So, the therapist suggested this ’emotional intimacy exercise’. Yeah, I know, sounds like something from a self-help book you’d find gathering dust. We’d been going to therapy for a bit, not because of some massive blow-up, more like… a slow fade. You know? Like when your favorite t-shirt just gets duller with every wash until one day you barely recognize it. That was us. Just existing in the same house. Busy with work, kids, the usual grind. The romance part? Pretty much on life support.
Our therapist, bless her trying heart, is full of these ideas. Some of them, I swear, are just designed to make you squirm. This particular one wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t a walk in the park either. She called it ‘Focused Connection’ or something fancy like that. Basically, it was a structured way to, well, connect.
The Actual ‘Exercise’ Bit
Okay, so here’s what we actually had to do. First, find a time. Ha! That’s an exercise in itself, right? With my schedule all over the place, and his job being demanding as hell, finding 30 minutes of uninterrupted quiet is like finding a unicorn. But we managed, one evening after the kids were definitely, definitely asleep. We turned off the TV, put our phones in another room – felt like cutting off a limb, not gonna lie.
Then we had to sit facing each other. Close. Like, knees almost touching. And the main thing? We had to look into each other’s eyes for a set amount of time. I think she said five minutes to start. Five. Whole. Minutes. Without talking. Just looking. My first thought was, ‘Is she serious? I’m going to get the giggles, or he’s going to see that massive zit I’ve been trying to hide.’
And boy, was it awkward at first. Super awkward. Here’s a list of things that probably went through my head in those first sixty seconds:
- Don’t blink too much.
- Is he judging my tired eyes?
- What am I supposed to be feeling?
- This is so forced.
- I wonder what’s for dinner tomorrow.
I could see him shifting a bit too. He’s not one for all this touchy-feely stuff. Reminds me of his dad, actually. Old school. Emotions? Keep ’em bottled up. It’s why we ended up in therapy in the first place, if I’m being honest. Years of him just… not talking. Or me not listening properly. Bit of both, probably. It’s like that old saying, ‘It takes two to tango, and two to slowly drift apart until you’re practically strangers sharing a mortgage.’
Anyway, back to the eye-gazing. After the initial cringefest, something weird happened. Maybe around minute three or four. The restlessness sort of… settled. I stopped thinking about my zits and started actually seeing him. Not just ‘husband who needs to take out the trash’ or ‘dad who needs to help with homework’. But him. The guy I chose. There were lines around his eyes I hadn’t really noticed, not like that. Tired lines, sure, but also… depth. It was… intense. Not in a scary way, more in a ‘oh, there you are’ kind of way.
When the timer finally went off, we both kind of exhaled. Like we’d been holding our breath. Then came part two: talking about it. The therapist had given us some prompts. ‘What did you notice?’ ‘What did you feel?’ ‘What was difficult?’
That part was… better. Less awkward than the staring, for sure. We actually talked. I told him how weird it felt at first, and he admitted the same. And then I mentioned seeing ‘him’ again, and he got this soft look. Said he saw something similar in me. Not the stressed-out mom, but just… me.
So, did it work? Well, it wasn’t a magic wand. We didn’t suddenly start writing poetry to each other or anything. But it was… something. A small crack of light in a pretty dim room. It felt like we’d shared something, even if it was just shared awkwardness followed by a moment of genuine connection. It’s like trying to learn a new language. You stumble over words, feel foolish, but every now and then you manage to string a sentence together, and it feels like a victory.
We’ve done it a few more times since. It gets a tiny bit easier each time. Still a bit weird, but less so. I guess the point isn’t the exercise itself, but the willingness to try. To be vulnerable. Which is bloody hard, especially when you’ve built up walls. But hey, if you don’t try, you don’t get, right? So we keep trying. Some days are better than others. Some therapy suggestions are duds. This one… this one had a flicker. And right now, I’ll take a flicker.
