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The Courage to Say No, Without the Guilt
How I’ve learned to navigate sex on my own terms
Some time ago, my partner was feeling frisky. I wasn’t. We’d been in the midst of a dry spell, and I was hyperaware of it. But I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was sleep. My husband respected my decision — no begging, no insisting. And yet, I was consumed with guilt.
“I can… service you?” I offered my husband, a coquettish eyebrow raised.
He looked horrified.
“I’m not a car…” he pointed out, accurately.
“But… it’s been a while since we…” I struggled to find some sexy talk. “Lay… as man and wife…” I ventured.
He looked horrified.
“Okay, are you from the ’50s? I think you should sleep,” he said, kissing me and falling asleep instantly.
But guilt kept me up for a long time, and eventually, I became angry with myself. It wasn’t the first time I had felt shitty about saying no to sex. Not for nothing: I have a strong mother, one who would be alarmed that I was even validating the idea of consent by guilt. I live in New York, and am not as submerged in toxic desi culture as I used to be. (The toxicity is different here. I learned the phrase “If you don’t put out, someone else will ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” on one of the Housewives…
