How being in a sex-less relationship can destroy your self-esteem

I wonder if this is something that many in long-term relationships experience when difficult times arise. For me, it is largely connected to my chronic illness, ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis), but some of the feelings and experiences may be familiar to others regardless of circumstance.

In my relationships I had never really had issues with the sex side. I always felt desired and generally I would feel the same in return. Sex was almost like my gauge of how things were going. If the sex was good, the relationship must be good.

In my last relationship, this was all fine in the beginning. We were both on a similar level and it all tended to work well. Even when we moved in together and things started to get more serious, keeping the sexual aspect of our relationship alive was never an issue. 

It was only when I fell ill with my chronic illness that problems started to arise. At first everything seemed to be okay, but I was finding more and more that I’d have to initiate activity, and my partner seemed to be enjoying the experience less. Having an energy limiting illness that makes you feel ill all the time obviously isn’t conducive to an active sex life, but I was keen to try whenever I thought I might manage.

As time when on, the sexual connection between us seemed to get worse and worse. He would never initiate, and when I did, I got a bit of an impression he wasn’t really willing. I would always check, but it seemed like he was hiding something from me, and he often would seem to struggle to climax, despite this never being an issue before.

Over time our sexual encounters grew less and less. My declining health, and his change in attitude, meant I was almost scared to suggest it. As well as this, the small ways someone shows their interest, even if it’s not about sexual act faded: the gentle pats on the bum, them not being able to look away when you change, just generally regularly touching and stroking in a romantic way. 

I really missed being touched, those little signs that someone is comfortable with you, and interested in you. I was hungry for it; on the rare occasions it did happened I was overjoyed. I found my self-confidence waning, ‘surely the issue must be with me if he doesn’t want me anymore’. I would try to do as much as I could to make them feel good about themselves, and give them the attention I felt I was missing. 

One time, maybe a year down the line, when our sexual interactions had grown infrequent, I felt I just had to say something, to see what was going on with him. I’d been too scared to say something before, and I’d been telling myself it must all be in my head. His response kind of destroyed me. He was unwilling to share at first, but he said that he found it hard to view me sexually since the illness and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to do it anymore. 

This was heartbreaking for me. Here was the man who I loved and had thought I would marry and spend the rest of my life with, and who I still wanted a physical relationship with, saying that because of some cruel twist of fate giving me this horrible illness, he no longer wanted me. 

I would spend time trying to puzzle out what it must be: maybe it’s because I’d gained weight from not being able to exercise, maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like he can have sex with someone he’s having to care for, maybe I’m just not attractive to him anymore now I can’t do all the same things I used to do. 

I was feeling really undesirable, something I’d never really felt since becoming sexually active. I began to believe I had no value in a relationship because I was too much of a burden, and that no one would want me. I was hurt, heart-broken, and angry that this had happened to me, and so young, when I still had so much life ahead of me. 

What followed were a few years together in a strange sort of relationship. There was still affection and love. We were essentially like two best friends living together, who were a bit more intimate than friends normally are, but with nothing sexual. It’s not a kind of romantic relationship I would ever want for myself, to me sex is an important part, but I loved him and I held out hope things would work out eventually.

With time things didn’t improve though. Talking about it didn’t help; I was just left heartbroken every time. He would tell me he wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this, with my health the way it was. My view of my value as a partner grew less and less, and I would feel like I wasn’t enough.

In the end we tried couples counselling. It was a draining and emotional experience, though it did feel good to talk about things and feelings I often kept to myself, and to hear the things he’d kept to himself. The conclusion, though, was that we should have a trial separation to decide what we want. It was utterly heartbreaking for me: I could hardly eat, sleep, or stop crying for a week. I had given my all to try and make the relationship work, and it hadn’t been enough, there was nothing more I could do. 

Now I am trying to find my self worth again post separation. I am realising that one person finding it hard to want me with my illness, doesn’t mean I don’t have value. I’m rediscovering that I have a lot of good, desirable qualities, and that being ill isn’t my fault and that it shouldn’t matter if someone likes who I am. 

I completely emphasise with what my partner went through, and I don’t blame him for it, it was incredibly hard for both of us. I just want him to be happy and he wasn’t happy with me since I got sick. But I want me to be happy too, so I’m trying to focus on myself and try to see a way forward, with or without him.