How One Choice Revitalized Our 30-Year Marriage with Intimacy

Is Australia experiencing a decline in sexual desire, or are we simply reshaping our notions of intimacy? As single lifestyles become more popular, digital interactions overshadow face-to-face exchanges, and expectations in partners soar, “Insight” delves into the complex dynamics at play in Australian bedrooms. Catch the episode “Sex Recession?” on SBS On Demand.

Tess:

For many years, a glass of wine was my go-to for getting “in the mood,” but attending an intimacy retreat with my husband Craig transformed that experience.

Now in our late 50s, Craig and I have shared our lives since we were teenagers. Before we had children, our sex life was vibrant; intimacy flowed easily and joyfully, reflecting our love for each other.

However, after welcoming kids into our lives and starting perimenopause, my connection to sex shifted, becoming more of a challenge. At the time, I was unaware I had begun perimenopause; I merely noticed the effortless response that once defined part of my identity was fading away.

This change didn’t happen overnight; it was a gradual withdrawal.

In our 30s, we made love maybe once every six months, and this became less frequent in our 40s.

When we did make love, it was very enjoyable for a moment. But then our sex life would just fall flat again.

I was seldom in the “mood” and rarely initiated intimacy. And the fact that a glass of wine helped me get there always made me feel incredibly guilty afterwards.

Eventually, sex became something I felt I should be doing for my husband’s pleasure, rather than something I wanted. And with that came a sadness I couldn’t speak out loud.

Even though I loved Craig deeply and wished I could feel the desire for sex, my body was not participating, and my mind couldn’t override it.

For years, I thought something was broken inside of me — somehow broken as a woman and wife.

When we became empty nesters and moved to the Gold Coast, I found myself thinking about the years Craig and I had ahead.

I couldn’t imagine growing older without sharing an intimate connection with the man I’d loved since I was 18 — I knew I didn’t want that to be our story.

Around that time, a friend introduced a book about tantric sex and menopause, and I read about a retreat that the author ran.

Something stirred inside me: What if there was another way? 

I took Craig for a walk on the beach and asked him if he would go on the retreat with me.

I said, “I would like to change our current situation. The kids are gone, our house is empty, and it’s just the two of us.”

I was incredibly nervous as our sex life had always been the elephant in the room. But to my delight and surprise, he agreed.

That decision changed our lives.

The retreat offered a safe space for us to relax and learn simple but profound tools for connection. For the first time in years, I felt seen, heard and gently held.

My body exhaled, and I discovered it wasn’t broken. I just needed a different way.

And when I learned to slow down, feel safe emotionally and be present, everything shifted.

Today, two years on, I feel at home in my own body; I feel feminine and whole again.

Craig and I have learned that intimacy isn’t about reaching a goal. It’s about slowing down, relaxing into each other’s presence and allowing love to unfold naturally. This has also deepened our friendship, softened the way we communicate and strengthened our marriage.

We make love most days in a tantric way, and never in my wildest dreams did I think that was possible.

After all these years, we haven’t just found intimacy again; we’ve found each other again.

Craig:

Looking back, I can honestly say that one of the hardest parts was not knowing what to do.

I knew Tess wasn’t rejecting me, but I didn’t understand what was happening, and I had no idea how to make it better.

I loved (and still love) her deeply, but as our intimate relationship slowly changed, I felt helpless and didn’t know how to fix the situation.

We’d never learned to speak about intimacy and sex growing up. So, I had thoughts like, “Isn’t this supposed to be what being married is about? What have I done wrong? Doesn’t she like me anymore?”

And over time, I withdrew. I don’t think I even realised I was doing it, but the less intimacy we shared, the more I pulled back. I became quieter, more reserved and, if I’m honest, quite disheartened. 

I needed something to pour my energy into, so I took up photography. It gave me purpose and something to focus on, but it didn’t fill the gap between us.

So, it came as a beautiful surprise when Tess floated the idea of the retreat. It was a wholehearted yes from me.

I had no idea what I was saying yes to, but it taught me something I wish I’d learned decades earlier: intimacy isn’t about performance or achieving an outcome. It is about presence.

The stress about intimacy has completely gone. We communicate freely now, and there is no pressure, just connection.

Making sex a priority and setting time aside for it is one of the biggest lessons we learned.

Life will always be busy, but we’ve discovered that when we intentionally make time for making love, every other part of our relationship benefits.

It’s been an amazing two years of experiencing intimacy — I just wish we had attended the week-long retreat sooner.

I’ve learnt not to expect or demand, but to understand what my wife has been through for 25 years since having children — and to be genuinely curious about women’s health and menopause.

I had no understanding of what Tess was experiencing, and having that knowledge earlier would have changed so much.

I would tell my younger self not to withdraw — to instead, lean in, listen more, support more and hug more.

I think these things would have made all the difference.