Definitely agree with this. And sometimes, ‘maintenance sex’ is taking care of oneself when you know that your partner is unable to partake in the deed — and to do so in ways that don’t make it feel like you are shaming them or blaming them for your need to ‘take care of business’.
Same here. My partner has had some issues that have impacted her ability and her desire for that kind of intimacy for a while now. So, yeah, solo it is.
There’s something quietly radical in what you’ve written, like you’ve taken a phrase that’s been sitting in the corner wearing a hair shirt and coaxed it into something warmer, more human-shaped.
I think you’re right to tug at the wiring of “maintenance sex.” The term always feels like it’s been filed under obligation, next to boiler servicing and replying to emails you don’t want to send. But what you’re describing reframes maintenance as a kind of tending, not a tax. Less “I owe this,” more “I’m keeping something alive, including myself.”
And that shift matters. Because when sex becomes something done outward, as a gesture of peacekeeping or performance, it can hollow out the very thing it’s meant to sustain. But when it loops back inward, when it includes the self as a recipient rather than just a provider, it regains texture. Appetite returns. Curiosity sneaks back in through the side door.
I also really appreciate how you let contradiction sit in the room without trying to tidy it away. The truth that caring for others can blur into neglecting yourself. That something can be routine and still be intimate. That need doesn’t always arrive dressed as desire, but that doesn’t make it less real or less worthy of attention.
The “apple a day” idea lingers in a good way. Not prescriptive, not clinical, just a reminder that nourishment isn’t always glamorous, but it is essential. And sometimes, especially when we feel least well, the things that look like chores are actually signals. Not of duty, but of depletion.
As for me, I think I’d say this: anything that turns you away from yourself over time starts to cost more than it gives, even if it began as care. So your instinct to reclaim maintenance as something reciprocal, something that includes your own aliveness, feels not just healthy but necessary.
Your last question hangs there in a way I like. Not demanding an answer, just opening a door. And maybe that’s the point. Not to resolve it neatly, but to keep asking: who is this for, really? And am I in the room when it happens?
Abigail - not to overlook the importance of your words and their message, but let's shout out the fantastic art AND music you so reliably share. I for one could (and frequently do!) listen to this entire Marvin Gaye / Tammi Terrell album. Honestly, for anyone reading this note, here's your PSA for the day - listen to even ONE SONG on this album, and I promise you, you'll start to shake a little, you'll start to feel the beat a little, you'll start to drop out of your thoughts and into your body. Which is of course what Abigail is suggesting we do - get out of our thoughts, out of our worries and fears and insecurities and resentments - and simply experience the world through our senses. xoxo
Definitely agree with this. And sometimes, ‘maintenance sex’ is taking care of oneself when you know that your partner is unable to partake in the deed — and to do so in ways that don’t make it feel like you are shaming them or blaming them for your need to ‘take care of business’.
Totally, yes! Some solo maintenance is my medicine :)
Same here. My partner has had some issues that have impacted her ability and her desire for that kind of intimacy for a while now. So, yeah, solo it is.
There’s something quietly radical in what you’ve written, like you’ve taken a phrase that’s been sitting in the corner wearing a hair shirt and coaxed it into something warmer, more human-shaped.
I think you’re right to tug at the wiring of “maintenance sex.” The term always feels like it’s been filed under obligation, next to boiler servicing and replying to emails you don’t want to send. But what you’re describing reframes maintenance as a kind of tending, not a tax. Less “I owe this,” more “I’m keeping something alive, including myself.”
And that shift matters. Because when sex becomes something done outward, as a gesture of peacekeeping or performance, it can hollow out the very thing it’s meant to sustain. But when it loops back inward, when it includes the self as a recipient rather than just a provider, it regains texture. Appetite returns. Curiosity sneaks back in through the side door.
I also really appreciate how you let contradiction sit in the room without trying to tidy it away. The truth that caring for others can blur into neglecting yourself. That something can be routine and still be intimate. That need doesn’t always arrive dressed as desire, but that doesn’t make it less real or less worthy of attention.
The “apple a day” idea lingers in a good way. Not prescriptive, not clinical, just a reminder that nourishment isn’t always glamorous, but it is essential. And sometimes, especially when we feel least well, the things that look like chores are actually signals. Not of duty, but of depletion.
As for me, I think I’d say this: anything that turns you away from yourself over time starts to cost more than it gives, even if it began as care. So your instinct to reclaim maintenance as something reciprocal, something that includes your own aliveness, feels not just healthy but necessary.
Your last question hangs there in a way I like. Not demanding an answer, just opening a door. And maybe that’s the point. Not to resolve it neatly, but to keep asking: who is this for, really? And am I in the room when it happens?
Very well written and very well said!
Thank you ☺️
You’re welcome!
Very good piece Abby! Thank you as always for writing and sharing with us! Love the art as well!
Abigail - not to overlook the importance of your words and their message, but let's shout out the fantastic art AND music you so reliably share. I for one could (and frequently do!) listen to this entire Marvin Gaye / Tammi Terrell album. Honestly, for anyone reading this note, here's your PSA for the day - listen to even ONE SONG on this album, and I promise you, you'll start to shake a little, you'll start to feel the beat a little, you'll start to drop out of your thoughts and into your body. Which is of course what Abigail is suggesting we do - get out of our thoughts, out of our worries and fears and insecurities and resentments - and simply experience the world through our senses. xoxo