Feeling Like Roommates
Woke up Tuesday realizing me and my wife hadn’t hugged since Sunday. That hollow ache in my chest when she talked about her coworker’s birthday party – but didn’t invite me. Felt like we were sharing a fridge, not a life.
The Breaking Point
Last Thursday night I snapped. She was scrolling Instagram during dinner – again. Grabbed my plate and ate alone on the porch. Cold spaghetti never tasted so bitter. Heard her crying through the window and it hit me: we’re both drowning in this silence.
Next morning, Googled “how to stop feeling alone when married”. Found tons of fancy psychology terms. Blew past those and hunted for stuff real people actually do. Tried these three things starting that night:
Action 1: Small Touches, Big Difference
Started simple:
– Brushed her shoulder walking to the bathroom
– Held eye contact 3 extra seconds when she complained about work
– Left my hand on her knee during Netflix instead of pulling away
First few attempts were awkward. Felt like touching a stranger. But day 3? She reached back when I touched her hair. That tiny spark made my hands less shaky.
Action 2: Replacing Dumb Questions
Stopped asking “how was work?” (we both hate that question). Changed to:
– “What annoyed you least today?”
– “Tell me one thing that made you smirk at your desk”
– “What’s the first thing you wanna do when we win the lottery?”
Caught her off guard Tuesday. Got actual stories instead of “fine”. Learned she secretly wants a hot tub full of jello. Weird. But we laughed.
Action 3: Schedule the Awkward
Set phone alarms:
9am – Text something dumb (sent meme of dancing hamsters)
7:15pm – Ask one real question about her feelings
10pm – Physical touch before sleeping
First week felt robotic. Almost quit when she mocked my “scheduled husband mode”. But kept showing up. Now? My 7:15pm alarm just went off yesterday – she beat me to it: “Your turn. Ask me anything.”
14 Days Later
Still eating together.
Still doing laundry separately.
But yesterday? She rested her head on my shoulder during car wash commercial. Didn’t flinch.
Progress isn’t fireworks. It’s remembering her coffee order again after six months of guessing wrong. Tiny cracks in the loneliness wall.
