I am my house.

My body is a temple for God.

My body is a house.

I am shined and polished on the outside. Hair coiffed, bangles adorning, lips shined, and clothes neat.

I am my house.

My body is a temple for God.

My body is my house.

If I am my house, then why is it unclean?


Three years ago when we decided to go on a sex streak we were not doing it as a means to “clean house” in our relationship. But, that is exactly what came of it.

The marriage was steady for nine years. Steady minus the times when our roller coaster cart jumped track and we found ourselves slammed up against a brick wall wet with tears, blood and shame. Sex in itself did not fix our “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride”, but it did open up an avenue in which learning to do better for each other, and for God was possible.

One of the very few rules we had going into the sex streak was that we had to do it by midnight, or else it did not count toward the day. I am OCD enough that I was not; I’m still not, going to let anything break the streak.  (You know you really do have to look at all the positives of “cRAzy”. An OCD wife in this case equals one seriously happy husband) (and me too, definitely me too) So, if I was hell bent on not letting anything break the streak, how then were we supposed to make sex a streak when life throws dirt clods, splashes coffee dregs of white tee shirts and squirts blood red ketchup on pants?

When life would hurl mud bombs at us (in the beginning of the marriage and during the first ¾ the streak) the tendency was to throw in the towel and call it quits. But, I couldn’t ever do that. I am sure it has a lot to do with my childhood, but let’s not get Freudian right now. My Obsessive Compulsive nature, though I am not at all competitive in most other circumstances, would not let me just give up in a streak. It was something that must be conquered. Ended on my time, or God’s time, but surely never broken because of a little mudslinging.

Instead of letting a fight stop the sex of any given night, we would come to a place where we would give in to the fight and let it go, freezing it in time to go back and rehash later; all in the name of sex. And it worked, praise God, every time! You know what else happened in those frozen moments? We came together as a couple for something bigger, or at least more pleasurable (at least most of the time after a fight) than arguing. Adrenaline and oxytocin took over, filling our bodies with something better than rage, defeat and depression.  After, we were markedly calmer, more attune to our own needs and often times more attune to each other’s needs; which was usually the thing that needed fixing in the first place.



Cleaning House

How do we clean house before, during and after a fight?


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