Caption: How I Do It: ‘We haven’t had sex in two years ? I’m thinking of leaving him’Picture: Myles Goode

Welcome to How I Do It, the series in which we give you a seven-day sneak peek into the sex life of a stranger.

This week, we hear from Hannah*, a mother of three in her late 40s.

Hannah is straight and has a long-term partner, Chris*, but their sex life has dwindled since starting a family, and they haven’t had sex for around two years.

In the early stages of their relationship, Hannah says they’d be ‘at it several times a week’, but things changed once she got pregnant. While Hannah was at her horniest, to her, it felt like Chris found pregnancy a ‘turn-off’.

‘He was worried [sex] would do something to the baby,’ she adds. ‘We did have some sex – perhaps once or twice a month – it’s hard to remember now. I masturbated a lot during all my pregnancies, but I never told Chris. In hindsight, it’s clear that communication has always been an issue.’

Hannah says their ‘sex life never recovered’ after having their children. And, while some relationships flourish without sex, Hannah is lonely.

‘Our sex life dwindled more and more with each child. At first, I put it down to broken sleep, breastfeeding, sheer exhaustion, and lack of family support; there was never anyone to step in so we could have some couple time.

‘However, now that the kids are older, if we wanted to make time for sex we could. Yet we don’t. If I’m completely honest, I feel like our relationship is effectively over. I just don’t know how to end it.’

Hannah is seriously considering leaving him, but due to the kids and money playing a part, she doesn’t know how…

Monday

At the dinner table tonight my 12-year-old daughter said that at school they’d been learning about consent, which she said was ‘really weird’.

‘What’s weird about that?’ I asked. ‘Consent is really important.’

‘Because the teacher’s, like, 60,’ she replied.

I was about to ask if she thought 60-year-olds didn’t — or shouldn’t — have sex, but decided against it. I wasn’t ready to answer the questions that would inevitably follow about my own sex life.

How could I tell her that sex isn’t just for young people, when I’m 48 and haven’t had sex for two years?

Tuesday

The day starts with the usual circus of school runs, emptying the dishwasher, sorting laundry, and walking the dog before I finally crack on with some work. Working from home enables me to work around the kids, although I do miss interacting with other humans.

I sometimes break up the day with a quick solo session — there are some perks of not being in an office! Today though, the mood doesn’t really take me and I just power through until it’s time to collect the kids again and take them to their various swimming and football clubs.

After dinner, Chris and our 16-year-old son settle on the sofa in front of Netflix, while I put the younger two to bed. This seems to have become the norm. It’s not that I want the oldest to stay in his own room, but it doesn’t leave any space for my partner and me as a couple, so often I just carry on with work instead.

By the time I go to bed, my partner is already asleep. As usual, we don’t have sex.

Wednesday

A stressful morning of trying to get the kids to brush their teeth/find their school shoes/remember their homework/PE kits/lunch boxes.

Chris and I don’t even kiss each other goodbye. I can’t remember when we stopped doing this. We’re basically co-parenting while living in the same house. No time for a solo session today either.

Before I met Chris, I was with Ed.* He remains the only soul mate I’ve ever known. We met at university. He’d throw stones at my window in the early hours of the morning, then we’d stay up until dawn chatting about everything and nothing.

He was an anti-establishment guy who once told me he thought getting married was the most romantic thing anyone could do. Except we never did. He needed to sow his wild oats, travel, find himself, whatever. Right guy, wrong time.

We spent the next few years alternately pining for each other. I had a few flings until my hormones intervened and I met Chris. The old cliché of my ticking body clock drowned out the roaring truth that he wasn’t the soul mate I craved.

He could be fun and adventurous, and we shared a few interests, but there was little beneath the surface. If I’d dared muzzle my ovaries for a second, I might have heard the silence in my soul. Instead, we bought our first house together and had babies.

At first, the children eclipsed the gaps in our relationship. But now that they’re growing up, those cracks are widening. Increasingly, I’m beginning to miss those conversations in the dark. I miss sex, too — just not with Chris…

Thursday

Another day blurs by. Before collecting the kids from school, I get out my vibrator and spend some time on myself. Well, about seven minutes, because that’s all I’ve got time for.

I enjoy the physical sensation and the tingles that shoot down my legs, but I don’t fantasise. It’s more like an act of self-care really — and to reassure myself that I can still orgasm. Apparently, it’s also good for your pelvic floor muscles.

I don’t regret having children for a second. My own childhood was pretty traumatic, and I was desperate to create a family of my own. I was so consumed with love for my babies, that for a while they were all I needed.

But while that love will never change, it’s no longer enough. I’ve tried talking to Chris about the fact we don’t have sex, but he just brushes it off, saying it’s normal at our stage of life and that our sex life will start again once the children have left home. Wrong and wrong.

It’s not just the absence of physical intimacy. For me, sex has to start on an emotional level, and there’s just no connection between us. Whatever spark there was, has long been extinguished.

Friday

Next week is half-term, so at least mornings won’t be so rushed. However, it also means I’ll have zero privacy for a week. I decide to make the most of having the house to myself and get out my vibrator again. This time I fantasise about using it with some imaginary person.

It’s been so long since I’ve been caressed by a man. I think I miss that more than I miss actual sex. I miss being held, stroked, touched; that closeness.

The orgasm cascades through my body, then it’s time for the bloody school run again. My life on paper is so monotonous. I’m ready for something more, I just don’t know how to go about it.

I guess a part of me feels trapped. Separation is financially almost impossible, and the kids would be devastated (although I think they’d cope in the end). Staying in a relationship for the kids — and because I can’t afford to leave — feels like a big price to pay.

Saturday

In the morning, two of the kids are playing sport and the other is at a birthday party. It could be a chance for Chris and I to spend some rare time together. Except he informs me he’s going to watch a football match with his mate.

To be honest, it’s a relief.

We’ve been arguing a lot recently and even when we are (kind of) getting along, I no longer really enjoy his company. He’s never been much of a talker, but when I bring this up, he just says ‘What do you want to talk about?’ as if we already know everything about each other.

I feel like he has low expectations of our relationship, or relationships in general. He’s happy just to settle, whereas I need someone who excites and inspires me – and not just in the bedroom.

Predictably, sex doesn’t happen again today. We no longer even kiss goodnight or cuddle in bed.

Sunday

In the morning we go for a long family walk. It’s a beautiful cold, sunny day and the scenery is spectacular, but I can’t help noticing other hand-holding couples. I imagine what it would be like to go on a date with someone. I’ve even wondered about joining a dating agency, but that would be far too risky. Plus, when would I get the time?

Would I ever be unfaithful? I can’t deny I’d be tempted if the opportunity arose, but that’s highly unlikely. That probably sounds awful, but it’s been so long since anyone paid me any attention and I think we all need to be desired — and not just on a physical level. Even more than sex though, what I really want is connection.

I’ve never been into wild, adventurous sex, possibly because I’ve never been particularly confident in the bedroom, but I can’t imagine never having sex again. Perhaps there could be even better sex than I’ve had before in my future.

Writing this has reinforced the truth I’ve known deep down for a while: that I no longer want to be with Chris. And also, that as much as I love my kids and have some good friends, I’m actually a bit lonely.

I hope that one day I might read this and wonder why I waited so long to move on.

*Names have been changed

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‘Chris and I don’t even kiss each other goodbye. I can’t remember when we stopped doing this.’