Emotional Intimacy Is the Heart of Romance

Why Effort Alone Isn’t Enough in Christian Marriage

They sat across from each other at a small table by the window.

The lighting was warm. The restaurant was quiet. The food was good. If anyone had been watching, it would’ve looked like a solid date night. The kind people recommend.

And yet.

Something wasn’t landing.

They weren’t tense. They weren’t upset. They were polite. Kind. Cooperative. They laughed at the right moments. Talked about work. About the kids. About what the weekend might hold.

But under all of it, there was a thinness. A sense of distance that didn’t have a name.

On the drive home, neither of them said it. But both felt it.

Why didn’t that feel more romantic?

I’ve heard that question in different forms for years. Sometimes spoken. Often not. It usually shows up this time of year, when expectations quietly rise and couples become more aware of what’s missing. Valentine’s Day has a way of doing that. It doesn’t create problems. It reveals them.

Most couples assume the answer is effort.

Try harder.

Plan better.

Be more intentional.

So they do. And when it still doesn’t feel right, the disappointment cuts deeper. Because now it feels personal.

Here’s what I’ve learned, sitting across from couples who love God and care deeply about their marriage.

Romance usually isn’t the problem.

Distance is.

A quiet misunderstanding

Romance gets treated like something you can generate on command. Like if you choose the right setting and say the right words, it should appear.

Sometimes it does.

But often it doesn’t.

I’ve watched couples spend an entire evening doing everything “right” and still leave feeling strangely alone. Not angry. Just flat. Confused.

They’ll say things like, “It was fine. I just didn’t feel connected.”

That word matters.

Romance doesn’t respond well to pressure. It never has. The more couples try to force it, the more artificial it feels. And then they start wondering what’s wrong with them for not feeling what they think they’re supposed to feel.

Nothing is wrong.

Romance isn’t something you perform. It’s something that shows up when there’s closeness underneath it.

What closeness actually feels like

Emotional intimacy isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t announce itself. Most of the time, it’s quiet.

It’s the sense that your spouse is with you, not just near you.

It’s being able to say something unfinished. Or unsure. Or unpolished. And not needing to clean it up before it leaves your mouth.

It’s feeling known without feeling managed.

I’ve sat with couples who do life exceptionally well together. They’re competent. Responsible. Faithful. They run a household. They serve at church. They keep things moving.

And yet, they’ll say, almost apologetically, “I don’t feel very close anymore.”

Not because they stopped caring.

Because somewhere along the way, they stopped being emotionally present with each other.

You can be very good at marriage and still feel unknown inside it.

How distance sneaks in

Emotional distance rarely shows up all at once. It accumulates.

A season where everyone was just tired.

A conflict that never quite got resolved.

A moment when one of you reached out and didn’t feel met.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing you’d point to and say, That’s when it broke.

It just… settled.

Life got loud. Connection got postponed. And over time, the space between you grew without either of you choosing it.

I’ve never met a couple who intended to drift.

But I’ve met many who woke up one day and realized they had.

That realization usually carries shame. Couples assume distance means failure. Or weakness. Or a lack of faith.

It doesn’t.

It means you’re human in a demanding world.

When effort misses the mark

This is where things get tricky.

Most couples respond to distance with effort. More dates. More talking. More praying together. All good things.

But effort aimed at the wrong problem can feel exhausting.

I’ve watched couples try to fix romance when what they were really longing for was emotional safety. To be able to speak without bracing. To listen without defending. To feel received.

Without that, even the best intentions fall flat.

It’s not that effort is useless.

It’s that closeness comes first.

The shape of love we follow

Scripture doesn’t talk much about romance the way we do.

It talks about knowing. About becoming one. About love that is patient. Kind. Attentive.

Those words describe a posture before they describe a feeling.

Christ doesn’t rush people into closeness. He moves toward them. Stays present. Asks questions. Creates room.

There’s a steadiness to His love. A patience. A refusal to force response.

That’s the pattern marriage quietly reflects.

Emotional intimacy isn’t a modern add-on to faith. It’s woven into the way covenant love works. Knowing and being known. Safely. Over time.

“As a result, a man shall leave his father and his mother, and be joined to his wife; and they shall become one flesh.”

—Genesis 2:24, NASB

That oneness was never meant to be only physical.

What changes when safety returns

When emotional intimacy begins to come back, couples often expect something big.

What they usually notice instead are small shifts.

Conversation feels less strained.

Silence doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

Laughter shows up in ordinary moments.

Affection feels less risky. Less loaded.

Nothing flashy.

Just warmth returning.

I’ve watched couples be surprised by this. They’ll say, “We didn’t do anything dramatic. We just started feeling closer.”

That’s usually how it works.

Romance doesn’t reappear because it’s demanded. It reappears because it finally feels safe again.

Questions that surface

There’s often a pause here. A hesitation.

What if it doesn’t feel safe to open up right now?

That matters.

Emotional intimacy grows at the pace of safety, not desire. There’s no virtue in rushing vulnerability. Slow isn’t a problem. Slow is often wise.

Isn’t romance supposed to be spontaneous?

Yes. And spontaneity thrives where there’s trust. When connection is strong, romance often feels natural. When it’s not, spontaneity feels awkward. Or forced. Or short-lived.

Does focusing on emotions feel unspiritual?

Scripture pays close attention to the heart. Not to fix it quickly. To tend it faithfully.

Emotional awareness isn’t indulgence. It’s honesty. And honesty is where real growth begins.

This season

If romance has felt distant, I want to say this plainly.

You’re not broken.

You’re not failing.

And you’re not behind.

Most couples I sit with aren’t asking for fireworks. They’re asking for closeness. For the sense that they’re still meeting each other, not just managing life side by side.

That longing makes sense.

This season doesn’t require grand gestures. Or pressure. Or recreating something from years ago.

It invites something quieter.

Attention.

Curiosity.

Presence.

Sometimes the most meaningful shift begins with a different question.

Not, How do we make this more romantic?

But, How close do we feel right now?

That question doesn’t demand an answer. It opens a door.

And often, that’s enough to begin.