In 2011, I had everything I used to think I wanted: I was living in a beautiful home in a Chicago suburb, had a thriving business as an events planner, and was married to Todd, a great man and father of our three daughters, then 7, 5, and 1. But inside, I was in agony.
When Todd and I met, I was 24 and wanted to settle down and have children. He did too. We hit it off, and in 2003, we got married. We enjoyed a wonderful friendship and a close emotional connection, but we didn’t share much in the way of passion. I’d had strong romantic bonds with other boyfriends before Todd, too, but never the right intimate connection.
Eight years into our marriage, with three children, I…
