Can We Stop Pretending the Kids Should Always Come First?

Go on—admit it. You like your kids more than your partner right now

I had one of those conversations recently that made me wonder if I’m actually the crazy one. A friend casually mentioned she hadn’t had sex with her husband in over a year and said it like it was totally normal—like sexless marriage is just part of the package you sign up for with kids.

So I told her the truth—my truth, anyway: that in my house, my husband comes first. Not the kids. My marriage. My partner.

She stared at me like I'd confessed something borderline criminal and immediately launched into the whole, “But kids are helpless! They depend entirely on us!” speech. Cute, obvious, and completely beside the point.

Prioritizing your marriage isn’t neglecting your kids—it’s literally protecting the foundation they depend on most.

Because, let’s be real: neglecting your relationship isn’t inevitable. It’s a choice. Actually, it’s a thousand tiny choices every day—choices to scroll rather than talk, watch Netflix instead of touching, obsess over preschool drama instead of reconnecting.

And listen, I’ve been there. I've had those weeks—months, even—where intimacy was the absolute last thing on my radar, replaced entirely by exhaustion, irritation, and resentment. (I literally wrote an entire essay about not wanting to become that woman—the mom whose marriage quietly dies beneath endless demands—and it went viral by my Substack standards. Clearly, I'm not alone here.)

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: the longer intimacy slips, the harder it becomes to find your way back. Suddenly every minor annoyance (the dishwasher loaded wrong, breathing too loudly) feels massive. You go from lovers to polite roommates who happen to raise children together.

Here's something controversial nobody wants to admit: putting kids first at the expense of your relationship isn't noble. It’s self-sabotage disguised as martyrdom.

And no, this isn’t me just venting into the void. People far smarter than me back this up. The Gottman Institute—those painfully earnest relationship researchers who spy on arguing couples through one-way mirrors—discovered 67% of relationships nosedive in marital satisfaction after kids. Shocking, right? Yet couples who consciously prioritize intimacy are proven better parents: fewer arguments, healthier emotional environments, happier kids.

Harvard’s 80-year longitudinal study doubles down on this: turns out the single biggest predictor of lifelong happiness isn’t biohacking, Pilates, intermittent fasting, or even good genetics—it’s strong emotional bonds, especially romantic ones. Your relationship literally shapes your long-term wellbeing.

And here's the kicker: sex and intimacy don’t just feel good; they literally bond you together chemically. A study by Birnbaum and Reis (2006) found sexual intimacy significantly boosts emotional connection and relationship synchrony—making you genuinely closer and more aligned. It floods your body with oxytocin (the annoyingly nicknamed "love hormone"), reduces stress, and improves how well you understand and communicate with each other.

Look—I grew up watching my parents’ marriage slowly fall apart. Kids don’t want martyrs. They don’t want parents staying together out of guilt or obligation. They want parents who genuinely like each other, who show them how loving relationships actually work—relationships prioritized, protected, and enjoyed.

And let’s be clear, I didn’t magically figure this out myself. I stole this stuff shamelessly from podcasts, brutally honest mom friends, late-night Google spirals, TikToks smarter than me, and therapists like Vanessa Marin, who insist intimacy is intentional, not spontaneous magic.

None of these tips are groundbreaking, but they’re actually effective and realistic:

• Lower your bar for date nights (like, really low).
  Dinner out? Amazing. But 20 minutes hiding in your closet with wine absolutely counts. Literally anything without kids counts.

• Schedule intimacy. Yes, actually schedule sex.
  Sounds horribly unsexy, but spoiler alert: dating was basically scheduling sex too, and it worked. Calendar reminders it is.

• Have sex even when you’re absolutely not in the mood.
  Because desire usually shows up halfway through—rarely beforehand. And honestly, who’s ever regretted having sex once it’s happened? Exactly.

• Make small touches a habit.
  A hand on the back, a quick kiss, hugging randomly—none of this is groundbreaking, but it helps remind you both you’re still there.

• Flirt randomly—even awkwardly.
  Yes, it feels cheesy and dumb at first, but random flirting reminds you both you still like each other.

• Stop pretending , say awkward things out loud.
  Raw honesty reconnects faster than silent resentment. Just say the uncomfortable truth.

• Escape (without your kids).
  Even if it’s just one night, even nearby. It reminds you who you both are without constant noise.

• Don’t wait to feel attractive—put in some damn effort.
  Real clothes, brushed hair, perfume—honestly, sometimes just putting lipstick reminds me of myself.

• Do something new together—even if it’s stupid.

  Newness snaps you out of autopilot—and couples in autopilot rarely have great sex.

The point isn’t to shame anyone—we all struggle. But let’s stop pretending intimacy slipping away is some inevitable parenting side-effect. It’s a choice. Choosing your relationship first doesn’t make you selfish; it makes you strategic and smart.

Intimacy isn’t a luxury; it’s literally the glue that holds chaos together. When your relationship feels good, parenting, logistics, and life itself become less overwhelming.

I refuse to quietly drift apart from my partner to prove my devotion to motherhood. Because here’s the truly controversial truth: choosing your relationship first isn’t just good for you—it’s the single best thing you can do for your kids.

So yes, my husband comes first.

BRB—going to bed smelling like cheap beer because I lost another dart game at some random Irish bar. He gloated, I rolled my eyes, we flirted anyway. Somehow, it still counts as romance. Because we decided it does. That’s the whole point.

Besos,

Victoria

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