Sleep or Sex? Why I’m Choosing Rest—And You Might Want To, Too

It’s 4:40 a.m., and I can’t sleep.

Correction—I was asleep. Until I felt the familiar hands of my husband softly caressing my back, inching lower until those slightly callused fingers found the string of my underwear and tugged.

“You awake?” he whispered.

I stayed still. Maybe he’d get the hint.

He didn’t.

Instead, he gently shook me. Because he had needs. And I was his wife.

I wanted to scream with frustration, but instead, I kissed him back. And so began our ritual: sex in the dead-ass middle of the night.

Now, if you’re someone who hears this and thinks, “That’s sweet—I’m always up for sex!” then I hear you. I do. But… anytime? Like anytime?

I love my husband. He’s the dream package—tall, broad-shouldered, successful, kind. I thank God for him daily. But the man’s morning wood is relentless.

And me? I’m just tired.

When Exhaustion Replaces Excitement

I didn’t used to feel this way. Back in my 20s and early 30s, I slept like a rock. Eight or more uninterrupted hours. I’d wake up refreshed, glowing. Even after late nights out with friends, I could sleep in, unbothered by alarms or obligations. The world looked brighter through the lens of rest.

And when I was woken up for sex, it was no big deal—I could fall right back asleep like flipping off a light switch.

But then life happened.

There was the dog—adorable, but prone to early wakeups. Then came the toddler with 6 a.m. energy. A business with international vendors requiring 4 a.m. calls. And then perimenopause slithered in like a thief, stealing the scraps of sleep I had left.

Now I sleep like a soldier—light, alert, always braced for a fire.

The Slow Burn of Resentment

Early in our relationship, I loved the spontaneity. The passion. I wanted to jump his bones anywhere and everywhere and often did—we’re members of the mile high club, though the dingy little airplane bathroom makes me not too proud of it.

But now? After a long marriage, the lens of sex is different. I laugh at those movie sex scenes—you know the ones—where lamps are knocked over, and everyone’s tearing off clothes with urgency. Cute. I’d just like to be awake, thanks.

And my rhythm needs rest.

I’ve told my husband a thousand times, please don’t wake me up. I’ve tried saying it directly, but the words often tumble out in sweet, possibly confusing ways:

“Oh wow, it’s so hard for me to get back to sleep once I’m woken up…”
“Interesting how all the research says sleep is critical, and I’m always struggling…”

I want to say it with bass in my voice. But I don’t have the heart.

It’s not just about sleep deprivation. It’s about how sacred rest becomes when life stretches you in every direction. And being jolted awake to perform—however lovingly—feels less like intimacy and more like interruption.

The Magic of Solo Sleep

Recently, my husband took our daughter on a two-week trip to visit family. Since we were remodeling a bathroom, I stayed behind to oversee the contractors.

And oh—the joy of solo time.

I visited a Korean spa and spent half a day getting scrubbed, oiled, massaged, and polished. I deep-cleaned the house, reorganized the kitchen, took myself out to dinner. I even bought a two-piece bathing suit. Which, let’s be honest, requires emotional endurance and a full-length mirror.

But the absolute best part?

I slept.

No alarms. No tugging hands. No 4:40 a.m. wake-ups. Just quiet, uninterrupted, luxurious sleep.

My skin glowed. My eyes brightened. I started to get why some couples opt for separate sleeping quarters.

Only then did I realize: I had been severely sleep deprived. Not just physically—but spiritually.

Sometimes, Love Feels Like a Compromise

Here’s the thing—none of this means I love my husband any less. Quite the opposite. I love him so much that I want to show up fully present when we connect.

But when sex happens to me instead of with me, when it feels like obligation instead of mutual desire.

When I’m half-asleep, half-willing, and wholly resentful, it doesn’t feel like intimacy.

It feels like I’m betraying myself.

And I’ve realized I need to stop apologizing for needing sleep. I deserve rest.

As women, we already carry so much. The 28-page deck for tomorrow’s meeting. The birthday gift we still haven’t bought. The kids’ schedule. The friend who needs support.

We show up for everyone. But somewhere along the way, we stopped showing up for ourselves.

So Now...

I’m thinking back to my solo sleep-cation and realizing: it’s time to sit down with my husband.

I need to say the truth—clearly, calmly, unmasked.

I don’t have a perfect script yet, but it might sound something like:

“I love you. I want to keep wanting you. But I need us to find better timing—because when I’m jarred awake, it feels more like an ambush than an invitation to connect.”

This conversation has to happen. I want intimacy that feels mutual, not one-sided. And connection should honor both our needs.

What About You? 

Are you navigating something similar?

How do you prioritize rest, set boundaries with love, and protect your energy without shutting out your partner?

If this resonates, I’d love to hear how you’re handling it. Send me a note at [email protected]—your story might be exactly what another woman needs to hear.

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