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Hi Reader,

Many of us have an unwritten, unspoken marriage contract with our spouse. The contract, of course, includes sex. In all honesty, for most men, the contract hinges on sex. It’s a sex contract.

“I provide a service, you give me sex in return.”

Mine sounded something like this:

“I work hard and earn a decent living, you give me sex.”

Or, depending on the day of the week:

• “I pitch in and do a few household chores, you give me sex.”
• “I don’t look at other women, you give me sex.”
• “I throw you a bone in the form of an occasional date night, you give me sex.”

Hardly romantic.

And worlds apart from the original contract — the one we publicly agreed to on our wedding day. Here’s a portion of it. You’ll notice there’s no mention of its pending revision:

To have and to hold
To love and to cherish
For better or for worse
Till death do us part

Most likely, you vowed something similar. And most likely, you’ve revised the contract once or twice since then. To be fair, it only exists on a subconscious level. You’re not aware of it as you go about your day — listening to a podcast, scooping out the inside of an avocado, saying goodnight to your kids — but it’s there. It colors everything in your marriage.

It also creates a plethora of problems. Here’s why:

Your wife doesn’t know it exists.

It’s never been verbalized. It’s not in writing. There was no formal gathering or ceremony to amend the original contract.

This conversation never took place:

YOU: “Hey babe, I know this is a surprise, but I’ve invited our parents, siblings, and closest friends to the house this Saturday.”

HER: “Really?! This Saturday?! What for?”

YOU: “I want to renew our marriage vows.”

[swoon]

HER: “Oh, honey! That is soooooo romantic.” [kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss] “What prompted this?”

YOU: “Well, remember our original marriage vows — to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, yada, yada?”

HER: “Of course, my love.”

YOU: “I’ve decided to amend them slightly.”

HER: “Amend them?”

YOU: “The whole thing was kind of wordy, you know? I trimmed the first few lines. And “for better or for worse” feels unreasonable. I removed that, too. Actually, I got rid of everything. The new contract reads, ‘I hold a job and pay the bills, you give me sex.’ Simple, right? Guests will be arriving at 5:00.”
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Bait and Switch

Here’s the other big issue with revising your marriage contract:

Your wife really, really, really likes the old one.

It’s the one she’s still holding you to. It’s the one she’s still measuring you by. And it’s the path she’s still hoping you’ll lead her down.

This is where the tension in your home comes from.

It doesn’t come from your different communication styles — she’s headline, you’re fine print. Or your different tastes in music — she’s Tim McGraw, you’re Jack White. Or your different circadian rhythms — she’s early bird, you’re night owl.

It comes from the dissonance created by the two contracts.

If you live in a two-contract household, your wife feels lost. Untethered. Like she’s in a bad dream — where the floor beneath her has given way and she’s in free fall, anticipating the splat.

Something has changed, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. It’s the same house, same furniture, same toothpaste, and same faces at the dinner table ... but something is off.

It gnaws at her.

Now you understand why there’s chronic, low-grade resentment running through your home.

• She resents you replacing the old contract with the new one.
• She resents you obligating her to terms she never agreed to.
• She resents you guilting her (and silently punishing her) for not fulfilling those terms.
• She resents you acting like she’s the source of the problem.
• And she resents herself for not seeing this coming.

And what about you?

I’m guessing you feel frustrated.

I sure did.

Coercing my wife into bed so she could fulfill her half of the imaginary contract was always a struggle. Holding a job and paying the bills hardly ever resulted in passionate lovemaking. More often than not, sex was hollow. The kind you’d expect from a one-sided contract. And my wife grew harder and more dismissive by the day.

Laughably, when she filed for divorce, I protested, “Our marriage contract is sacred in God’s eyes! How dare you break it!”

What a jackass.

God loved the old contract. He hated the new one.
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Three Roads Diverged In a Wood

If any of this rings true, here are your three options:

1. Do nothing — It’s the least disruptive of the three, primarily because it’s remarkably similar to your current course of action. Simply sit back, follow the crowd, and watch the frustration in your marriage reach unbearable levels until one of you relieves the pressure by having an affair or filing for divorce. For the record, I don’t recommend “Do nothing,” but it’s certainly within your rights. At the very least, it allows you to fulfill the ancient proverb, “As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his foolishness.” That counts for something.

2. Ask your wife to revise her vows — Something like, “You take out the trash, I give you sex.” Now, I don’t know your wife, but I’m going to label this a long shot. Webster’s defines long shot as “A venture unlikely to succeed; an entry (as in a horse race) given little chance of winning.” With that said, there’s always hope. You might catch her on a good day. My only suggestion is to put it in writing and have her sign it in front of a notary public before you invite family and friends to the vow renewal ceremony.

3. Live up to the original contract — This is the most promising of the three. The most demanding. The most rewarding. If you go back and read it, you’ll find the original contract is actually your yellow brick road. The path to your higher self. Your stronger self. Your Maximus self.

Ironically, it’s also the path to crazy-good sex.

Rip up the counterfeit contract.

Live up to the original one.
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Want More?

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Are you determined to build a marriage that’s warm, fun, close, and intimate again?

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Your future self will thank you.

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Your Coach,

P.O. Box 2002, Red Bank, New Jersey 07701
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