Pregnant… and Not Wanting Sex?

I’m pregnant, and if I’m being honest, sex is the last thing on my mind.

This isn’t something I expected to say out loud. There’s this narrative that pregnancy is supposed to make you glow, feel powerful, sensual, connected to your body in a deeply erotic way. And while I believe that story exists for some people, it’s not the one I’m living right now.

Right now, my body feels busy. Full. Sensitive. Foreign. And not particularly sexy.

My Body Doesn’t Feel Like Mine

Being pregnant is incredible, but it’s also disorienting. My body is changing faster than my brain can keep up with. Breasts that ache. A belly that feels stretched and unfamiliar. Hormones that shift my mood without warning. I don’t always recognize myself in the mirror, and that makes it hard to feel desirable…even to myself.

• It’s not that I don’t love my partner.
• It’s not that I don’t remember what desire feels like.
• It’s that right now, my body feels more functional than flirtatious.

Desire Has Quieted, Not Disappeared

I used to think desire was something you either had or didn’t. Pregnancy has taught me that desire is far more nuanced than that. Mine hasn’t vanished, it’s just quieter. Softer. Less urgent.

Some days, the idea of being touched feels comforting. Other days, even gentle affection feels like too much. My nervous system is already working overtime. There’s a constant internal hump of growth, protection, anticipation…and sex simply doesn’t fit into that frequency right now. Instead of fighting that, I’m learning to listen.

I Don’t Feel Sexy, and I’m Tired of Pretending I Should

This is the part I don’t hear enough women talk about: I don’t feel sexy in this body at the moment.

I feel powerful in a primal, awe-filled way, but not seductive. Not flirty. Not interested in being seen or touched in a sexual way. And that doesn’t mean something is wrong with me.

Pregnancy isn’t a performance. I don’t owe anyone confidence, sensuality, or availability just because I’m growing a life.

• I’m allowed to feel awkward.
• I’m allowed to feel disconnected from my sexuality.
• I’m allowed to take up space without needing to be attractive while doing it.

There’s this quiet pressure to “keep intimacy alive” during pregnancy, as if sex is the only way to stay connected. But intimacy doesn’t have to look like intercourse. For me, intimacy right now looks like:

• Being held without expectation
• Falling asleep next to someone who understands my limits
• Being reassured that I’m loved even when I say no
• Feeling safe enough to be honest

Sex without desire isn’t intimacy. It’s obligation. And I refuse to turn my body into a chore list. Talking About It Has Been Hard, but necessary

Admitting that I don’t want sex, and that I don’t feel sexy, has been vulnerable. There’s guilt wrapped up in it. Fear of disappointing someone I love. Fear that this version of me is somehow less desirable or temporary in the wrong way.

But the truth is: I need compassion more than I need pressure.

I’ve learned to say things like:

“My body feels very inward right now.”

“This isn’t about you, it’s about where I am.”

“I still love you, I just need patience.”

I remind myself often: this moment does not define my future relationship with sex.

Pregnancy is a chapter. A powerful, strange, transformative chapter, but not the whole story. Desire will evolve again. My body will feel like mine in new ways. Sensuality will return, maybe softer, maybe deeper, maybe different.

For Now, I’m Choosing Gentleness

Right now, my body is asking for rest, space, and kindness. It’s asking me to stop performing and start listening. To honor what is instead of forcing what used to be.

• I am pregnant.
• I don’t want sex.
• I don’t feel sexy.
• And I am still whole, worthy, and deeply feminine.

This body is not broken, it’s busy becoming. That is more than enough.