Sex is supposed to bring us closer, but sometimes it becomes something else—obligation, reassurance, or quiet avoidance.

You say yes because it feels easier than saying no. Your partner pushes for closeness hoping it will fix the distance. Both of you are trying to connect, but end up feeling lonelier than before.

In this episode, Rachel unpacks the difference between solace sex—sex used as a band-aid for disconnection—and safe sex, the kind that grows from empathy, curiosity, and nervous system safety.

You’ll learn why survival strategies often take over in the bedroom, how attachment patterns like anxious pursuit and avoidant withdrawal collide, and why even “tender” sex can leave partners feeling drained when it’s driven by fear instead of aliveness.

Drawing from both client stories and her own marriage, Rachel explores:

• Why saying yes out of duty or fear can quietly erode connection.
• How your nervous system confuses sex with safety—and what to do when that happens.
• What research (including Emily Nagoski’s) says about empathy and communication as the real predictors of great sex.
• Three questions that can help you shift from survival mode to genuine connection:

1. What would bring me connection right now?
2. What might help my body feel more alive?
3. Am I willing to speak that out loud and see if my partner can meet me there?

This episode isn’t about blaming or fixing—it’s about noticing. Because when you can tell the difference between sex that soothes fear and sex that nurtures safety, you can begin to rebuild intimacy that restores instead of depletes.

Key Quote

“Solace sex may ease tension for a moment, but it leaves partners emptier. Safe sex builds honesty and aliveness—it’s where empathy replaces performance.”

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Resources

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Break the Cycle: 7 Days to Break the Cycle of Conflict

You're lying in bed. You're with your partner. Maybe you just had sex or maybe you're about to. On the outside, nothing looks wrong. But inside your body feels heavy. Instead of alive, you feel checked out. Instead of connected, you feel like you've been doing the work of keeping intimacy going while your partner is just along for the ride.

You gave a yes, but it wasn't really wholehearted. It was a yes out of duty or maybe fear that saying no would create a conflict. My clients tell me that this is one of the loneliest places in a relationship. The kind of sex that doesn't leave you feeling wanted, just relieved that you met expectations. One is quietly thinking,

If I just say no again, they'll feel rejected. If I say yes, at least they'll settle. Meanwhile, the other is hoping that this will close the gap between them, only to walk away feeling disconnected, just like before. Here's the hard truth. Sex can turn into survival instead of intimacy. For some, it's about reassurance. If you want me, maybe I'm safe.

For others, it's about keeping the peace. If I give in, maybe these things won't fall apart. These aren't bad intentions. They are nervous systems trying to manage closeness. The problem is, survival sex doesn't create the safety or connection we're actually searching for. So in this episode, we're talking about solace sex.

versus safety sex. Solace sex is survival mode, the quick fix, the obligation, the hope that sex will be the bandaid on disconnection. Safe sex is when intimacy comes from empathy, regulation, and curiosity. We'll look at how attachment strategies show up in the bedroom and why communication, not technique, is the biggest driver of great sex.

and how research helps us reimagine sex as a place for aliveness. Sex is supposed to be about connection, but often it turns into something else, obligation, reassurance, or negotiation. One partner feels the weight of keeping intimacy alive. The other aches for closeness and hopes that sex will fix it. Both want connection,

but their strategies collide in a way that leaves neither satisfied. My clients describe it as two different scripts playing out in the same bed. One thinks, if I don't say yes, I'll disappoint them. Maybe they'll give up on me. The other thinks, if we have sex, maybe we'll finally feel close again.

What starts as a bid for intimacy ends up feeling transactional. One giving, the other taking, neither fully being met. This is the solacex cycle.

It's not always dramatic, sometimes it's actually really subtle. A quiet yes when your body means no. A moment of pushing down your own needs or hoping sex will repair distance that hasn't been spoken aloud. On the surface, it looks calm, but inside it's full of desperate pressure. I've seen this in my own marriage sometimes.

There were times when my husband and I would go through a rough patch and we'd hope that sex would bring us closer again. I would get stuck in my head thinking about all the days work or all the pressures that I had, but really wishing that I could be there with him. It felt like risking saying no was risking a lot more.

than just that one moment in time. It felt like rejecting my husband on many levels.

But when I did that, the truth is that I felt more drained and more disconnected afterwards. My body started to remember the feeling of obligation and I would want sex less and less. At that point, it was really difficult for us to talk about things around sex because it would be so triggering for him or for myself that I think we just hoped that

having sex and pushing through would fix things, but it didn't.

The painful irony is that both partners are trying to solve the exact same problem. They want connection. But the anxious nervous system says, push for closeness before I lose it. The avoidant nervous system says, give in so conflict doesn't get even bigger. Both are survival strategies. And when survival takes over, sex stops being a place of aliveness and becomes management.

Here's the reframe. If sex has started to feel heavy or obligatory, it doesn't mean that you're broken or that your relationship is doomed. It means that your nervous system is really doing its best to regulate closeness.

What looks like I don't want you or you're too demanding is usually something different. It's survival mode showing up in the bedroom. When you see it this way, shame loosens its grip. Instead of labeling yourself as cold, needy, frigid, or selfish, you can say, was my nervous system trying to keep me safe.

For the partner with lower desires, saying yes out of duty can be a fawn response, keeping the peace. For the partner pushing for sex, insistence may be a protest against disconnection. That's why I talk about solace sex versus safe sex. Solace sex happens when intimacy is used as a band-aid to soothe fear, reduce tension, or

home distance. It's not bad, but it rarely satisfies. Safe sex, by contrast, isn't about urgency. It's about two nervous systems regulating where empathy, curiosity, and communication create aliveness, not just relief. One client told me, I always thought my low desire made me defective.

But when I saw it as my body protecting me, I felt a lot less broken. And when I told my partner, I need to feel wanted outside of sex, then everything started to shift. That honesty didn't just create better sex. It created more safety between them.

So the reframe is this. Sex is not primarily about mechanics or even desire. It's about context. Emily Nagoski's research makes it clear. What predicts great sex isn't bodies or skill, but communication and empathy. When you feel safe enough to bring your full self,

your body can respond in a way it never could under pressure or duty. When sex feels like obligation, it's usually because one or both nervous systems aren't in safety mode. Our bodies are scanning, am I safe? Do I belong here? If the answer wavers, sex might happen, but it won't feel alive. It will feel like shutting down, placating, or

grasping at reassurance. This is the difference between solace sex and safe sex. Solace sex is intimacy as a pressure valve. It's meant to reassure or soothe conflict and sometimes reduce tension. It can even be tender, but it often leaves both partners feeling emptier. Safe sex comes from regulation. Both

grounded enough to choose intimacy rather than to use it to manage fear. Think of your nervous system something like a thermostat. When you feel safe, the temperature is steady. You can relax and laugh and explore. But when pressure spikes, your system overheats. Suddenly, you're in fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. Maybe that looks like pushing harder.

maybe withdrawing, maybe saying yes when your body actually means no. Either way, the thermostat has flipped into crisis mode. This is why so many misunderstand what's happening in bed. The one pushing thinks, why don't they want me? The one complying thinks, if I just get through this, we'll be okay. But underneath,

Both are enacting survival strategies. What looks like rejection or neediness is really two bodies trying to manage safety in different ways. Here's the good news. Your nervous system isn't your enemy. It's your alarm system. It's just trying to protect you. The problem isn't the response. It's that when sex happens in survival mode,

Connection gets lost. Simply noticing the cues, like shallow breathing or checked out thoughts, can help you ask the question, am I in solo sex or safe sex? That awareness alone can start to shift things. So I want you to picture two very different experiences. The first, sex feels like survival.

One partner is pushing for closeness out of fear, while the other says yes out of obligation to keep things close and steady. Afterward, one partner feels guilty for pushing. They feel the disconnection that came from that experience, and the other feels drained, and the distance is wider than even before. This is solacex, driven by pressure rather than curiosity.

It's often silent and invisible, but internally it feels like a quiet ache. Instead of intimacy, it becomes a transaction. I give so you stay or so you'll calm down. Bodies may have touched, but hearts are much further apart. Now imagine the other path. Safe sex doesn't mean perfect sex.

It means both partners show up as themselves instead of their strategies. One is able to say, I'm not in the mood tonight without fearing abandonment. And the other can say, I miss you. I want to feel close without it landing as pressure. When we feel safe, we can take risks. We can see if our body is willing and can become excited.

and alive in the moment. And we can also feel safe saying, this isn't what I want today. I'd like to stop and find closeness in another way. The honesty itself creates safety. And that becomes the soil where real desire can grow. And the research backs this up. Emily Nagoski and others consistently find that the strongest predictors of

Satisfying and great sex aren't technique or chemistry or attraction. They're communication and empathy and trust. When you feel safe enough to say what you want or what you don't want, your body can start to relax. That's when sex stops feeling like survival and becomes a place of being alive. The contrast is pretty clear.

Solace sex empties while safe sex restores. One drains and the other nourishes. The difference isn't skill or performance. It's whether your nervous systems meet in honesty and empathy or in a place of fear.

So when you find yourself at the solace versus safe sex crossroads, you don't need a 10 step plan. In the moment, your nervous system needs something simple to hold onto. Here's what I recommend. Pause, take a breath and ask three questions. What would bring me connection right now?

What might help my body feel more alive? Am I willing to speak that out loud and see if my partner can meet me there? These aren't demands. They're invitations, shifting the frame from survival to curiosity, from management to creation. My clients have told me that even asking these kinds of questions privately

makes a difference. One woman realized she'd been saying yes out of duty for years. When she asked herself, what would help me feel more alive? The answer was pretty simple. She needed more affection outside of the bedroom. When she shared that, her partner felt relieved. He didn't want obligation, he wanted her presence. That's the power of naming.

Often what keeps us stuck isn't desire. It's silence. The anxious partner isn't saying, I need reassurance. The avoidant partner doesn't say, I need space to feel into my body. And so both end up acting out strategies instead of speaking their needs. When you dare to ask and answer those questions, you begin to turn survival sex into safe sex.

So your takeaway isn't to become the perfect communicator or to banish solace sex forever. It's to pause long enough to ask yourself, what would connect me? What would enliven me? And what would I be willing to share? Even if my partner can't meet me every time, that practice plants seeds of honesty and presence.

Over time, those seeds grow into sexual connection that restores instead of depletes. If sex has felt like obligation, survival, or just going through the motions, please remember that you're not broken. Your nervous system is doing exactly what it was designed to do, to protect you. Solid sex is a survival strategy, not a failing.

But survival isn't intimacy. What you and your relationship crave isn't duty or pressure. It's connection, empathy, and presence. So the contrast is clear. Solace sex may ease tension for the moment, but it leaves partners emptier. Safe sex builds honesty and aliveness. It doesn't require fireworks or perfect technique.

It requires the courage to pause and say, here's what I need to feel connected. And it requires listening when your partner does the same. That honesty can feel awkward, but it builds trust over time. So as you move forward, experiment with those three questions. What would bring me more connection? What would help my body feel alive?

And am I willing to voice that to my partner and see what's possible? Even asking them quietly can shift you out of survival mode and into curiosity. Sharing them out loud gives your partner the chance to truly meet you in that space. Like I said, this isn't about eliminating every moment of solace sex. We're human and survival strategies happen.

but it's about recognizing the difference when you can and letting sex be a safe space where you can feel alive together.