Welcome to Ask a Cleveland Sex Therapist. Want to ask Matt a question that could be tackled in a future column? Click here. Now, onto this week’s topic.
Hi Matt! My wife and I haven’t had sex in two years. Some of this has been related to insecurity in ourselves and past trauma as it relates to sex and intimacy. We both identify as lesbians, and I know there’s the “lesbian bed death” stereotype that we hear about. I feel very uncomfortable discussing this with anyone, even close friends, because when people hear you haven’t been having sex, they assume the relationship isn’t doing well, which isn’t really the case! I would love to hear your thoughts on this, and on the “lesbian bed death” stereotype that we may have fallen into.
Oh, “lesbian bed death.” A Stereotype most feared by members of the LGBTQ+ community. Before I dive in, I want to thank you for sharing this because I imagine there are other people reading your question and thinking, “Oh, thank God, we aren’t the only ones.” We hear so much about how often couples should have sex that admitting you haven’t had it in two years can feel like announcing that your relationship is falling apart. But you have already told me that isn’t your experience, and I believe you. Remember, the people inside a relationship get to describe how it is going, even when their experience doesn’t fit someone else’s expectations.
It makes complete sense that you feel uncomfortable discussing this, even with close friends. We live in a culture that treats sex as both something shameful that we shouldn’t talk about and something we are supposed to be having constantly. What a helpful fucking setup (pardon my language). When you add in a stereotype about lesbian relationships, especially one as common as this one, sharing something personal can feel like giving people permission to judge your relationship or turn you into evidence for a joke you never agreed to be part of. You are allowed to have privacy and you sure as hell do not owe your friends a report on what happens in your bedroom.
Now, let’s talk about “lesbian bed death,” because that phrase carries a lot of baggage. I never did research on where this phrase came from, but I found that its roots are usually traced to the discussion surrounding Philip Blumstein and Pepper Schwartz’s 1983 book, American Couples: Money, Work, Sex, which reported lower sexual frequency among lesbian couples than among the other couple groups studied. The phrase became attached to those findings and circulated through popular culture and conversations about lesbian relationships. I am sure you could name a movie or tv show that referenced this at some point in the 90s are early aughts. Schwartz is often credited with coining it, but the exact origin is disputed, and she has said she cannot confirm that she created it. That distinction matters because a research finding and a catchy cultural label are not the same thing.
If you could have guessed, my problem with the phrase end with the word “death.” It takes a change in sexual activity and turns it into a declaration that something has died. It also encourages us to treat lesbian identity as an explanation before we have even asked what is happening between two particular people. How often someone has sex does not tell us whether they enjoy it or whether the relationship supports the intimacy they want. Your sexual orientation is not a diagnosis, and being lesbians does not mean you and your wife have reached some inevitable expiration date on desire. That is far too reductive and not something I want to perpetuate, especially in 2026.
Here is what I want to make very clear: the amount of sex or sexual intimacy in your relationship is something you get to decide together, not a requirement you must meet to qualify as a healthy couple. Neither of you owes the other access to your body, and marriage does not come with a minimum monthly sex quota. If it did, most people would be failing. Some people deeply value a frequent sexual connection. Others are happy with occasional sex or no sex at all. The question is whether the relationship you are creating works for both of you and whether you can speak honestly when your wants change.
At the same time, I want to leave room for the insecurity and trauma you mentioned. Being comfortable without sex is different from wanting a sexual connection but feeling unable to explore it safely. Those experiences can also overlap. You might feel happy in your marriage while still grieving something you miss. Your wife might have a different experience. None of that automatically makes the relationship unhealthy, but it deserves care. Choosing the amount of intimacy you want does not mean you can simply choose to stop having trauma responses or suddenly feel confident in your body. I would start with a conversation that takes the pressure to have sex completely off the table. Something like, “I love our relationship, and I want to understand how you feel about our physical connection. Are you comfortable with where we are, or is there anything you miss?” There is room for different answers here. The goal is to understand each other without turning the conversation into a promise that sex will happen later.
If you both want to explore more intimacy, congrats! You are on the same page and can begin with experiences that feel welcome and manageable. Maybe that means cuddling with an explicit agreement that it will stay cuddling. Maybe it means talking about what makes touch feel safe before trying anything new. Affection does not have to become a stepping stone to sex, and either person can pause or change their mind. If trauma or insecurity is getting in the way of something you want, an LGBTQIA2S+ affirming, trauma informed sex therapist can offer support. The goal should come from you, rather than from a therapist deciding how often you ought to have sex.
Ultimately, I would be much more curious about how you and your wife feel in your relationship than about what anyone thinks your sex life should look like. You do not have to resume sex to prove that your marriage is healthy, and you do not have to dismiss your own desires to prove that a relationship without sex can work. You can appreciate what you have while staying curious about what you might want. If I had it my way, I would eliminate the phrase “lesbian bed death” forever. Your marriage belongs to the two of you. A stupid stereotype does not get to write its story.
Matt Lachman is a Licensed Professional Clinical Counselor and Supervisor, AASECT Certified Sex Therapist, and owner of Cleveland Sex Therapy, located in the heart of Gordon Square. Since opening Cleveland Sex Therapy in 2019, Matt has been dedicated to promoting sex positivity and inclusivity in his work with individuals, couples, and polyamorous relationships. When he’s not helping clients navigate their sexual and relational journeys, you can find him enjoying a cold brew at Gypsy Beans or relaxing on his couch watching reruns of Happy Endings. Ask a question of your own here.
Disclaimer: The advice provided in this column is intended for general informational purposes only and should not be considered a substitute for professional therapy or mental health treatment. Each individual’s situation is unique, and the insights offered here may not address the complexities of your specific circumstances. If you’re experiencing challenges related to your mental health, relationships, or sexuality, I strongly encourage you to reach out to a licensed therapist or mental health professional for personalized support. You’re not alone—help is available.
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