―Anne Lamott
Your Takeaway
Which myths have interfered with you moving forward in your own way? Create your own response to people who try to advise or judge you in an unwelcome way.
My Own Struggle with Sex After Grief
“Yes, the first year is the hardest, except for, in their own way, all the others.”
—Gabrielle Birkner in Modern Loss: Candid Conversation about Grief. Beginners Welcome.
I’m a sex educator, author, blogger, public speaker. You’d think that with all I know about sex and how much I value it, I would have had an easy transition back into sex myself after Robert died. Not so! Even though I wrote about sex during that time, it took me months to feel sexual stirrings and begin pleasuring myself, and years to become sexual with a partner. Yes, years!
The last time Robert and I made love was three months before he died in August 2008. From the time Robert became too ill for sex through the first three months after his death, I felt no sex drive whatsoever and no sexual connection to my body. I couldn’t imagine wanting to have another man touch me, nor did I have any desire to touch myself. My collection of vibrators stayed in a drawer. My only sex fantasies were memories of Robert as a healthy, loving, and enthusiastic sex partner. These memories led to great, gulping tears, not arousal.
Five months after Robert’s death, I had a dream, which I recorded in my journal:
Jan. 5, 2009: I was with a new man, a stranger. He was behind me, his arms around my waist, and suddenly I could feel his erection through our clothes. I felt the stirrings of a sexual tingle, then I woke up and discovered I really was aroused! I sat up in bed, calling out, “I’m alive!”
I marveled at the time that my dormant sexuality was suddenly waking up. Amazingly, it would take three more years before I would welcome another human being into my body, and longer than that before I could do that joyfully. Along the way, I tried to date, have sex with a buddy, date, have sex with a former lover, date some more…but it was like a slow train that had its own schedule. Nothing I tried to do changed some mysterious, inner timetable.
Fritz (Not His Real Name)
Fritz, a handsome, smart, accomplished male friend, was my confidant and buddy during the worst of my grieving period, and our close connection remains. He had known Robert and felt protective and compassionate after Robert died. We engaged in a routine of frequent walks, dinners, and candid talks. We often talked about love and sex. I enjoyed his maleness and openness, and I found myself flirting with him one moment, and in the next breath telling him a memory of Robert, whom he greatly admired.
After months of this comforting, platonic friendship, and just a week after my “arousal dream,” a goodnight kiss turned into a lingering kiss, and yowza! My sexual electricity turned on and started buzzing my brain!
We took it slowly over months, sometimes letting our kisses and hands explore, sometimes not. We got to an “almost” stage, and he pulled back. I said yes. He said no. He didn’t want to risk sacrificing our close friendship if we became sexual together. I assured him that we would be even better friends with sex in the mix. After a few more truncated explorations, we stopped, despite my protestations that we could have both friendship and sex. He felt protective of my vulnerability and, I realize now, his own. We returned to being platonic friends who talked plenty about sex but didn’t explore it together.
I asked Fritz if he would be willing to share his perspective. He wrote this, and I’m grateful to him for his willingness to share it with you:
In Fritz’s Words
“Ah, yes, we could have, maybe should have, captured the moment, but there was risk. Though mere frivolity would be fine, we were too closely aligned not to expect a deeper emotional bond. Joan felt ready to reengage with love and life, yet her tears of loss were still present. It was early on, and Robert’s welcome shadow lingered over us.
“There was no question of our dear love and openness with one another. It was something to protect and cherish in its innocence and honesty. Would sex corrupt us? Was I a temporary reprieve? Replacement? Did this matter, as the immediacy of sexual gratification quickened? Would our sexual activity reengage Joan in life, moving her forward—or would she incur a destabilizing setback? Could I commit to the heightened responsibility for Joan’s emotional well-being which would clearly come with our lovemaking? Was I merely an opportunist, predatory and depraved? Could I expect a reciprocal level of support and responsible behavior from Joan as I widened my heart to someone so recently challenged by serious—almost existential—loss?
“No right or wrong here, but there clearly was risk of disruption, drama, hurt, and regression.”
Trying to Date
Thirteen months after Robert’s death, I made it a goal to meet new men and start dating. I went to dances and singles events. I joined Meetup singles groups. I signed up with Match.com and OkCupid and scoured Craigslist personals ads.
My first attempts at meeting new people were furtive and sad. I cried on the way home from first dates. I kept alternating between attempts at meeting new men and retreating.
Then I made dating a project. I developed my successful workshop, “How the Heck Do I Date at This Age?” because we teach what we need to learn, and by now I had plenty of experiences and tips to share. I realized that dating can be fun, and even bad dates make good stories. (See Chapter 5, Dating Again.)
I had more success with online dating after deciding to date widowers only. This was valuable in helping me get out of my hard, protective shell, but I didn’t have anything in common with the men I met other than being widowed. So I relaxed that requirement, and lots of coffee dates and walking dates with new people followed. Many were interesting, but I didn’t meet anyone whom I wanted to see naked.
At the time, I worried that I was handling this getting-back-to-dating process all wrong. Now I realize it wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t know when I was ready without trying, retreating, and trying again. Not everyone does it this way—there are no wrong ways to do grief—but that was my pattern.
Sometimes Sex Happened
In early 2012, three and a half years after Robert’s death, I was finally able to have full partnered sex with a friend from another city who had been an occasional lover before I met Robert. He was sexually attentive and generous, but I was able to have an orgasm with him only by fantasizing that it was Robert. (I’ve since learned that this is quite common.) Afterward, I tried to fight the tears. I don’t remember if I was successful.
Later on, I met a man who made me giddy-excited. The distance between our cities and his consuming job made dating difficult, and we only had a few dates. The last was sexual in non-penetrative ways and very sweet. I was surprised when he faded out of reach, claiming that he was too busy and his job stretched him too far.
You’ll learn more about my sex-after-grief journey in other chapters of this book. For example,
•A spectacular, erotic massage that awakened my sexuality in a safe, nonreciprocal way. (Chapter 13, Massage or More?)
•Anticipation of sex with another former lover from many years ago, but, when we were in bed together, I couldn’t do it. (Chapter 7, It’s Okay If You’re Not Ready.)
•Three dates with a good man I enjoyed and opened up to. We had one marvelous sex date. (Chapter 9, It’s Not All or Nothing.)
•Reconnection with a