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A Year Without Romantic Intimacy
And yes, that includes physical intimacy
Somehow it’s already April. And yes, I know, people are always making inane comments like, “Can you believe it’s almost/already [insert name of month]?”
But April carries special significance for me this year. It marks a strange anniversary — 12 months since separating from my soon-to-be ex-husband.
We were married for 15 years and before that, we’d dated for five. Before that, I’d dated another man for over three years, with only two weeks elapsing between our official breakup and my first date with the man who would become my husband.
Before that, meaning for all of high school and most of college, I’d been single. And I’d hated every second of it.
During that time, I experienced a few situationships, a word I wish had existed back then because maybe I would have recognized it for the all-too-common experience it is and wouldn’t have been so hard on myself. Instead, I thought of them as relationships that failed to launch because I’d messed up somewhere along the way. Either I’d been too standoffish or I’d been too forthcoming, and I definitely didn’t know how to flirt right. Whatever it was, it was definitely my fault.
