Deep Dive

When You’re Ready and They’re Not – Or Vice Versa

A slow, honest conversation about timing, longing, and what it means to stay

There’s a kind of loneliness that doesn’t come from being alone.

It comes from lying next to someone you love, reaching for them – and feeling them hesitate.

Not reject.

Not withdraw completely.

Just pause. Or turn. Or smile softly and say, “Maybe not tonight.”

If you’ve ever been the one who reached – and felt that moment close in around you like silence – you are not alone.

And if you’ve ever been the one who hesitated – because your body didn’t feel like yours, or the spark felt buried – you’re not broken.

This is the space between readiness and retreat.

This is where so many couples quietly get stuck.

And this is where something honest – and healing – can begin.

This Isn’t About Blame. It’s About Timing.

After midlife, after illness, after years of sleeping back-to-back or focusing on everything but intimacy – there often comes a moment when one partner feels ready.

Ready to reach out.

To be seen.

To try again.

But readiness doesn’t always arrive in both people at once.

One person may be hopeful. The other cautious.

One grieving. The other curious.

One waiting for the old rhythm. The other asking, “What does closeness even look like now?”

That’s not dysfunction. That’s re-entry.

And it doesn’t always look the same on both sides of the bed.

A Story That Might Feel Familiar

A couple I know had been together for 30 years. He was recovering from surgery. 

She was navigating menopause. 

Neither had touched the other for months.

He finally said one night, “I think I’m ready.”

She froze.

Not because she didn’t love him.

But because she was scared she wouldn’t feel anything. Or worse – she would feel pressure to pretend.

They didn’t argue. But they drifted for another three weeks. Each one waiting for the other to say something.

Then they started a quiet ritual: ten minutes of shared touch. No expectation. Just presence.

A hand on the arm. A kiss on the neck. A shared silence with no need to “go anywhere.”

They didn’t fix it overnight. But something softened. Something came back. Not just arousal – but access.

If You’re the One Who’s Reaching…

You may feel vulnerable. Exposed. Wondering whether your partner still wants you, or if the part of life you long for is behind you.

Say this instead:

“I miss being close. No pressure – I just want you to know.”
 Or: “Would it feel okay to be near tonight, even if nothing else happens?”

Lead not with urgency, but with openness.

If You’re the One Who’s Hesitating…

This is not your fault. It’s not a flaw. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care.

You may be carrying fear, fatigue, hormonal shifts, or old wounds no one sees.

You may not want to disappoint your partner – or yourself.

Try saying:

“I’m not there yet. But I want to stay connected, even now.”
 Or: “I want to want to. I just don’t want to fake it. Can we talk about that?”

You don’t have to meet your partner halfway.

You just have to meet them honestly.

A Gentle Invitation – If You’re Both Willing

One evening this week, try asking:

“What does closeness mean to you right now – if we don’t assume it has to mean sex?”

You don’t have to agree.

You don’t have to fix it.

You just have to listen – and be listened to.

That’s where mending begins.

If It Feels Bigger Than This

Sometimes, mismatched desire is tangled up in more than timing.

It’s carrying history: unspoken resentment, grief, betrayal, fear of being misunderstood.

If that’s where you are, you may need more than this newsletter.

You may need support – coaching, therapy, space to sort through what’s yours and what’s shared.

That’s not failure. That’s love that wants a chance.

A Word to All Couples, All Bodies

While I often write for long-term, midlife heterosexual couples – it’s who I’ve treated most in clinical and coaching settings – this moment of mismatched desire is universal.

It shows up in all kinds of relationships, across all kinds of bodies.

If you're in one of them, this is for you too.

What Matters Most

You don’t need to be in sync.

You don’t need to be “back to normal.”

You just need enough trust to stay in the room.

To keep reaching, gently.

To believe there’s still something here worth mending.

Sometimes that begins with a hand on a shoulder.

A sentence whispered in the dark.

Or simply… not pulling away.

And sometimes, that’s where everything starts again.