Is your love life hiding behind a mask?

She was irritated when he got home from running errands that day. He told her that he'd worn his mask, but sometimes she wondered if he was really careful. 

He'd had it with her obsessive worrying. They'd both had the vaccine, but she had a friend out of state who ended up in ICU with the delta variant, and she was frightened. His biggest worry about Covid was something else. A guy at work said it left men impotent. Since they hadn't had any kind of satisfying sex is at least three years, he wondered if she would even care if he couldn't perform. He had no idea.

Their relationship had been rocky even before the pandemic. It was a combination of stress from work, the kids, and old arguments from the past that kept coming up. A toxic cocktail. 

Like lots of their friends, they'd been to counseling but not much changed. So they put on a happy mask - the one they showed their friends and family. Things were "fine," life was "good." The kids were awesome. They looked in the mirror wearing those masks and sometimes they even believed it. 

Covid living has us on the edge. In our homes, on our computers and at school. 
The Times, they are strange at their best, numbing at their worst. 

The current Covid environment, the upsetting withdrawal from Afghanistan, the wildfires, and conversations with others who disagree with us about politics and personal freedom have us all on edge.

This is a time when we should be sharing love with one another, holding each other, loving each other. But for lots of us, it feels impossible to do that - we're activated, worried, and concerned. Even angry and judgmental. We're afraid. We want to soothe ourselves. We don't know how. 

And these feelings and experiences are seeping into our most intimate relationships. 

One night they kinda lost it. She said the stuff that she'd been holding in. He tried to be patient, but he said things he later regretted. They went to bed angry - scooted over to opposite sides of the bed. Eventually she slept in the guest room. The fight left them empty. They apologized in the morning but their words rang hollow as they separated for another day of "working" from home. At what might have been lunch (if lunch even existed anymore,) she found him at his standing desk downstairs. She checked to make sure he wasn't on camera before she put her arms around him from behind. 

They made their way to the bedroom for the first time in what seemed like forever. The kids were out with friends and the house was empty. The fight had left them with a small opening, a place to connect in the middle of a busy day because they were vulnerable in that moment, and longing for touch and connection. 

The masks were off. They saw each other clearly. At least for a little while.