The Empty Nester’s Guide to Reigniting Intimacy

We want to answer your most pressing questions—or, you know, just the things that you’re curious about. Please keep them coming to: editorial@goop.com Below, a q for our sex columnist, Eliza Dumais.

Q: I’ve been with my husband for more than 20 years. This year, our youngest child left for college, and now we’re empty nesters. We haven’t had an active sex life in years, and I can’t help but feel like this is the time to reclaim our sexuality…but, how do we get our spark back after all that time?

The very notion of the “empty nester” is shrouded in mixed sentiments. There’s the grief that comes with mourning the closure of a particular phase of life; the restored quiet or emptiness in a once-crowded space. Then, there’s the glee and novelty that comes with fresh beginnings, second chapters, revived (or perhaps brand new) identities. As partners—and co-parents— however, it can be tough to fully embrace the nature of that transition for the sake of connection. 

“An inactive sex life does not mean there’s no spark left,” says intimacy and sexuality counselor Michaela Boehm. “But raising a family and maintaining a healthy relationship comes with consistency, and routine—which often gets in the way of sexuality.”

Whether or not there are kids involved—grown or otherwise—decades of sturdy togetherness can dilute some of the sensuality that often comes with new relationships. But that certainly doesn't mean it can’t be recovered. And new chapters of life—milestone birthdays, new homes, retirement, empty nesting—can be excellent catalysts for recalibrating or reigniting a sense of bodily alignment and sexuality. 

With that in mind, we spoke to Boehm, along with Regena Thomashauer, founder of the School of Womanly Arts, and author of the forthcoming On Our Knees: Loving Your Life Even When You Hate What's Happening to explore the most practical (and thrilling) ways to rekindle the flame as co-parents, empty nesters, and long-term partners.

Reconnect with your own sense of desire.

It can be tempting to believe that desire and sensuality come from external sources—praise and validation from a partner, ornate lingerie, pricey perfumes. But in reality, part of reclaiming erotic drive derives from feeling connected to your own body. “So many of my clients have been told to wear something sexy, or plan a date night—and those things are valuable, sure. But they all focus outward,” says Thomashauer. “They bypass the body. And that’s essential. When women feel stress, or grief, or fear, desire goes quiet. They need to come back to the body to reclaim that.” 

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We’ve been taught to treat pleasure like dessert—something you earn after everything is done, but it’s more like oxygen —Regena Thomashauer

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As she explains it, before focusing on reconnecting with a partner, a practice that engages with the self is a necessary first step. On the one hand, that may be mired in self-pleasure, but it may also just be about acknowledging your aging body, touching and caressing yourself the way a partner would, reacquainting yourself with your own physicality. “You’re perhaps mourning the loss of your kids, your body feels differently than it once did,” says Thomashauer. “You have to appreciate your body — the one that had these children and cared for them and committed to your marriage. Give yourself the tenderness you’ve given everyone else for the last 20 years.” 

There’s no shame in the fact that our daily responsibilities and routines sometimes overshadow pleasure. But rediscovering your own sense of bodily autonomy and sensation is an essential precursor to achieving erotic chemistry with your partner, too. “Pleasure is a regulator, not a reward. We’ve been taught to treat pleasure like dessert—something you earn after everything is done, but it’s more like oxygen, and it’s the way your body returns to regulation. Think about it: meditation, breath work, and exercise can regulate the nervous system. Why would we assume that pleasure, one of the body’s most powerful biological experiences, wouldn’t?” says Thomashauer. “So I tend to invite women to have a pleasure practice, whether that involves their genitals or not. That’s how you keep the engine humming, so to speak.” 

Make time to play.

It’s no secret that novelty and sexuality are closely linked phenomena. When we go through the same motions daily, it becomes increasingly difficult to find the spirit of excitement (and thus arousal) in our day-to-day lives. “Routine is the enemy of erotic excitement. You have to find ways to be adventurous or pursue joy the way you likely did when you first met,” says Boehm. “To re-establish erotic energy, you don’t need to begin with some elaborate sexy plan. Instead, go have fun together. Be spontaneous. Break up your routine to drive somewhere exciting, or make out in a car, or drink a bottle of wine in a park you used to visit. Prioritize joy.” 

Per Boehm, these sorts of exploits do miraculous work to re-establish your sense of eagerness and excitement— and they help bolster connection as well as arousal. She recommends taking turns selecting outings together—humoring your partner in their preferred plans, be they weekend trips or living-room-floor picnics. 

And once that dynamic has been re-established, she suggests applying the same model to your sex life. “Make a wish list. Each of you comes up with a few fun things you want to try sexually. Maybe that’s sex in a semi-public space, or whipped cream, or some particular position,” she explains. “Make sure nothing on the list is about someone doing it right. This isn’t about failing or achieving, it’s about trying new things together.” At bottom, the goal is to be explorers of your own sexual rapport, which often requires renewing your sense of adventure (and your pursuit of joy and pleasure) together.

Re-connect emotionally as well as physically.

When you’re entering a new phase of life—in this case, empty nesting—it’s important to think about the ways you want your routines to shift. This is an opportunity to say, hey, I want to sleep in more often, or let’s go out to eat more. “Before you get into the sometimes-awkward conversation of sexuality, you’ll want to talk about this new phase of life. Acknowledge that you’re entering a fresh chapter together. Talk about what you want out of it,” says Boehm. “Perhaps in that conversation, you can talk about increasing physical connection, but either way, it’s about asking yourselves what adventures you want to embark on together. The erotic will always follow.”

To that end, as Thomashauer points out, there are countless emotions that come with this particular shifting point. It’s important to let yourselves feel them together—vulnerability and eroticism often go hand in hand, and the ability to operate freely with one another will help establish a necessary intimacy. “In this moment in your life, it can be really amazing to turn to your partner and say, ‘I’m filled with grief and gratitude right now, can you hold me?’” In the end, that shared vulnerability will help you both open up and reconnect physically, if not sexually.

Lean into physical touch (not just sex).

A full and busy household can make it incredibly difficult to upkeep a relationship with one another’s bodies in addition to your own. But re-establishing that sort of intimacy can be essential to building sexual practices back into your life. “I always tell my clients to set up a nice warm area, get out the massage oils, and give each other full-body massages…but blindfolded,” says Boehm. “I know that sounds silly, but it’s all about reconnecting to touch, without self-consciousness or too much self-awareness. The blindfold helps with presence and physicality.”

As she puts it, it’s about the body, not the visuals. It’s about physical touch. And that sort of intimacy can help pave the road for a greater sense of mutual eroticism, or sex drive. “Even snuggling can be a great way to feel taken care of, and safe, and at home in your body,” adds Thomashauer. “All those moments of physical touch have value.”