If you want to support independent women's media, become a Mamamia subscriber. Get an all-access pass to everything we make, including exclusive podcasts, articles, videos and our exercise app, MOVE.

I remember the first time I actively brought up sex as a conversation with my now-boyfriend. I was nervous — more than usual — because I was falling in love with him at the time and didn't want to mess things up, but knew that if we were going to be in a serious relationship; he'd need to be open to talking about sex.

It went shockingly well. I was surprised because of my own resistance. There was something inside of me that was telling me to keep my saucy thoughts to myself — probably the patriarchal society we've been raised in that says women who initiate anything of a sexual nature are not girlfriend or wife material — but I blurted out some questions about our sex life anyway.

He was very open to discussion. His eyes widened for a moment, I think more out of surprise than anything else, but he answered my questions openly and honestly. That conversation led to us having the best sex of our relationship so far.

Ever since, we've made it a bit of a practise to talk about our sex life. We carve out time for it, on holidays or date nights, utilise tools when we feel a little stuck (sexy conversation cards are great) and force ourselves through any defensiveness and fear. It's not always easy, but it feels like a no-brainer, because we know the difference that talking about sex can have in our own relationship.

We learn more about each other and ourselves, get excited for things we'll try in the future and have thought-provoking conversations around our beliefs and limits — which are ever-changing. I personally think that to sexually evolve alongside another human is one of the best parts of being in a relationship.

But I know it's not easy for everyone. In fact, research and therapists agree it's one of the most common causes of sexual stagnation in relationships: not being able to talk about sex, or feeling as though it's a taboo topic.

So… why do we stop talking about sex once we're 'comfortable' with someone? Why does it become harder, not easier, over time?

I looked into it.

Watch: Sex life feeling stagnant? Check out Chantell Otten's sex tips for couples. Post continues below.

We fall into "silent sexual scripts".

Couples therapist Esther Perel talks a lot about how sexual communication starts strong in the early days — when everything is new — and then quietly disappears as routines form. She calls these routines "sexual scripts."

They're familiar. Comfortable. Predictable. And because they're working well enough, we're too scared to disrupt them.

"Over time, newness is replaced by assumptions," she says. "And assumptions are the enemy of eroticism."

Basically, we start noticing our partner's behaviour (through our own lens, mind you) and start treating those observations as facts. Maybe your partner doesn't go down on you often, and you've assumed that they either don't like it, or it's got something to do with you; while neither might be true. 

In short, we've stopped asking questions and started making assumptions. We've started telling ourselves "scripts" that feel true — but where do they actually come from?

We're terrified of hurting each other's feelings.

According to Dr Sue Johnson, clinical psychologist and founder of Emotionally Focused Therapy, most people aren't avoiding sex conversations — they're avoiding rejection.

"People worry that speaking up about their needs will be interpreted as criticism," she says.

Telling someone, "I want more" can sound like "you're not enough." Telling someone, "I want less" can sound like "I'm not attracted to you." So we say nothing. We walk on eggshells.

The basis of this behaviour is similar to what Esther speaks of, reverting to assumptions or "scripts" rather than using curiosity. Here, instead of letting the scripts run our sex lives and thoughts, we're assuming that our partner will judge or misinterpret our communication, meaning they'll be offended or upset.

But can we really afford to risk the fear of that, over asking for what we want?

Sex feels tied to identity — which makes it vulnerable to discuss.

Therapists call it identity exposure, the idea that talking about sex reveals something true and delicate about who we are. I can totally agree with that, because true desire, pleasure, turn-ons, limits etc often sit right at the core of selfhood.

So when we risk exposing it, we feel bare. Easy to be controlled, manipulated, taken advantage of, left… whatever your flavour of trauma, there's something for everyone. Something we're afraid of, some pattern we don't want to repeat, a part of ourselves we're maybe afraid to expose. 

Often, when it comes to sex-related topics — which we don't have an extensive language for — we see it as easier to ignore entirely than to try and express how we're feeling.

We inherit sexual silence from our families.

According to psychologist and sex researcher Dr Lori Brotto, many adults grew up in homes where sex was never discussed — except in the context of fear or shame. "For many, silence around sex is inherited."

This could be a product of many things: the culture you were raised in, the time period, a religious structure… but they eat away at our insides more than you'd think. The body remembers feelings, but a feeling can come from language. If someone has told you to "take off that slutty dress!" for example, being called a slut in bed might make you feel ashamed. We take on more than we realise.

Especially in long-term adult relationships, we revert to what we saw modelled, often subconsciously. 

We expect long-term partners to "just know."

There's a myth that the longer you're together, the better you should be able to read each other's minds — especially in sex. Esther Perel calls this the ideal of romantic telepathy: the belief that love should make communication unnecessary.

But on top of that, she says modern couples place an unprecedented amount of pressure on one person.

"We expect our partner to be our best friend, co-parent, financial teammate, emotional support system, creative collaborator, motivator, safe place, adventure partner… and somehow our erotic mind-reader, too."

As Perel puts it: "we've replaced the 'village' with one person — and it makes desire more fragile, not more intuitive."

Because sex doesn't thrive under pressure. It doesn't flourish when someone feels responsible for fulfilling every emotional, psychological, social and sexual need we have. And it definitely doesn't feel intuitively horny when we assume the other person already knows what we want.

Not to mention that what we want is always changing. Bodies change. Desire fluctuates. Hormones shift. As we grow, change and evolve, so too do our desires. We have to keep communicating, so our partner can a) evolve alongside us and b) get excited by learning new things about us constantly.

But because we assume our partner is our "person" — the person who should understand us better than anyone, or so the story books say — we expect them to magically know what we're thinking. And then we feel misunderstood when they don't.

Life admin takes over.

Every couples therapist ever says the same thing: at some point, long-term partners stop being erotic companions and become co-managers of a shared life. Schedules. Bills. Groceries. School pick-ups. Laundry. Dinner. It's almost like having a business partner, rather than a lover. So much damn admin!

Eroticism doesn't die because passion dies, it dies because we're tired, and because "did you put the bins out?" slowly becomes the dominant form of communication. Eek. 

And then, after all that… the silence becomes awkward.

At three months, not discussing sex feels like a blip. At three years, it feels like a chasm.

Shame grows in the gap. We've all been there, had this thing that's niggling at us and the longer it niggles silently, the more stupid it feels. You start telling yourself that you don't need to bring it up, that they won't understand, that maybe you can just make peace with it. But of course, it never really goes away. And then you feel stupid, because you've kept it in so long. Why haven't you said this before? They'll ask. And you'll feel embarrassed so you'll get defensive and it will turn into a fight that doesn't need to happen.

So we (wrongly) assume that it's better just to zip it.

So, how do you start talking about sex again?

Here are some therapist-endorsed, research-backed ways couples can break the silence:

1. Use the "third thing."

If raising it directly feels awkward, reference something outside of your relationship that can bring that topic to the forefront.

It might be a podcast you listened to, an article you read, a TV scene or a TikTok. Send it to your partner, discuss when they get home. Or watch it with them and ask their thoughts. 

Not directing the question at them can be a more gentle way to start.

2. Don't talk about sex in the bedroom.

This is one of the biggest pieces of advice therapists give: have the conversation on a walk, in the car, over coffee — anywhere neutral. My boyfriend enjoys having tough conversations while going for a walk, because as someone who hates conflict, he finds it easier to express difficult emotions when he's not looking someone in the face. 

And plus, bedrooms carry an emotional charge. The scene of the crime, if you will.

3. Frame it with curiosity, not criticism.

Instead of: "We never have sex anymore." — a la David Harbour, resident douchebag…

Try: "I miss feeling close to you. Can we talk about what might bring that back?"

It keeps both people open instead of defensive.

Listen: In this age of full disclosure, why is there one kind of sex that we absolutely do not talk about? And is that silence a mark of respect, or a doing disservice to long-term relationships? Post continues below.

4. Start with something positive.

Sex therapists call this "anchored feedback."

"I love when you do X. I'd love more of that." It's still honest, but grounded in connection and positivity.

5. Normalise that desire changes.

Sex researcher Emily Nagoski (author of Come As You Are) explains that responsive desire — desire that shows up after connection rather than spontaneously — is actually the most common form of desire in long-term couples.

This alone removes so much shame.

6. Schedule time together — and make it romantic.

Scheduled sex feels clinical and more like a job, than something fun. A sex therapist once told me that it works to schedule time with your partner, time for connection and romance. Then, you can let things play out naturally.

Hopefully, that will lead to intimacy. Time is such a strong ingredient to connection, and we seem to be living in the most time-poor time of all. 

Simply: make time. Let desire do the rest. 

Feature Image: Instagram/@lauraroscioli.