Let's Talk About Sex

Last weekend I had one of those “stop you in your tracks” realization: my ex-husband used me.

We said our vows when we were 21, and I subsequently spent the entirety of our marriage reassuring him with promise after promise: promising him he did deserve me, promising I would never leave, promising he was the only attractive man in the world, promising I would never cheat, promising I would never remarry if he died first, promising we would still be together in the afterlife (even though I don’t believe marriage is relevant in the next incarnation of existence) etc.

I mostly didn’t mind. After all, I struggle with my own slew of insecurities and I thrive off of building up those around me.

I mostly didn’t mind, because I meant every word of it. Until I didn’t. But that’s the topic for another post.

Something happened last weekend that jolted my memory and I suddenly realized that his need for reassurance bled into a much deeper, more sinister aspect of our marriage: our sex life.