Postpartum Sex: What If You Just… Don’t Want To?
Son, brother, mom… if you're reading this, you may not want to. You've been warned. Love you!
So let’s talk about postpartum sex.
I remember being a new mom and Googling, “I don’t want to have sex with my husband.” I was really worried that something was wrong with me. I had zero desire. None. I remember asking other women how often they were having sex with their husbands, and when I got answers like, “At least once a week,” or even more often than that, I felt so alone.
(And this wasn’t my first rodeo. I had already been divorced once, and the main reason was that I no longer felt attracted to my then-husband. More on that later.)
Years before I had kids, I remember a friend who had her babies much earlier than I did, saying, “I think all women should just agree to lie and say it’s 6 months, not 6 weeks.” I didn’t get it then, of course, but after I became a mom? Yep.
Now, at 51, in the middle of this absolute mindf*ck of unmasking (I’m a late-diagnosed AuDHDer, which means I lived 49 years wondering why I felt like I was born on the wrong planet), I’m learning that sexuality—just like neurotype and gender—is a spectrum, too.
I’ve learned that there are some folks who just can’t get into the sex thing unless they reallllly know a person. Like the more they know their partner, the more excited they feel about them
That is not me.
I’m the opposite. The more intimately I know someone, the less physical I want to be with them.
That’s my truth. And it’s ended pretty much every relationship I’ve ever had. (Remember divorce number one from above?)
In my next marriage, after having a baby, that truth got weaponized. My ex would say things like, “Are you gay? Are you asexual? Something must be wrong.” in this condescending tone that made me feel like something was probably wrong with me.
It took years of unlearning to realize that, no, there is nothing wrong with me. It’s just how I’m wired. And now I’m in a relationship with someone who gets it, and I feel seen. Whole. Not broken.
But let’s get to the point…
There are lots of Reasons you might not want to have sex postpartum.
It might be hormonal. It might be PPA or PPD. It might be trauma. It might be pain. It might be fear of having another baby. It might be anxiety about your baby waking up. It might be exhaustion. It might be lack of self-care. It might be a body that you’re not comfortable with right now. You might be touched out because a tiny human has been attached to your body all day long.
Or it might not be you at all.
We live in a world of “not all men,” so this doesn’t get called out nearly as often as it should, but one of the most common reasons that postpartum oms dont want to have sex with their husbands is because the f*cking load is wildly imbalanced. Men who rpesented as feminists and talked a big game about equality suddenly turn into a 1950’s sitcom dad when the baby arrives. Oh, they’ll change diapers. They do a little more than their dads did, but they still take on this mindset of, “Me work. She do everything else.”
Men have been socialized to believe they’re owed sex. (I know, I know… not all men. 🙄) Like it’s part of the marriage contract. No matter how little of the mental load they’re carrying, how unsupported you feel, or how deeply underwater and tired of treading you are, they think sex is a guarantee.
Even when their idea of foreplay is, “wanna have sex?”
Patriarchy has convinced them that sex is a human right.
I remember once telling a (former) friend that I hadn’t had sex in a year after my baby was born. She said, and I quote:
"You gotta give him sex, Tiffany."
I wanted to vomit.
Give him sex?
Yeah, no.
When your partner acts like another child, and expects you to take care of him as such, I wouldn’t call that sexy.
I remember telling my now ex-husband, “Its like you’re a teenager and I’m your mother. And that’s just gross.” Now obviously, I could have used a little non-violent communication peppered in there, but hey, this was before I knew how much I didn’t know.
Understandably, he did not receive this bit of information in a positive light. He said I was keeping score…”tit for tat” “cherry on top” is what he would say. He felt like I was using sex as a reward for good behavior. But what I was actually saying was:
“I don’t feel supported, so I don’t feel connected. I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel cared for. I don’t feel loved. Therefore, I do not want to have sex with you.”
So if you don’t want to have sex with your husband postpartum…
You’re not alone.
You’re not broken.
You’re not a bad partner..
Get curious about why.
If it’s an imbalance in labor, you can try something like the Fair Play method to divide responsibilities more equitably.
If it’s physical or emotional pain? A pelvic floor therapist or a trauma-informed counselor might be life-changing.
If it’s identity, sexuality, or neurodivergence? There’s so much freedom in exploring that, too. (Seriously. So much.)
The problem is that we’re never taught to look at the root cause of anything. We’re offered bandages like “just schedule a date night,” and we end up just blaming ourselves.
But the problem is that we’re rarely taught to look at the root of anything. We’re offered band-aids like “just schedule a date night,” while we internalize it all and blame ourselves.
That needs to stop.
We deserve support.
We deserve answers.
We deserve understanding.
We deserve to have our needs, our healing, and our humanity centered as we learn to become moms.
if you're looking for ways to get back into the sex thing, here are some places you might start, if You want to:
Pelvic floor therapy – for healing, pain relief, and regaining confidence in your body… and so you don’t end up peeing your pants for the rest of your life. (No, that’s not normal or inevitable.)
Trauma-informed therapy – to get into your birth trauma, relationship patterns, or the stories you tell yourself.
Use the Fair Play Method – to name, divide, and share the mental load in your home so that the division of labor feels equitable to you both.
Prioritize real self-care – not the capitalist kind. Real self-care looks like rest, setting-boundaries, taking time for yourself, and saying “no” to things that make you feel shitty.
Find new ways to connect with your partner – think about intimacy beyond sex: shared rituals, long hugs, small things often, meaningful touch, presence, or even sitting in silence.
Find your (messy) truth– whether you’re exploring your neurotype (so many women are being diagnosed late, and neurodivergence puts us at a much higher risk for PPA), your sexuality, or just learning to trust your feelings outside of colonial and patriarchal conditioning.
Build a circle that supports your truth – friends, a therapist, a postpartum mentor (me!)—anyone who helps you feel safe to be fully you.
Your healing matters. Your needs matter. Your feelings matter. Your desires matter. Your comfort matters. You matter.
So here’s the Big Picture:
At least 20% of moms get hit with postpartum anxiety. But why? Is it because something is wrong with us?
No. It’s because something is wrong with the system we live under.
You’re not failing. you’re being failed.
Postpartum anxiety is a social construct.
It’s what happens when you’re expected to bounce back after birth like nothing happened.
It’s what happens when he gets (maybe) two weeks off work and you’re left to figure things out on your own, which leaves him clueless through no fault of his own.
It’s what happens when your body, your time, and your labor are treated like they belong to someone else—your baby, your partner, your employer, your society.
It’s what happens when you're told to trust the doctor, the therapist, the lactation consultant, the doula, or Aunt Betty’s neighbor instead of your gut.
Patriarchy tells you your needs matter less than your partner’s comfort.
Of course you're anxious. Of course you’re on-edge. Of course you’re stuck in fight or flight mode.
Of course you don’t want to have sex.
You’re not the problem.
The system is.
The overwhelm. The rage. The angst. The lack of libido.
It’s all data.
Use it as such. Build a life you can mange. And enjoy.
You get to rest.
You get to take a day.
You get to recover.
You get to say no.
You get to say f*ck norms… and mom as you are.
XO
~ Tiff
If what I’ve shared here resonates, if you’re nodding through tears or feeling that tight, quiet “me too” of relief in your chest, I want you to know that you’re not alone.
I’ve been where you are, and if you need to say “same”, please shoot me an email anytime.
You deserve to be seen. There is nothing wrong with you. And none of this is your fault.
