Blog it Out

As I get older, I feel like birthdays diminish in awesomeness. I remember how epic birthdays were in the past- a haze of good friends and deliriously happy times. Now the memory of those times creates pressure and birthdays are stressful. The highlight of my birthday this year was counting my facebook well-wishers.

Bringing my fiancé to my session was kind of a bust. He cooperated until about fifteen minutes in, when my sexologist wanted him to compare what his arousal cycle looks like to what he might like it to look like. He basically said he was fine with how it was and that the real problem was the difference in how much sex we want. At the time, to me, he sounded aggressive and resistant. I felt like he was rebelling against the whole idea of being there. Even though I tried really hard to hold it back, I slowly started to cry.

Even though I am terrible at concealing my emotions in general, crying in front of people is the biggest source of embarrassment for me. And I cry easier than most people. But crying in front of anybody makes me feel out of control.

When I first started taking hormonal birth control it got really out of hand. I would have uncontrollable crying jags every couple weeks that would last about an hour, with very little provocation, usually when my fiancé didn't want sex. I would talk and I would want him to talk about it. My crying made him unhappy and he maintained that it wasn't that he didn't love me or didn't find me attractive, simply that sex was more important to me than to him. This is still what he says. But in the last month or so we have been having sex twice a week, compared to once a week in the past. And I have been really happy with that, and haven't heard any complaints from my fiancé (btw I now combat hormonal insanity by using the nuvaring continually to keep myself from having hormone withdrawals).

That's why I was so shocked when he said he thought it was the big problem in our sex life. For the rest of the session I was focused on trying to stop crying and to rein my emotions in. My sexologist gave us some ideas for checking in with each other about the frequency of sex and other 'business stuff' on a regular basis. She also had us role play, each taking on the role of the other to try to develop empathy.

I mentioned in a previous post that in session I sometimes leave out things I think are immaterial. I would have left out this whole-not-so-cute-and-pretty part of our relationship. But there it was, staring us in the face. Right before my birthday date.

My sexologist left us alone for a few minutes to talk about it before we left. He felt bad for making me cry and genuinely felt he had been trying to help by giving his opinion. That's why he thought he was there, to give his input about the situation. As we left, I asked my sexologist 'homework?' She smiled and said 'have fun on your date.' We reconnected, went to dinner and laughed a lot, and things were okay by 8:30. Though we didn't make it to the movie- the two drinks I had at dinner made me too sleepy to sit through it, and I didn't want to spend the money if I thought I would fall asleep.

When I got home, as this blog suggests, I had many more thoughts about the session. I felt robbed. Although we ultimately learned things about one another or whatever, we were there for a specific purpose, which didn't get fulfilled, and I spent $105, and 45 minutes of discomfort, over a misunderstanding. If I had been able to pull myself together and say "no, that's not why we're here, and what we do when we're having sex matters a lot more than how much we have it" my night would have gone so much better.

I feel like I never realize how important it is to advocate for myself until it is too late, and the opportunity has passed me by.

And FYI, after we came home and looked at the sex calendar I keep, it was determined that we are having enough sex to keep me happy, but my fiance does not feel like too much is expected of him. So there.
Also, I have written a saving face letter to my sexologist to give to her next week.