When Touch Disappears: The Question Nobody Asks About Staying
There’s a pattern I’ve noticed. Late at night, when the house goes quiet and the glow of a phone screen is the only light left, people start searching. They type carefully, hesitantly. “Marriage with no intimacy.” “Should I stay.” “Am I wrong for wanting more.”
This is how they find this article.
And what I want you to know right now, before we go any further, is this: you’re not alone. You’re not dramatic. And you’re definitely not selfish.
When touch disappears from a marriage, it takes so much more with it.
I Speak From Experience
I know because I’ve been sitting in the same spot you are. Wondering if the ache is normal. Wondering if I’m asking too much. Wondering how long I can keep living like this before something inside me breaks for good.
My marriage has been platonic for years. We raised two kids. Built a life. Shared a routine. But the intimacy? That’s been missing longer than I care to admit.
Before we had children, maybe once a month. And even then, it was hollow. We’d drink together, laugh a little, fall into something that resembled closeness. But it wasn’t real. It was just two people going through motions they thought they were supposed to go through.
Then in 2023, I stopped drinking.
Not because of some dramatic intervention. I just realized I’d stopped enjoying it years before and had only kept going to feel less alone. Once I let go of that ritual, the gap between us turned into a canyon.
He still drinks. Alone now. And without me as his drinking buddy, we don’t even have the illusion of connection anymore.
What No One Wants to Admit About a Dry Marriage
Here’s what nobody tells you about a marriage that feels like roommates: it’s not the lack of sex that destroys you. It’s the slow erosion of feeling wanted. It’s the quiet rejection that happens in a thousand tiny ways. It’s lying next to someone and feeling utterly invisible.
I started noticing something strange. Almost every time we were physically intimate, he’d snap at me the next day. Pick a fight out of nowhere. Say something that landed like a slap.
It took me years to connect the dots.
Now that I have, I can’t unsee it. I stopped initiating. Why would I keep offering intimacy when it always came with emotional whiplash?
That’s when I realized I didn’t feel emotionally safe with him. Not physically unsafe. Emotionally unsafe. Like opening up would only guarantee I’d get hurt again.
So I pulled back. I detached. Not out of spite, but out of survival.
I’ve questioned my worth. My desirability. Whether I’m fundamentally too much or not enough.
And that’s when the hard questions started rising to the surface. The kind that don’t have easy answers. The kind you might be asking yourself right now too.
Can Your Relationship Live Without Intimacy?
Here’s what most people don’t realize: intimacy isn’t a bonus feature in a marriage. It’s the heartbeat. It’s what keeps two people tethered when everything else is falling apart.
Every relationship hits dry spells. Life happens. Stress piles up. Kids demand everything. Bodies change.
But when intimacy has been gone so long you can barely remember what closeness felt like; that’s different.
Some couples find a way to survive a platonic marriage. But it takes brutal honesty, deep vulnerability, and effort from both people. Not just one person twisting themselves into knots trying to make it work while the other one coasts.
Maybe your partner is great in other ways. A solid parent. Loyal. Funny. Kind in the small moments. That matters. It all matters.
But if the deeper connection is missing, if you’re living parallel lives under the same roof, you owe it to yourself to ask: Can I keep doing this?
Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: most marriages don’t survive when there is no intimacy. And if you’re even reading this, you’ve probably been lonely for a very, very long time.
The Question Nobody Asks
Before you decide anything, you need to sit with some hard truths. Not the surface-level stuff. The real, uncomfortable, middle-of-the-night kind of questions.
Have I actually said it out loud?
Not hints. Not passive-aggressive comments. Not hoping your silence speaks for itself. Have you looked your partner in the eye and said, “This hurts me. We feel like roommates. I need more”?
Being vulnerable when you’ve been hurt is terrifying. But your voice deserves to be heard fully and clearly before you make any decision. Even if the response isn’t what you hoped for.
Do I know why it stopped?
Intimacy doesn’t just vanish. There’s always a story. Stress. Health issues. Resentment. Years of disconnection quietly piling up. Trauma no one’s willing to name.
Understanding why helps you see if this is fixable or if it’s been broken too long to repair.
Am I meeting their needs too?
I know. You’re the one hurting. But sometimes both people are drowning in loneliness, just in different ways. Have you offered connection? Affection? Or have you also checked out?
This isn’t blame. It’s honesty. Rebuilding takes two people showing up.
Is there still love here?
Not obligation. Not history. Not comfort. Love. Do you still feel warmth when you look at them? Tenderness? Hope?
If the love is still there, buried under years of hurt, maybe there’s a path forward. But if it’s gone, it’s okay to name that too.
Have we actually tried to fix this together?
Not just you bringing it up over and over. Have you both sat down and said, “We need help”? Have you tried therapy? Read books together? Made a genuine effort to understand what’s broken?
If you’ve tried and nothing’s changed, that’s clarity. If you haven’t tried yet, it might be worth exploring so you don’t walk away wondering what if.
Is this damaging my mental health?
Chronic rejection messes with your head. Your self-worth. Your sense of belonging. If you’re constantly feeling invisible, unwanted, or not enough, that’s not just a dry spell. That’s a crisis.
Your well-being isn’t negotiable. It’s not asking too much. It’s the baseline.
Is the lack of intimacy just a symptom?
A platonic marriage is rarely just about sex. It’s usually the visible crack in a much deeper fault line. Old arguments. Emotional distance. Trust that eroded over time.
If those roots can be addressed, intimacy might return. But if they can’t, no amount of trying will fix what’s fundamentally broken.
Could I stay like this long-term?
If nothing ever changes, can you honestly see yourself in this marriage ten years from now?
Some people can. There’s friendship, shared goals, a life rhythm that still feels meaningful.
Others can’t. Physical connection is a core need, and ignoring it isn’t noble. It’s self-abandonment.
Only you know which one you are.
What do I actually want?
Not what you think you should want. Not what your friends say. What does a satisfying intimate life mean to you?
Your expectations are valid. Understanding them helps you figure out if you’re trying to fix something that matters or forcing yourself to stay somewhere your needs can’t be met.
Am I ready for what comes next?
Leaving isn’t just about freedom. It’s about the emotional waves. The financial reality. The impact on kids. The rebuilding.
These aren’t reasons to stay stuck. But they are real pieces of the puzzle.
Picture your life on the other side. Not just the relief. The loneliness too. The starting over. Can you see yourself moving through all of that and still standing?
What It Really Comes Down To
This isn’t about the physical act. It never was.
It’s about feeling seen. Valued. Desired by the person you chose to share your life with.
If that emotional safety can be rebuilt, if both people are willing to show up, there’s hope. You don’t need a movie-script romance. But you do need honesty and mutual effort.
It’s not selfish to want more. It’s not heartless to consider leaving when your needs have gone unmet for years.
Marriage is a promise of love, yes. But also of effort. If one or both of you have stopped holding up your end of that promise, it’s time to face it with courage.
Get support. Talk to a therapist. Work through it if you can. Walk away with grace if you can’t.
But whatever you do, don’t carry the guilt.
You’re allowed to want to feel whole.
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