She told him yes.
She usually did.
But not before the wine.
Twelve years married.
Three kids.
Two businesses.
A life that looked stable from the outside.
They were not reckless.
They were responsible.
That was part of the problem.
Every evening around six, the ritual began.
Ice in a glass.
Pour.
Sip.
Exhale.
He said it helped him unwind.
She said it helped her relax.
Neither of them called it what it was.
Buffer.
He would reach for her in the kitchen. Slide his hand along her waist. Kiss her neck the way he always had.
She used to melt into that touch.
Now she waited for the warmth of the wine to reach her chest before she could soften.
When she sat in my office, she did not talk about bad sex.
She talked about numb sex.
“He thinks I don’t want him,” she said. “I just don’t know how to be fully there without drinking.”
That stopped me.
Not because it shocked me.
Because I hear it all the time.
Alcohol becomes the bridge to vulnerability.
It loosens the jaw.
It lowers the guard.
It quiets the inner critic.
It also dulls the body.
Dulls instinct.
Dulls truth.
Dulls the micro signals that say, slow down.
The night she described was not dramatic.
It was ordinary.
Kids asleep.
Dishes done.
Two glasses in.
He felt close.
She felt floaty.
He kissed her neck.
She said yes.
She participated.
She even moaned.
But afterward she stood in the bathroom staring at herself in the mirror.
Not ashamed.
Just aware.
Aware that she had needed chemical courage to surrender to her own husband.
That awareness scared her more than the sex itself.
He was not abusive.
He was not cruel.
He drank too.
It made him bolder.
More playful.
Less anxious about whether he was good enough.
That is what alcohol does for so many men in intimacy.
It disguises insecurity as confidence.
It disguises fear as fire.
But when the buzz fades, so does the illusion of closeness.
I asked her once, “What would happen if you tried without it?”
She laughed.
Then she cried.
“I would feel everything.”
Exactly.
She would feel the tension she carries in her hips.
The old trauma stored in her body.
The fear of not being enough.
The resentment she swallows during the day.
Sobriety in sex is not about purity.
It is about presence.
And presence is terrifying when you have unresolved trauma.
Trauma blocks surrender.
Not because you are broken.
Because your nervous system learned that letting go once was unsafe.
Alcohol gives the illusion of safety.
It lowers inhibition, but it does not build trust.
It bypasses the work.
He told me he felt rejected when she suggested they try being intimate without drinking.
He thought she was taking something away.
She was trying to bring something back.
Real connection.
Real breath.
Real eye contact.
The first time they tried sober, it was awkward.
He felt exposed.
She felt tense.
There was no smooth slide into heat.
There was conversation.
Pauses.
Checking in.
Slowing down.
He noticed her breathing for the first time.
She noticed how quickly he rushed when he got nervous.
They almost gave up.
But something different happened.
She did not disappear.
She stayed in her body.
He did not hide behind boldness.
He admitted he felt unsure.
That was the moment intimacy shifted.
Not because it was wild.
Because it was honest.
We have normalized needing alcohol to access desire.
We joke about it.
Wine nights.
Liquid courage.
Take the edge off.
But what edge are we taking off?
The edge of vulnerability.
The edge of fear.
The edge of truth.
If you cannot be intimate without numbing yourself first, that is not freedom.
That is dependence.
I am not anti-pleasure.
I am not anti-celebration.
I am anti unconscious avoidance.
If you have to drink to feel brave enough to connect, there is something deeper asking to be healed.
Sober sex is not about restriction.
It is about reclaiming your nervous system.
It is about learning to feel the tremble in your chest and stay.
Learning to breathe through discomfort instead of sedating it.
Learning that true surrender cannot be chemically manufactured.
It has to be built.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
With safety.
The Kindle Countdown Deal becomes active tomorrow Sunday Feb 22. The price begins at 76% off and rises daily until February 29.
If any part of this felt familiar, do not brush it aside.
Go get the book on Amazon while it is discounted.
Read it sober.
And see what changes.
Listen to Rachels Thoughts HERE
As always loving and praying for you from here,
Rene Schooler
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Toa Heftiba On Unsplash
