The Wine Helped Her Relax. Until It Didn't

Anne didn’t think she had a problem.
Not in the way people talk about problems.

She wasn’t drinking a bottle of wine alone at 10 a.m.
She wasn’t waking up in strangers’ beds, or skipping work, or wrecking her relationships.

She was a wife.
A mother.
A woman with a “good life” — at least on paper.

But behind the curated smiles and cleaned-up kitchen counters…
She was disappearing.

Not all at once.
But slowly.
Quietly.
One glass at a time.

Anne came to me because she couldn’t have an orgasm.
Not a real one.
Not the kind where your whole body opens like a cathedral and you remember, for a breath, that God lives in your skin.

She was going through the motions in her marriage — checking the box, faking the moan, waiting for it to be over.
And it wasn’t because she didn’t love her husband.
She did.
It just… wasn’t working anymore.

For years, she’d started each intimate moment the same way:
A glass of wine to “take the edge off.”
To relax.
To feel just numb enough that her inner critic went silent.

“It helped me let go,” she said.

“Until I realized I had nothing left to hold on to.”

Anne had been taught — like so many women — that her desire needed help.
That her pleasure was something she had to earn, seduce, or soften into.
That she wasn’t allowed to show up messy or uncertain.

So, she polished.
She performed.
She poured the wine.

Her husband didn’t know any different.
He thought the wine was just part of their rhythm — romantic even.

They had sex regularly.
They laughed.
They loved each other.

But what no one told them is that routine can kill connection
Just as surely as silence can kill a soul.

Anne wasn’t broken.
She was numb.
And the wine, it turned out, wasn’t helping her feel anything.
It was helping her avoid everything.

When we started our work together, I didn’t ask her to give up wine.
I asked her to feel.

To feel the moment she reached for the glass.
To feel what her body did when she poured it.
To feel who she became the second she sipped it.

And then…
To ask her body: What are you trying to protect me from?

Over time, Anne began to uncover her real truth:

She wasn’t afraid of sex.
She was afraid of being seen.

Naked.
Sober.
Alive.

What she longed for wasn’t more wine.
It was more presence.
More safety.
More sacredness.

And eventually… more of herself.

She cried the first time she had sex without alcohol.
Not because it was bad.
But because it was real.

She could feel her breath.
She could hear her heart pounding.
She could actually choose — not just submit.

She was finally there.
In her own body.
With her own yes.

This is the kind of story we don’t talk about enough.
Because Anne isn’t broken.
She’s everywhere.

She’s the woman next to you at school pickup.
She’s the woman leading board meetings.
She’s the woman smiling at dinner while wondering when she’ll get to disappear for a bit.

Not all numbing looks like addiction.
Sometimes it looks like survival.

And yet… there’s hope.

Sober sex isn’t about rules.
It’s not about purity or punishment.
It’s about presence.

It’s about reclaiming your breath.
Your voice.
Your right to feel, fully.

So, if you’re someone who needs “just a glass of wine” to get in the mood…

Ask yourself:

→What am I afraid I’ll feel without it?
→Where have I made performance easier than connection?
→What would it look like to let my body tell the truth?

Because when the wine is gone — and the mask falls off — your real pleasure can finally begin.

Sober Sex launches July 1.
Available for early readers at $12.99.
Let this book walk you home to yourself.
No numbing required.

Watch todays IG Reel to feel deeper into Anne’s story.

As always loving you from here,

Rene’ Schooler

—

This post was previously published on medium.com.