Updated: Dec. 26, 2015
Originally Published: July 13, 2015
I should have seen it coming. I had naively convinced myself that once we said “I do,” everything would change. Friends had warned me with their jokes about how intimacy dwindles after marriage, but I held onto the hope that our love would prevail, that he would desire me more, and that our bond would strengthen.
For years, I felt isolated in our relationship—while he was certainly not alone. He had countless other women at his fingertips, all impeccably perfect, with flawless bodies and sultry personas, fulfilling his every fantasy at the click of a button. And this was a daily ritual for him. Every Saturday, he would retreat to the spare room of our apartment in Chicago for hours, completely engrossed in a world of online adult films, leaving me on the other side of the door—physically and emotionally distant.
He became captivated by these fantasies, but in doing so, he seemed to lose sight of me. I was his girlfriend, his fiancée, and eventually his wife, still maintaining my youthful figure, yet somehow, I felt invisible to him. It was like being in a version of “Mr. Cellophane,” where he walked right past me as if I didn’t exist.
The affection we once shared—cuddles on the couch, kisses goodbye—had faded into oblivion. I kept telling myself that it was just the natural ebb and flow of a long-term relationship, but eventually, it became a one-way current. I watched as our passion flew away, never to return.
I tried to address this with him. I cried, I pleaded, and I explained how lonely and inadequate it made me feel. He brushed off my concerns, insisting that his porn habit wasn’t a problem and had nothing to do with our lackluster intimacy.
He is a good man, a devoted father, and my closest friend, which made the thought of divorce seem absurd over what many consider a minor issue in marriage. Over time, I set small, reasonable requests: “Kiss me goodbye,” “Hold my hand in public,” “Show me affection.” He promised to try, yet those attempts rarely materialized.
What stings the most is that it’s not just about the actions themselves, but the need for him to be reminded to show me love and desire. In The Break-Up, Jennifer Aniston’s character expresses that it’s not enough for her partner to help with chores—she wants him to want to do them. That resonates with me. I shouldn’t have to remind my husband to feel affection for me; that should be inherent.
I never imagined I would be sitting inches away from someone yet feeling profoundly lonely. I want the complete relationship—intimacy, love, and connection. I see friends who complain about being too tired for sex or who feel they have to “give in” to intimacy. They have partners who can’t keep their hands off them, who share glances filled with affection.
But for me, the excuses my husband uses—exhaustion, the kids being in the way—ring hollow when he finds hours to indulge in his fantasies. He chooses to seek pleasure elsewhere, leaving me feeling like a mere shadow. When he looks at me, it’s as if he sees something as bland and unremarkable as cellophane, while I dread a future filled with the same loneliness and rejection I’ve experienced for over 16 years.
In this situation, I can’t help but question my own worth.
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Summary:
In this candid reflection, the author shares her struggles with feeling neglected in her marriage as her husband turns to online pornography instead of nurturing their relationship. Despite her attempts to rekindle affection and intimacy, she faces emotional isolation and questions her self-worth. The narrative highlights the complexities of love, desire, and the yearning for genuine connection in a partnership.
Keyphrase: My Partner Prefers Adult Content Over Me
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