The English psychotherapist John Bowlby (1907–1990) was the prime force behind the development of attachment theory. This is the study of the way in which children form an emotional bond with their carers – the basis upon which they later manage relationships as and with adults. Bowlby identified an ‘avoidant’ attitude in which we habitually push away or act coldly towards people who, in fact, we would like to be close to. We do this, Bowlby argued, because our capacity to trust others was damaged in childhood and we learnt a technique of shutting down engagement as a way of preserving our integrity. Without realising we are doing this (because we have forgotten the past), whenever problems arise with a lover, we are so afraid that we may be unwanted that we disguise our need behind a façade of indifference. At the precise moment when we want to be close, we say we’re busy; we pretend our thoughts are elsewhere; we become sarcastic and dry; we imply that a need for reassurance would be the last thing on our minds. We might even have an affair, the ultimate face-saving attempt to be distant; this is often a perverse way to assert that we don’t require a partner’s love (for which we have been too reserved to ask). Therapy offers us the chance to recognise the pathos of what we’re doing and to return to and treat the original wound. For Bowlby, the therapist enacts a new and better model of relating: one in which we are carefully listened to and our tentative revelations are warmly received. From this we derive a life-saving lesson: that it is possible to make demands on someone we love.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a normal person in search of a holiday will enjoy skiing; they will delight in bracing mountain air, thrill at going down mogul dotted slopes and feel pleasantly exhausted after a day of parallel turns. This assumption about pleasure joins a host of others proposed by the modern world. Normal people will equally enjoy white wine, the Amalfi coast, the novels of Margaret Atwood, dogs, high heels, small children, Miami beach, oral sex, Banksy, marriage, Netflix and vegetarianism. We may legitimately delight in all of these elements; the issue lies in the immense pressure we are under to do so. The truth about ourselves may, in reality, be a great deal more mysterious than the official narrative allows. Whatever our commitments to decorum and good order, we may in our depths be far more distinctive than we’re supposed to be. We may — once we become sensitive to our faint tremors of authentic delight and boredom — hate the idea of jogging, the the...


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