No sex, no rows: is your marriage purely platonic?
By Jean-Claude Chalmet, as told to Anna Maxted for The Times, 15 November 2025.
You do everything together — but you’re more like housemates than lovers. The therapist Jean Claude-Chalmet on the dangers of being in a BFF relationship
In a successful long-term marriage you’re good friends of course — but are you just good friends? Has the romantic and sexual side of your bond drifted? Does your spouse feel more like a flatmate? From working with couples in my practice for nearly three decades, I know that not all JGF marriages are alike. If it’s an arrangement by choice, discussed, negotiated, agreed, and there’s trust, empathy, support, there’s nothing to amend. If that’s not the case, those missing parts matter — there’s often loneliness, resentment and sadness beneath that façade of togetherness.
Affection and companionship may be the foundation of your relationship but no matter how cosy your set-up, there can be no deep connection and intimacy in a marriage that’s turned platonic without a word spoken. What makes all the difference between a content JGF relationship and one that is slowly suffocating are the underlying emotions that brought the couple to this place. What’s fuelling this arrangement? Is it love, compassion, passive aggression, resentment or indifference? Here’s how to recognise when being just good friends isn’t enough, and what to do.
You do everything together
Some couples are like two peas in a pod. Their relationship is all about safety, and warding off their fear of being alone. They have a rigid, well-established routine — their patterns and habits act as a security blanket. “On Saturday night we get a curry, on Sunday we go to the carvery” — there’s a lot of “we, we, we” when they describe their relationship. Even though neither one needs to babysit (the kids are in their early twenties) they hate to socialise as individuals even on a Tuesday — “Can X come?” It can feel oddly childish (my husband is my best fwend!). There’s a silent pact that neither rocks the boat in word or deed, they just sail on a glass lake, around and around. At the root of this is an insecurity. They lack trust in themselves and their partner. They’re too afraid to say that they want more from life. It works, until one person can bear this stifling sex-lite arrangement no longer. For one couple that came to see me, the final straw was the husband trying to implement a weekly meal-plan — bolognese on a Tuesday, chicken on Wednesday — “Like being institutionalised,” his wife declared. She was blunt but she was honest and that was the start of their recovery.
• The five arguments all couples need to have
You love a box set — but avoid watching anything sexy together
Often in these relationships, while all is amicable on the surface, one person — or both — is quietly dissatisfied. It shows in moments of excruciating discomfort. You watch a lot of TV together, but anything about sex or romance is cringingly awkward, because you haven’t dared talk about why this part of your relationship is extinct. If there’s an unexpected bedroom scene in your Scandi noir, you feel exactly like a teenager on the sofa with your parents. It’s a clear sign that you’ve replicated that relationship — it’s familial, but there’s distance and separation. Sex has become weird. It’s important to ask yourself: why are you afraid to watch it? What’s unspoken between you? What’s unmentionable? What is creating this gap between you? Is it physical revulsion? Is it a chasm of hurt or indifference? If anything is to change, you need to be aware of how you feel and why.
If there is sex, it’s so-so
The bedroom isn’t always dead in this relationship. There might well be sex between the platonic-like couple. But where are the feelings, the passion, the desires, the vulnerability of intimacy? Any sex is perfunctory, once a month, and any show of “tenderness” might induce irritation. So why bother? The attitude I often see from men is: “It’s easily available, no effort required.” And for women the thinking is often: “If I do this, he won’t go elsewhere.” Also, “Once it’s done, it’s done.” Neither are good ingredients for intimacy or satisfaction. You didn’t get together to be just good friends. There’s so much that is unspoken here, a lot of subterfuge and secrecy — even if the lies you are telling are mainly to yourself. There’s so much compromise in this type of relationship, but no one’s actually admitting it. The relationship is operationally sound, and the occasional episodes of perfunctory operational sex perpetuate the charade that it’s thriving.
You don’t fight — but one of you is definitely compromising
In clinic, some couples I see are proud that they don’t fight. There’s a polite formality instead of constructive conflict which could actually further understanding and closeness. I ask clients if this is what they dreamt of — to become a sanitised version of a fully functional couple. If not, I ask, “What part of yourself did you have to cut off from to maintain the status quo?” There is always a consequence of a couple being polite in the drawing room, but also in the bedroom: people can become resentful, frustrated, or find satisfaction elsewhere. I ask, “Would you still be best friends if you talked openly about this to each other, or would years of repressed fury or hurt be unleashed?” Many people trade lack of fulfilment for security. I’ve heard this so often from couples who’ve not had sex for years. There’s usually one partner fighting to keep the marriage intact, compromising their needs, values and happiness to keep the other person from leaving. It can look like they’re great friends, but when the acquiescent partner stops performing their part, the relationship ends. Then they realise there weren’t friends at all. One woman said told me: “I wanted authenticity — but I had a stage contract.”
At least you’re not like your divorcing friends — is what you tell yourself
If couples in your social circle are splitting up, it’s tempting to use what they’re going through (emotionally, financially) as an excuse to do nothing. “Poor so-and-so, how lucky we are compared to them!” I wouldn’t advise anyone to be smug about their relationship. The niceness in your relationship is fragile — and you fear that if you ask for more, it will shatter. Whether or not you can actually speak freely, as long as you’re respectful, is the test for genuine intimacy — in a marriage or in a friendship. If you’re continually censoring yourself, then you’re not that great friends. Often there’s a fear of failure — the platonic couple looks at others and thinks, “I’m not having my relationship fail — so I’ll let go of some of my non-negotiables for the security of not being alone.” It’s a letting go rather than a giving up, because it’s passive. Then we become expert at making excuses for what we no longer have. It’s a risk to stand up for ourselves, but the pain of not standing up for yourself is often worse.
Is the lack of a physical relationship is taking a toll on tempers?
Sex is a great dispeller of tension and as I often say, it’s the cement between the bricks of your relationship. Without cement the edifice starts to crumble. One couple I saw no longer had sex, and the tension between them was palpable. They’d snap at each other, or blow up, even in public — not the socially acceptable “Sorry darling, I disagree” — but furious shouting while everyone else quailed in embarrassment. I wouldn’t define their relationship as friendly. It’s true that all relationships go through platonic patches, but hugging, kissing, even lying in each other’s arms can reassure you that you’re wanted, loved and more than just housemates. It can stop you feeling angry, resentful and unwanted. Ultimately, it’s up to each of you to decide whether what you’re getting out of this relationship is enough for you. That always starts with introspection.
Novelty is the magic ingredient
The platonic marriage can be puddingy. You can call it cosy, but that can mask stagnation and inertia. There’s too much sitting there, in the same room, on the same sofa, in companionable silence (or you’re on your phones). Whereas romantic relationships always carry an element of the unexpected. So when you ask yourself, “What more would I like? Is it worthwhile for me to break the peace I have with my demands and wishes?” you’re on the brink of reasonably asserting yourself as an individual. This breathes life into any relationship worth being in. Independence — being your real self — brings fun, humour, vitality to a marriage, a dash of the unknown. It’s only through a bit of physical distance that we can experience wanting to be close to that person. Change is scary, especially if you’re routine-led. So start by doing something new together. Novelty is the magic ingredient because it awakens something in us — it makes us vibrate, it puts energy into the relationship.
• How to break a sex stalemate: the therapist’s 10-point plan
You avoid dwelling on your feelings
In a JGF couple, people often keep their feelings at bay. If in clinic, I ask them to think about the relationship, there’s ambivalence — but if they could allow themselves to feel about it, they’d admit to dissatisfaction. But they numb those feelings as if they were to connect with them they’d have to do something. So they remind themselves how amenable this relationship is, and shut down their doubts by telling themselves, “It’s good enough.” Or they compare their comfortable life as the married “unit” with the depressing thought of becoming a single entity again at this “late” stage, as a nuance-free way of staying grateful. It’s scary to admit you’re dissatisfied, as then you’re forced to confront the need for change. But for life to be fulfilling, you need to access your feelings. I ask people to breathe slowly and deeply and to tell me where in their body they feel the sadness, the pain, the lack of nurturing, the lack of intimacy — is it in their heart, hips, belly, groin? This is a simple but effective tool to help people learn to feel again. Then, if you value your relationship, use that self-awareness and speak to your partner. A common alternative is that the sparky, interested, attractive colleague or friend is the catalyst that makes you realise how dissatisfied and bored you are — as you fall into bed together.
How to talk about this
If becoming a “housemates” couple is just what happened, neither of you dares to touch that tinderbox for fear of fireworks. A usual line I hear is, “We’re staying together mainly for the kids, but it’s fine, we mostly get on.” That faint praise translates as “settling” — 30 years in. You have unmet emotional needs. You’re settling for less. The question is, why neither of you are willing to broach this fact. The irony is, this type of couple are skilled communicators. On safe subjects, they can bond — operations, children, finance, entertainment. They have conversations that are superficially deep, but if one partner ventures too far, there’s frustration, and a swift change of subject. If your relationship is to improve, find out what’s missing for you in the “just good friends” equation. Define what you need, and if what you have isn’t enough. Then ask yourself, why wouldn’t I dare discuss this with my partner, seeing as we’re such good friends? And what would be the kindest way of conducting this conversation? We need to be understanding. In midlife a lot changes. There can be physical and psychological reasons for the fading of intimacy but discussing it is always worthwhile.
The first steps back to intimacy can be small — but here’s how to improve things
To make this relationship whole again, start with honest, open and daring conversation. It will take time, because emotional safety and trust have to be rebuilt. But this may be what your partner has also been waiting for, and in many JGF relationships it’s a risk worth taking. Speak from your heart. If there’s no indifference or contempt, and you’re starting from a fundamentally solid relationship, the spark between you can be fired up again. If you haven’t had (great) sex in an age, but hope to, it’s a topic you need to be brave enough to discuss. You might simply say, “I miss how we used to do X, I’d love it if we could do X again, but I need to feel closer to you first, outside the bedroom. Can we take sex off the table for a while so there’s no pressure for either of us?” When rebuilding, you start with the foundations, not the roof. Focus on doing things together that are creative, joyful, silly, or spontaneous — the opposite of the JGF routine, often flat, safe, predictable. Book a pottery painting session, a one-to-two hip-hop tutorial — even a night away together (no pressure for sex, just lie close). You sleep in the same bed every night, but a different bed can lend a fresh perspective.
Have you lost touch with what you want from life. You might need to do more things separately
If your relationship has become companionable and largely sexless, it can lead to a relationship that’s co-dependent as we say in therapy, meaning you constantly look to the other person to see how they respond or behave, and adjust your behaviour accordingly. You lose individuality and authenticity as you’re navigating the other person’s moods like a satellite tracker. It kills personal growth. It’s a situation that doesn’t manifest overnight and changing it without the relationship imploding is a slow process. You need to be compassionate, understanding, patient, as your partner may resist. Listen, but stay determined. Ask yourself, how much longer do I want to be without the things I need? You married to share, to be vulnerable, to have safe intimacy, to have inner contentment, to evolve, grow, expand, be more of who you are. If this is the case, rather than have a list of expectations from your partner, start doing things on your own that you enjoy. Tell them about it — it’s about maintaining that stance of independence and building trust. From trust comes confidence, enabling creativity, then playfulness, then daring to take risks, and from daring to take risks comes satisfaction.
My marriage is happy enough — but I am so very bored
Emily, 49
I have been with my partner since our second year at university — 29 years ago. I can’t fault him as a person. I respect him and his opinions. We have two daughters who we’ve got through their education and we live in a nice house in Bath. But often when I get home from work or lie in bed next to him, I just think, “Oh my God, I am so bored of you.”
It’s not about the minor irritations — there are many but I am mature enough to accept them, as he does mine — it’s more thinking, “Is this actually it now?” Will I never in my life again have that exciting frisson of sexual attraction, or the butterflies of a wonderful coming together with someone you fancy. It was so long ago that we had it, it’s harder and harder to remember it. Now when I watch any TV dramas or films that have a good romance scene, especially if I have had a glass of wine, I tangibly feel myself aching for that basic biological thrill. Then go to bed feeling down and thrill-less.
Last spring I went to Milan with three girlfriends for a birthday weekend. I was having a “holiday cigarette” outside a bar and found myself flirting with a youngish guy who then quite pointedly asked where we were going next. It felt amazing to have an electric encounter. I know I could have suggested he come back and check out our hotel.
• Is your marriage a bit boring? Here’s why that’s a good thing
And I kept wondering, shall I just do this? Far away in another country, when no one would know. But then I just felt I couldn’t. I considered my partner and thought: he is my best friend and we’ve come this far. We trust each other. It felt that I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye ever again. And also that he didn’t deserve it. Just because I was a bit drunk and yearned to be desired by someone new. And also it would probably have been disappointing or, maybe worse, completely amazing.
When I feel that life has become a bit colourless, I do also sometimes think about us separating, but then I look around and realise there’s no one better out there than him, just a bunch of middle-aged men with issues or broken marriages. After the initial thrill I’d either be alone or stuck with someone less good than my partner. I’ve heard enough depressing dating app stories from post-divorce friends to know that getting rid of my great partner — and my whole comfortable life — would be madness.
I am sure he’s a bit bored with me too. We’re more friends than lovers these days, mainly due to the familiarity. I wonder, could we just say: “Look, I’m OK for you to have a one-night stand, I want one too.” But I feel we’d be embarking on a path that would in reality be painful and unpredictable. Just listen to Lily Allen’s new album to highlight the messy reality of agreeing to a partner having sex with someone else. And when the rest of our union still works really well, why jeopardise it?
We have made the odd joke about opening our marriage together to inject some physical excitement, but here I doubt too the reality really lives up to it. I have looked at sites like Feeld — the app for open relationships — and thought, are we honestly going to go off to meet some random woman or man or couple in a Holiday Inn in Bristol?
• 8 reasons not to get a divorce, by a couples therapist
My husband is great … but I’m still having a fling
Louise, 53
My husband is an extremely reliable, dependable, steady man. We’ve been together for 28 years. We met after I’d come out of a lust-driven but not terribly healthy relationship. Having somebody who was so nice, loving and caring was far more important to me than anything else. The sex was good, and we had a lot of it — but after having kids it’s been downhill and in the past ten years especially it’s tailed off.
But we’ve built something good together. My husband is a great, attentive father. We have a cosy, beautiful home. We enjoy each other’s company. He gets my jokes, we read a lot of the same books. We’re considerate of each other. We have similar values and many friends in common.
But there is something lacking. I sometimes think that if I were out with my friends and my husband came up to the bar and chatted me up I would not be interested. He would not be my type.
I have tried to make it better. About a year ago, after a few drinks, I actually said to him, “I don’t want to be just friends — I want to have a proper relationship.” He shut me down. Talking about our sex life, or its absence, is a no-go area. I’ve tried seducing him. But eventually it feels a bit too one-sided and mortifying. I try not to feel cross at him but there’s this underlying resentment.
For the past six months I’ve been having a fling with this guy I met through work. We were having lunch. At one point we stopped talking and looked at each other. I felt a fluttering in my stomach: “This guy wants to have sex with me now.”
I’ve felt some sadness about cheating — I’m naturally monogamous. There are conversations my husband and I don’t have. Is this the best way to resolve whatever issues we might have in our relationship? Hardly. But it’s a way. I’ve felt happier, more myself, able to enjoy spending time with the family.
Essentially, I am dedicated to the marriage that I have with my husband, and that’s where my real effort goes. We are very committed parents and we make a good team. He is a decent individual. I respect him and recognise the value of our relationship.
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