up anything sexual over the phone. He doesn’t ask for anything and doesn’t react or even reply at all when I do try to entice him with a photo here and there. I am afraid to bring this up again as I don’t want to upset him.
The thing is though — our relationship since getting back together has been deeper, more intense and serious. It’s not like I don’t feel loved by him or like he’s not interested in being with me. He still compliments me a lot, just not sexually. And I feel that we have become closer. The relationship feels more sweet.
Is this sort of change normal? Am I overthinking it? I just feel bad for letting something like sex bother me when everything else seems great. — Bothered By Lack of Intimacy
This is the case of multiple things being true. Yes, it’s normal for sex to wane several years into a relationship (though it’s not a good sign if it’s a unexplainable sudden or dramatic change in frequency).
It’s also true that your boyfriend is acting suspiciously and is dismissing your very valid concerns and attempts at addressing what you consider an issue in your relationship. It doesn’t matter what’s normal for other relationships; this change in your sex life isn’t normal within the context of your relationship and when you ask your boyfriend about it, rather communicate, he tells you it shouldn’t bother you. And now, rather than talk to him, you are afraid of expressing yourself for fear of “upsetting him,” which is an unhealthy place to be.
You have at least two red flags here: the sudden change in your sex life with your boyfriend and his avoidance of the topic/ dismissing your feelings about it. These are pretty big red flags, especially considering that your boyfriend is calling you “superficial” for wanting sex with him. It’s a really strange thing to say to a girlfriend. You deserve an explanation and you should continue asking him wtf is going on until he explains himself. And if he can’t explain himself in a way that satisfies you, or if he continues fucking gaslighting you, you should move on.
I know you’ve invested four years into this relationship, but what you’re describing here doesn’t sound good. Even the part about your relationship being “deeper, more intense and serious” doesn’t negate that your boyfriend is being kind of a jerk to you and acting suspiciously. I’m curious why you describe your relationship as close and sweet when your boyfriend is calling you superficial for asking about sex and acting offended when you bring it up? What part is sweet and close? All the non-sexual parts? Is he only sweet when you aren’t bringing up sex? Sounds like a platonic friendship then?
Look, there’s clearly something going on with your boyfriend. You broke up for a reason and maybe that reason is still present and keeping you from being intimate. What I do know though is that you should never feel guilty for having and expressing feelings. Not only are your feelings normal and valid, you have every right to share them with your partner. And a partner who can’t hear you and engage in dialogue with you without immediately reverting to defensiveness maybe is one you should think twice about continuing a relationship with.
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Wendy’s advice is sounds.
Definitely not normal especially if you are long distance. Something is up. Either there is something physically wrong with your boyfriend or whatever caused the break up is still weighting heavily on his mind. Something is going on and he is not sharing it with you. I would force him to have a real conversation about what is going on and if he continues to disregard your worries and thoughts then it’s a deal breaker.
“This is a case of multiple things being true.” Wendy nailed it. I would look very closely at the things giving you the “this relationship is closer and sweeter” vibe. Could these be tricks to deflect from the intimacy issue? To get you doubting yourself?
Your relationship is dying. I suspect he has someone new who is not long distance, and that you are the fall-back whom he doesn’t want to break up with until he is surer of the new relationship. Long distance relationships are difficult. When they are working, there is a lot of sex on the insufficient (for both of you) times you are in the same place. To be together after a long distance relationship/separation, without both persons wanting intimacy is a very bad sign. Could be he got an STI from a brief encounter and doesn’t want to pass it on, could be he is losing interest and doesn’t want to be the bad guy to initiate the break up, could be he is exploring options and is too cowardly to break up until he is secure with someone new.
Two years ago, if you’d told me I’d be sitting in my cozy apartment, watching my eight-year-old son build Lego towers on the living room floor while I sip coffee in peace, I’d have laughed—or more likely, cried. Back then, everything was crumbling. My marriage had unraveled slowly, held together only by habit and our shared love for our son, who was turning eight when it all fell apart.
My ex-husband was the breadwinner, always had been. He worked long hours in finance, earning a six-figure salary that afforded us a nice suburban house, Disney vacations, and private school for our son. I was the stay-at-home mom, managing school runs, playdates, and doctor’s appointments. But beneath the perfect facade, I had my struggles. A few years earlier, after losing my mom, I’d spiraled into substance abuse—painkillers, mostly, to numb the grief. It got bad, but I hit rock bottom and got help. Rehab, therapy, the works. By the time we separated, I’d been clean for over a year—sober, steady, and ready to rebuild.
The divorce was messy, but the custody battle was a nightmare. My ex wanted full custody, portraying me as unstable and unfit. His lawyers dug up everything: old prescriptions, ER visits, even anonymous tips from “concerned friends” who were really his family. In court, they twisted my recovery into a liability, calling it a “history of addiction” like it defined me. The judge seemed to lean toward him—stable job, big house, no baggage. I was working part-time at a bookstore, barely getting by, and my lawyer warned we were losing ground. “It’s an uphill battle,” he said. “They see him as the provider.” Preliminary hearings favored him; the guardian ad litem’s report suggested joint custody at best, with him as primary.
I was desperate, falling apart. That’s when a close friend stepped in. We’d known each other since college; she was a free spirit, into yoga, crystals, and what she called “earth-based practices”—witchcraft, essentially, though she never pushed it. One night, over sparkling water, I poured out my heart. “I’m going to lose him. He’s everything to me.” She listened, then cautiously suggested someone she knew—a practitioner, more experienced than her, who’d helped people when odds were stacked against them. “No guarantees,” she said, “but it might shift things in your favor.”
I was skeptical. Raised Catholic, I’d drifted from faith, but desperation opens your mind. She gave me the name of an older woman living on the outskirts of town in a cottage filled with herbs and books. I drove there one rainy afternoon, my son with a sitter. The woman didn’t fit the witch stereotype—no pointy hat, just warm eyes and a knowing smile. We talked for hours about my life, my regrets, my love for my son. She asked for his photo, a lock of my hair, and something of my ex’s—an old tie I’d kept by mistake. She led me through a ritual: candles, incantations in an unfamiliar language, visualizing justice and protection. “The universe listens,” she said. “But you have to fight too.” I left feeling lighter, though I figured it was just emotional release. I paid her a small fee and went home.
The change wasn’t instant, but it started subtly. My ex’s key witness, his sister, backed out last minute, citing a family emergency. Then, at a pivotal hearing, new evidence emerged: text messages from my ex admitting he’d exaggerated my issues to “protect” our son. His lawyers scrambled, but the judge wasn’t impressed. My sobriety tests were spotless, and my therapist’s testimony highlighted my resilience. The case that had been slipping away turned sharply in my favor.
In the end, I got 80-20 custody—my son with me most of the time, weekends and holidays split, but primarily mine. The child support was generous, covering rent, school, and a bit extra for savings. My ex fought it, but the judge was firm: “The child’s best interest is with the parent who’s shown consistent growth and stability.” I was stunned. He grumbled about appeals but eventually backed off, maybe realizing he’d overplayed his hand.
It’s been six months, and life feels possible again. My son is thriving—therapy helped him process the split, and we’ve built routines: pancake Sundays, park adventures, bedtime stories. I don’t know if that woman’s ritual was the turning point or if it was just hard work and luck aligning. My friend swears by it, calls it “manifesting justice.” I keep an open mind. That journey showed me strength I didn’t know I had, and maybe, just maybe, a touch of magic exists. Either way, I’m grateful. My son is safe, happy, and with me. That’s all that matters.
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