What Is a Sexcation? An Honest Guide to Planning an Intimate Getaway
This offering is not based on a specific Female by Design podcast episode, rather from teaching inside the group mentorship for wives, The Circle. I hope it blesses you…
Last summer I had a trip booked to a small, quiet beach town in Florida — a remote house near a nature preserve that I'd prayed for and somehow actually found on Airbnb. Wyatt and I had been looking forward to it for months. Then our little girl got sick. Not a little sick. Sick enough that there was no discussion, only cancellation.
I remember standing in my kitchen with a pit in my stomach, feeling mad and sad and exhausted all at once. I got honest with God about it. We desperately need rest, I prayed.
As a busy mom to six kiddos, married for over twenty years…we’ve discovered intentional ways to avoid the roommate rut. And when I talk to you about something called a "sexcation," I want you to know up front: I am not writing to you from a life of effortless date nights and luxury resorts. I'm writing to you from the kitchen table, the cancelled flights, the seasons of chronic illness and grief we've walked through, and the small, unglamorous choices that have actually held our marriage together and made it sweeter over time.
What a Meaningful Sexcation Actually Is
A sexcation is a slightly silly word for something worth taking seriously: an intentional getaway, whether it's a few hours or several days, where you set aside the normal demands of parenting, work, and everyday noise to focus on rest, connection, and physical intimacy with each other.
It is not a vacation where you happen to be with your spouse while you both read your own books on the beach. It's a vision for how the two of you might be restored together. And it doesn't require a passport, a resort, or a five-star anything. Some of our most connecting getaways have happened at a house twenty miles from home.
Why Changing Locations Alone Doesn't Create Intimacy
Here's the truth I wish someone had told me earlier: you don't get away to a beautiful place and suddenly have a passionate, easy marriage. You take yourselves with you. You take your actual marriage with you — the tired parts, the disconnected parts, the parts that are working well, all of it.
I've only had one truly fancy vacation in twenty years of marriage, a trip to Jamaica for our fifth anniversary. Nearly everything else we've done has been local, modest, and honestly a little boring by Instagram standards. We are not chasing five-star restaurants or crowded resorts. We're looking for how far away from people we can get. A great sexcation was never going to come from finding the perfect location. It comes from what we bring into it.
The Compound Effect of Everyday Connection
Right now I'm reading a book with Wyatt and our teenagers called The Compound Effect by Darren Hardy. It's not a marriage book at all, but the principle has undone something in me: it's not the big, dramatic move that changes your life. It's the tiny, wise choices, made consistently, over a long stretch of time, that actually compound into something real.
A connected marriage works the same way. We didn't arrive at meaningful getaways because we discovered five tips and executed them well. We arrived here because of years of small decisions toward connection at home, decisions nobody was watching us make. The getaway isn't the source of the intimacy. It's the fruit of it. So if your marriage feels far from a "hot sexcation" right now, please hear me: that's not a verdict on you. It just means the compounding hasn't happened yet, and it starts smaller than you'd think.
Why Rest, Privacy, and Simplicity Matter
When we plan time away, our goal has never been to stay busy somewhere new. Our question is almost the opposite: how little can we do, and how much can we simply be together?
Practically, that has meant choosing an Airbnb over a hotel almost every time, because a house gives us margin and privacy a shared wall doesn't. We'll pick something modest and off the beaten path over something flashy on the strip. And one of my favorite rituals, wherever we land, is going to the grocery store together. Just the two of us, walking slowly, picking only what we want instead of shopping for six other people. We buy simple things. A healthy frozen pizza. A charcuterie board that becomes dinner two nights in a row. Some good bread and eggs. It's not impressive, but it makes the afternoons feel luxurious, because we're not managing a kitchen, we're just lying around together, flexible enough to nap, talk, or make out, whichever the moment calls for.
Simplicity isn't a consolation prize here. It's the actual strategy. What's restful and connecting for your marriage might look different than ours — maybe you're foodies who want the best restaurant in town. The question underneath it is the same: does this choice serve our connection, or does it just look good?
How Anticipation and Preparation Support Intimacy
Before we ever leave the house, we've usually started building anticipation, and I think this part gets skipped more than any other. Preparation isn't just logistics. It's an invitation.
For us that includes personal preparation — some self-grooming, whatever that means for you, done not out of pressure but almost as a private celebration of getting ready to share yourself with someone you love. It might mean a fresh razor, new lubricant, a toy that's charged and packed, or a sex book brought along because you'll finally have time to read it together. It's also emotional preparation: conversations days or weeks in advance where we say out loud what we're hoping for. What would feel meaningful to you? What have you been longing for? I've told Wyatt things like how much I love the smell of salt water on his skin at the beach — small, specific, honest things that build a current of anticipation before we ever pack a bag.
I love to treat myself to something special to wear, as well. I love finding something new at Mentionables, a model-free online store for lingerie and intimate wear.
We also try to bring something to talk about beyond logistics — a list of non-sexual conversation starters, or a devotional or book we're both curious about. Intimacy isn't only physical. Spiritual and emotional closeness are part of the same conversation, and a getaway gives you the rare gift of time to actually have it.
Why Physical Closeness May Uncover Emotional Vulnerability
Here's something that surprised me even after twenty years: a sexcation isn't only about pleasure. It's often about your heart cracking open.
On a recent trip, we had a day of what I can only call total bliss. Lots of flirting, lots of laughter, more physical closeness than we've had in one stretch in a long time. And then the next day, a hard, low day, because once your guard comes down that far, whatever you've been holding underneath starts to surface too. We've been carrying real grief for the last several years, and with no one else to tend to and no noise to hide behind, it finally had room to be felt. We processed things on that trip we hadn't had the margin to face at home.
That's not a detour from intimacy. That's what intimacy actually does when you give it enough time and safety. Physical closeness has a way of loosening the grip on whatever you've been holding, and a getaway can become a place where healing happens right alongside pleasure, not instead of it.
How to Start Small When Time, Money, Childcare, or Health Are Limited
If a week away sounds impossible right now, I understand completely, and I don't want you to feel like you need a passport stamp to invest in your marriage. Start smaller than you think you need to.
In our first year of marriage, we had almost no money so we found whatever cheap deal we could to get away for a weekend a couple of times a year. That habit, started with nothing, became the foundation for everything since. A few ways to think about "small":
At home: learn to extend pleasure and touch beyond a few rushed minutes. A tool that helped us early on was a book called The One Hour Orgasm, which taught us to slow down and take turns focusing on each other rather than rushing toward an end point.
A hotel date: three to six hours away from your house, with no agenda except each other. Read more here.
A 24-hour getaway: a local hotel, one night, enough time to connect and actually sleep without little ones needing you.
A 48-hour Airbnb: an hour or two from home, close enough to get back if you need to, far enough to feel like an actual exhale.
Notice what's underneath all of this: the goal was never distance. It was undivided attention. Five miles away can feel like another world if you actually protect the time.
What to Do When the Getaway Is Imperfect or Disappointing
I'd be lying to you if I said every getaway has gone well. Some have been genuinely disappointing, even painful.
Early in our marriage, we planned a hotel date after a stretch of complete exhaustion. We finally got into bed, and the fire alarm went off. We had to dress, evacuate, and wander the halls looking for an exit we couldn't find because the elevators were shut down. By the time we got back to the room, our window of time was nearly gone. Another time, when our oldest two were still babies, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law gave us a rare weekend away at the beach, a four-hour drive. We arrived, went to the gym to celebrate, and got back to find out both kids were throwing up at home. We packed up and drove back without spending the night.
I share those stories because I don't want you to think a real sexcation means everything goes smoothly. We live in bodies, in a broken world, with stomach bugs and fire alarms and everything else that doesn't check our calendar first. My honest posture now is expectations low, hope high. We're human. Things will go sideways sometimes. But the compound effect of continuing to prioritize this over twenty years has been enormous, even with all the times it didn't go as planned. The pursuit itself has been worth it, disappointments and all.
Practical Planning Questions Couples Can Discuss
If you want to start this conversation with your spouse, here are a few questions I'd suggest bringing to the table, borrowed loosely from how Wyatt and I have talked through our own getaways:
Do we want to go close to home or far away, and how much time can we realistically manage — 24 hours, a weekend, longer?
Do we want to be active or do we want to fully rest?
What would feel restorative to each of us in where we stay and what we eat?
Is there a book, a devotional, or a hobby we'd want to bring and share?
What have we each been longing for that we haven't said out loud?
You don't need all the answers before you go. You just need to start the conversation.
An Encouraging Word Before You Go
If your marriage is in a season where a getaway feels impossible right now, I want you to know that's not a failure on your part. Some seasons are for surviving, and that's a legitimate season too. But if there's any part of you that's curious what it would look like to prioritize this, even in the smallest way, I'd encourage you to bring it up with your spouse this week. Not as a demand, and not as a formula guaranteed to fix anything, but as an invitation: what would it look like for us to be intentional about connection, even here, even now?
This isn't a five-step plan. It's an ongoing, imperfect, worthwhile pursuit. If this kind of honest conversation about marriage and intimacy is helpful to you, I'd love for you to stay connected for more of it.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS (FAQ)
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A sexcation is an intentional getaway, from a few hours to several days, where a married couple deliberately sets aside ordinary demands to focus on rest, emotional connection, and physical intimacy. It's less about a destination and more about protected, undistracted time together.
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No. Nearly all of our getaways have been modest and local — a nearby Airbnb, a simple house off the beaten path. The goal isn't an impressive trip; it's rest, privacy, and margin, which a quiet, simple space can offer just as well as a luxury resort.
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Start smaller than you think you need to. A hotel date of a few hours, a single night at a nearby hotel, or even learning to extend intimacy and touch at home can begin the same compound effect that a longer trip builds on. We started their first year of marriage with cheap local getaways because that was all they could afford.
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Talk about it in advance. Share what you're hoping for, what you've been longing for, and what would feel meaningful. Personal preparation — grooming, packing something new, choosing lingerie or a book to bring — can also turn the lead-up into part of the intimacy itself, not just the trip.
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It happens, and it doesn't mean the pursuit wasn't worth it. Fire alarms, sick kids, cancelled trips, and exhaustion are part of real life. Holding expectations loosely while still valuing the effort — expectations low, hope high — allows disappointment without giving up on trying again.
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No, and it's important to be honest about that. A getaway doesn't manufacture intimacy that isn't being built at home. Couples bring their actual relationship with them wherever they go. A getaway is the fruit of ongoing small choices for connection, not a replacement for them.
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Once a year is a helpful goal if it's realistic for your season, but there's no universal rule. In seasons of illness, grief, or overwhelming responsibility, it may not happen at all some years, and that's okay. What matters more than frequency is the ongoing posture of prioritizing connection whenever it's possible.
Learn more about pleasure in Back to the Garden: A Married Woman’s Guide to Pleasure by Design. It’s a great place to start and it’s an instant download you’ll come back to season after season.
Have a question you want Francie to tackle on the podcast? Send her an email — she's always taking notes.