Why every couple struggles with closeness and distance

In the life of every couple, and individual, lies  a tension between two central and contrasting

needs: the need for ‘togetherness’ on the  one hand, for ‘separatedness’ on the other.

We all want, at one level, a lot of  togetherness. We want to merge bodies,

to sleep tightly entwined, to share every moment,  to break down the barrier between I and you:

to get back to what we all had at the  start, complete union with someone else.

But at another level, we also very much want -  and need - separatedness. We have to maintain

our integrity. We need time to think alone.  We have to be ready to meet the obstacles

and challenges of our working lives unaided. We  want to get on with our projects and friendships.

If we try to represent these two  contrasting wishes with a motoring

metaphor, we might say that there is  in every love story an accelerator

(that points to togetherness) and  a brake (that creates distance).

We might also say that whenever a couple gets into  trouble, it’s in some way because the accelerator

and brake functions have proved difficult.  There is a muddle, there is exaggeration,

no one is speaking about  who is doing what and how.

Ideally, both people can toggle gently and  adroitly between brake and accelerator;

they discuss consciously and with kindness  their wishes for space and closeness. A period

of intense togetherness can be followed,  gracefully, by some distance. They can say,

after a night of love making and chat, ‘let’s  spend tomorrow apart…’ They don’t turn their

fear of abandonment into a terror of persecution.  They aren’t so embarrassed about their need for

separatedness or afraid of the other’s anger  that they lapse into evasion and silence.

But sadly, too often, things come very  unstuck around brakes and accelerators.

One person can’t ever use the brake gently.  They jerkily put an ocean between themselves

and the partner that panics the other,  who slams the accelerator in turn. One

person has to carry all the yearning and need;  the other gets to seem indifferent and aloof.

One person is very very hungry, the other has to  be in an anorexic fast - which is unfair on both

of them. One person carries a fear that the moment  they so much as whisper that they need space,

they’ll set off fury in their partner. They  can’t find a way to admit to the humble key

and serene truth: they both, without being  sadistic, need togetherness and separatedness.

At times, the wish for separatedness can  manifest itself in affairs, or manic use

of pornography or alcohol. Rather than being able  to say (and before that to think) ‘I am in danger

of being overwhelmed’, the person acts out their  wish for distance in a pain inducing form. They

start to message an ex, they use work as an  excuse to spend a long time out of the house,

they develop an obsession with sailing or  fishing, their symptoms jump into their bodies:

they become unable to sleep anywhere near  their partner, they can’t orgasm with them.

Sound use of brakes and accelerators is  something that we should, if things go well,

learn in childhood. It begins with mothers. They  are initially entirely merged, quite literally,

with their offspring. It’s an enormous effort for  them to give birth and then to let go; to let the

child have its own wishes, its own preferences,  its own moods; to allow the child to be separate

without persecuting it. How tempting to hold the  child too tightly - or exile them. For their part,

small children don’t make any of this easy.  They natively press the accelerator very

hard. They may want to marry mummy, they  want to spend all their time with daddy,

they refuse to go to school, they don’t  want a sibling. It takes a lot of gentle,

kindly care to help the child to find their way  to separatedness without too much humiliation or

fear, to say, ‘there there, I know poppet wants  to marry mummy but you don’t really want that,

mummy’s far too old for that, you’ll meet  someone far nicer in good time…’ A coparent,

who may or may not be dad, can  helpful. Humour comes in handy;

one might call jokes the perfect way to handle  the tension between accelerator and brake.

In adult life, the opposite of braking and  accelerating willy-nilly, is thinking. If we can

think about all of this, we’re spared the drama  of having to act rashly or obscurely. We can say,

with love: I think we might both need some space  after last night. Or: I think we need to see each

other before we both get scared. The couple can  get close and then take distance without becoming

daunted or mean. The couple can laugh about how  tricky it is to get text messaging or sleeping

arrangements right. They learn how to drive  without careering the car of love off the road.