Dear GoodTherapy,

My best friend and I have known each other since college. We started out as “enemies,” competing to see who could get the best grades, run the fastest mile … you get the idea. Rivalry led to grudging respect, which in turn led to a ride-or-die brotherhood.

We moved in together after graduation, but the competitive streak never went away. We’ve always been rivals first, friends second. Now that we live together, we have smaller, more personal things to compete over, such as who’s growing the better beard, who makes more money, and so on.

At first it was a blast. We had dumb contests over who could clean their half of the apartment quickest or who could finish their cereal first. It made all the boring parts of adulthood fun.

But after three years, the rivalry has become a drain on my life. I feel as if I’m always putting on a show, like I can’t relax in my own apartment. It’s gotten to the point where I’m driving the scenic route home, buying a few more minutes to myself.

[fat_widget_right]

Part of me wonders if I lost my enthusiasm because my friend got a promotion at his job before I did. I’m happy for him, really. But now there’s this unspoken tension between us. My line of work requires a lot more training than his does, so I won’t catch up financially in two years at least. I’m finding myself being more competitive about fitness to compensate, even though I’m already exhausted.

I want to quit this never-ending competition, or at least dial it back some. But if I talk to my friend about it, I’ll be “surrendering,” and my pride can’t take that. Is there any way for me to bow out of this rivalry without losing my friend’s respect? —Can’t Compete

Dear CC,

It’s funny you ask me that, because your competitor/friend also just wrote to me, and I’m trying to decide which is the better question.

Okay, I’m kidding. I appreciate the question. To be honest, it sounds like an excellent premise for a comedy film or short story. I can see the caption now: “Let the game begin!” with two serious young men staring at us.

I can’t help but wonder what keeps it going, and (in all seriousness) what makes the stakes so important. It is somewhat intriguing you have this self-protective pride with (I’m assuming) such a good friend (let’s call him John for the sake of simplicity). What’s up with that?

It makes sense that after three years you have tired of the constant rivalry, which from the sound of it pretty much overwhelms the friendship. I’m trying to imagine what meals at home are like. “Pass the salt.” “Quick: What’s the chemical compound of salt, and which elemental combination is toxic?” It’s a sure way to drive one batty, and I commend you for hanging in there so long. Part of me wonders, in fact, if your friend/rival feels the same.

In fact, it sounds as if the intense, never-ending competition has become a bit toxic, and certainly not fun—which begs the question of why you haven’t discussed it yet.

The moment I typed that question, a thought came to me. Perhaps it is hard for you to tell if “John” is truly a caring friend—would he forgive or accept your wanting to end the exhausting, perpetual contests, or would he lord it over you and say, “Ah, so you couldn’t handle the pressure, eh bro? Guess I win!” If so, the risk then is of possibly losing the friendship or taking a hit to your self-esteem (since obviously his estimation of you matters to you), thus the dilemma of having to endure or continue a competition longer than any iron man contest imaginable.

Now for a bit of oversimplified psychology. The pioneer psychoanalyst Heinz Kohut, who bravely broke away from Sigmund Freud to create a psychoanalytic or psychological perspective based on empathy, spoke of two types of “transferences.” Transference can be understood in myriad ways.

One of the ways I think of it is how we attach to others. Specifically, others who represent the possibility of meeting some of our ongoing or unmet emotional needs. It is not unusual for young men to enter the kind of friendly, even sometimes edgy competition you speak of. Here, however, there seems to be an extra something underscoring the contest; something that is very much at stake, that could be lost if one of you “gives in” or “succumbs.”

Kohut spoke of an idealizing transference and a twinship transference. (There are other types, and this is oversimplified for the sake of brevity.) An idealizing transference tends to be that of a child looking up to a parent in search of positive reflection, encouragement, self-esteem, what have you. In Star Wars, for instance, Luke has competing father figures: the loving and benevolent Obi-Wan Kenobi and the darker, ego-based Darth Vader, each of whom struggles for the allegiance of Luke’s soul.

In this vein, I detect a possible co-idealization going on—either between you and “John,” or between you and some internalized father or authority figure whose possible “approval” (or denial thereof) is at stake in these contests, which have taken on significance. It makes me wonder if each of you sees a bit of your own father (or mother, or some other authority figure) in the other, or if you both invoke a coach you both had who instigated competition and doled out approval. Perhaps, along these lines, the two of you are now enacting or reliving an earlier, unresolved competition, the psychological stakes of which are mutually understood to be high.

This brings me to the second idealization Kohut talks about, which is twinship, or a profound sense of close companionship or cosmic similarity. A twinship is, as the name suggests, analogous to siblings. Using the Skywalker example, Luke turns out to have a profound twinship with his sister Leia, and (SPOILER ALERT!) sacrifices his life for her in the most recent installment. On a more comic level, there is a rich twinship between the two droids, C3PO and R2D2. (Many comic duos are based on such twinships, such as Laurel and Hardy, Hope and Crosby, Cheech and Chong, and man am I dating myself!)

I am curious about whatever deeper or unconscious motivations are pushing this initially rousing (I am guessing) and benevolently competitive twinship into an intensive contest where only one of you “wins” while the other shamefully “loses”—as if some judging but invisible authority figure is hovering close at hand.

It sounds like you are outgrowing the need for your friend’s (or some shared authority figure’s) approval, which to me is a positive sign; growing pains are never easy. You are realizing the rigors of this never-ending trial are becoming absurdly irrelevant and straining.

It sounds like you are outgrowing the need for your friend’s (or some shared authority figure’s) approval, which to me is a positive sign; growing pains are never easy. You are realizing the rigors of this never-ending trial are becoming absurdly irrelevant and straining.

Your task, then, as I see it, would be to find and tap into the “benevolent parent” or Obi-Wan Kenobi aspect of yourself. Confide in a trusted counselor or adviser. Maybe say to John, “Hey, buddy, it’s been fun, but it’s over. I just can’t anymore. Too tiring and time consuming, and we both have a life. We’re not college students anymore, so let’s move on” … or something of the kind.

You might also point out that life itself is competitive, in terms of finding a successful partner, career, and so forth. At what point does this college holdover become a distraction or safer way of competing in a wider, more uncertain, or even more intimidating world? Might the two of you become allies in spurring each other on, since the field of competition (as it were) has grown wider, more vast?

Finally, allow some compassion for the two of you, certainly yourself. Change is difficult, and transitioning into post-college adulthood is daunting. Clearly you have other tasks before you, and life is calling you forth. Sounds like you have good intuition to move on from this, and I would follow it.

Yes, it is risky, as John could become a taunting sibling or even invoke a dark or judging parent or authority figure before your very eyes and shamefully exclaim, “You weakling!” But honestly, so what? Do you really want to have a friend who is that inflexible, so insecure that he must always be competitive? I also imagine, by the way, that any potential romantic partners, were it to continue unabated, might find it distracting. (The comedy film I Love You, Man and similar “bromances” touched on these themes.)

The fact you even sent the question means your psyche or spirit is wanting to grow—which is difficult, to be sure, but a sign of maturity. In the end, you learn that a mark of true self-esteem is not needing to compare yourself, since each person is on their own existential journey. Perhaps this is, in part, what is dawning on you.

Hope this was helpful. Thanks for writing.

Darren Haber, PsyD, MFT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

I cheated on my girlfriend. Yes, I’m a cheater and I’ll never live it down. I don’t deserve forgiveness. I don’t deserve her, period! I made the biggest mistake of my life and now I’m on the verge of losing the only person in this world that I can’t live without.

The backstory is that I got too close to a coworker and let my worst instincts get the best of me. We were together 10 or 12 times and I kept rationalizing it somehow in my head. Like, I knew it wasn’t going to be a long-term thing, but I selfishly wanted “strange” sex before the prospect of no longer having it disappeared forever. There was also a time when my girlfriend made out with a guy in a bar. I know that’s not on the same level as what I did—not even close. I just think it was part of my stupid rationalization. I feel so ashamed and disgusted with myself.

[fat_widget_right]

I ended things with the other girl the same day I was caught, but obviously my girlfriend doesn’t trust me now. I don’t really blame her. She says she doesn’t think she can ever trust me again. I have offered to give her all my passwords and go to counseling, whatever it takes, but she says she’s not sure it would matter. Knowing I broke her heart is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to know.

She is taking some time to think about things, and she doesn’t want me to call or text her until she figures out what she wants to do. I am giving her the space she asked for. I am just hoping that when we talk again I can reassure her that I can be trusted. I want to make things right. I know I would never make a mistake like that again, but fixing her trust issues feels impossible. Help! I’ll do anything. —Astray

Submit Your Own Question to a Therapist

Dear Astray,

Thank you for writing. I’m not here to judge. Besides, judgment befogs understanding.

I feel your remorse. This does not mean I want to downplay the harm your behavior has caused to all three parties, including yourself and, presumably, your coworker. Sometimes such actions are indicative of a deeper issue that is not resolved by altering the offending behavior.

I urge you to focus on yourself during this “trial” time needed by your girlfriend. (I would take it as a good sign, by the way, she did not end it outright. The two of you must have built a strong connection prior to your affair.)

You can’t make her trust you again. It may sound counterintuitive, but the best thing you can do for her is to come to a rigorously honest (and empathic) understanding of yourself and what might have motivated this. You might consider couples counseling—or, if she is not willing, individual counseling in the name of compassionate but unyielding self-reflection. Here is an opportunity for a reckoning that could greatly benefit you and your relationship, assuming it survives. Even if it doesn’t, it would benefit your next one.

There is a stark up/down contrast in your descriptions of your girlfriend versus sex with your coworker, which might reflect a good/bad way of perceiving yourself. To hear you tell it, your girlfriend sounds almost unassailably perfect or wholesome (“up”), while your desire for sex with the coworker is “strange” or almost seedy-sounding (“down”). This is a bit of a catch-22 in that you appear to judge something that also remains desirable, that you have misgivings about letting go of “forever.”

You can’t make her trust you again. It may sound counterintuitive, but the best thing you can do for her is to come to a rigorously honest (and empathic) understanding of yourself and what might have motivated this.

You might be surprised at the relatively simple human desires that become camouflaged in sexuality, which itself becomes a way of attaching to a desired other. Perhaps sex with your coworker was a way of soothing whichever vulnerable part of you felt “less than.” Perhaps sharing your vulnerability with your girlfriend felt too risky. (This is all speculation, mind you. I’m just reflecting on examples I have come across over the years.)

You also describe yourself as the lowest of the low, which indicates a struggle for self-esteem or perhaps some self-loathing that was likely present (perhaps unconsciously) before all this started. The behavior confirms what lies dormant. It is as if some part of you were saying, “Go ahead and mess around with your coworker. You don’t deserve your girlfriend anyway. You’re only going to lose her once she discovers the ‘real you,’ so why not?” I imagine this all fed into your rationalizing.

Or, quite possibly, there was a rebellion against feeling less than (“no woman will tell me what I can or can’t do!”)—an assertion of sorts of your freedom before giving up something “forever.” Maybe there was a combination of these two (or more) threads running through this sexual detour.

As for “fixing” your girlfriend’s trust issues, decisive action on your part would go a long way toward showing her you mean business: a genuine effort to understand not just that your behavior was painful, but that something else was “off”—and owning it, examining it, and working on it. Nothing is more courageous than facing one’s own psychological struggles. It never ceases to amaze me how many are simply too afraid or unwilling to do this. Many would rather just “change the channel” or “swipe left” and forget it.

Showing her that you want to use this crisis as an opportunity to better understand yourself, which can only broaden your relational and sexual options in the long run, might show her you intend to grow from this. You might even start to see her as an equal, as opposed to her holding a standard you can never reach (which might create unconscious stress, resentment, self-criticism, and so on).

The worst thing you can do is try to shove all this back in the closet and quickly move on. Doing so practically ensures it will happen again in some other form. I can assure you there is nothing innately “bad” about what is behind this. You may discover, with help and diligence, that what lies behind it all is something stunningly human.

In the meantime, be patient and accepting of what your girlfriend needs. Talk is indeed cheap. Show her you will do what it takes to make this right. If you’re going to earn back her trust, it will start with respecting her needs during this difficult time. If you use the space to work on yourself, you will be better prepared to provide what she needs in the future.

Best wishes,

Darren Haber, PsyD, MFT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

Have you ever dealt with couples where one partner had issues with being touched? That’s the situation I am in now. I have been seeing a guy for about eight months and he’s really great. He’s sweet, gives me little gifts, great conversationalist, supports me, has a lot in common with me, etc. But one thing I’ve always found strange is that he doesn’t really like to touch me or be touched very much.

[fat_widget_right]

For example, we will be sitting next to each other on the couch watching a show and I’ll reach for his hand, but while he lets me touch it briefly, he pulls away fairly quickly and folds his arms or something. I can lean on his shoulder for a little bit and that seems okay, but he doesn’t go out of his way to touch me. Even hugging seems difficult. He’ll do it if I initiate, but he always breaks it off first. He also never goes in for the first kiss. We have sex, but that’s kind of distant too, in that we don’t really make eye contact and afterward he heads straight for the shower rather than cuddling with me.

This has taken some getting used to for me, as I am used to relationships where there is a lot of touch. Everyone is different, and I want to respect his differences and his boundaries. I don’t think this is something we can’t overcome. It’s just hard not to be touched by my partner, and I don’t know why it’s not as important to him as it seems to be for me. I did a little reading online and saw that abuse or trauma in a person’s past could make them more averse to certain types of touch. If that’s what’s going on, he hasn’t told me anything. And it doesn’t feel right to ask him about his past in that way if he doesn’t want to volunteer it.

What do you think might be going on? Is this just how some men are? —Out of Touch

Submit Your Own Question to a Therapist

Dear Out of Touch,

Thank you for your note. While I’m not sure how “some men” are, I know how this man is, based on your description. You sound quite compassionate, incidentally, a great quality in a partner.

It does sound as if your guy has some discomfort with physical closeness. It is hard to discern what the source of that might be. I was impressed with your research and estimation of the cause as you try to understand him better. I hope he returns the favor.

I was struck by your comment that “it doesn’t feel right to ask him” about his past. Why? It may be hard for you to broach the topic. You may fear you’re wrecking the “honeymoon,” but I don’t see a good reason for you to suffer alone; you need more info here.

One way to attempt this is to say you find the topic awkward but necessary to discuss. I am fairly sure you are not the type to say, “So what’s the deal here? Think I got cooties?” At an opportune time, you could start with something along the lines of, “Listen, this is awkward and I don’t mean to rain on our parade, but I’ve noticed you tend to pull away when we’re close, and it’s confusing me.”

You can state your feelings without making demands or intrusions. Examples of this might include, “I find it a little odd or disconcerting when you run to the shower after sex,” or, “I really like cuddling after sex, but it seems you really don’t,” and so on. It gives him an opportunity to open up about a potentially tender issue.

I assume he, too, may feel awkward or antsy about the topic, which is why he hasn’t brought it up. He may be relieved when you do, in the thoughtful way you expressed in your letter.

I can’t see how bringing this up would be too forward. It would likely be worth your while to reflect upon why this is hard for you. I can only imagine that, over time, his barriers will become more off-putting—perhaps even cold or rejecting, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. We need our partners to care about how we feel and vice versa, even when there isn’t 100% agreement. Such emotional respect and trust is the mortar of intimacy.

In your case, you would need to loosen your own internal boundary regarding introducing a sensitive topic. He would need to ease up on his interpersonal barrier, enough to get the conversation started. Clearly you and your guy have different attitudes around touch, which cannot help but have an impact on the overall connection.

If you are right in your astute speculation that this is trauma related—and that would be my guess as well—it may be affecting him in some emotional or psychological way. As mind and body prove to be more intertwined as research on this progresses, there is undoubtedly some reason your guy is motivated to stick with a boundary that sounds a bit rigid.

It is nearly an axiom for me that, when it comes to close relationships of any stripe (even between therapist and person in therapy), rigidity can strangle spontaneity, love, or caring. The main thing I suggest you focus on, regarding whether this is a tolerable problem, is not the content of his response but how he responds.

All couples, at various stages, have issues that need addressing. What is important is how those issues are discussed and negotiated. As the cliché goes, relationships involve compromise. In the end, while neither person is disappointed nor thrilled at the micro level, the overall relationship is happily continued.

If your guy were unwilling to be even a little uneasy in talking about this issue, or talking about why talking about it is difficult, that would be concerning. The magic words in his response, were I your individual or couples counselor, would be something to the effect of, “Yes, I can see how that’s awkward or hard to understand for you.” The yellow or red flag would be, “Why are you bringing this up? There’s nothing to see here.”

Drs. John and Julie Gottman, pioneers in couples theory and counseling, say the “four horsemen of the apocalypse,” or major red flags in relationships, involve either excessive criticism or defensiveness. These are the danger zones: boundaries that are too rigid or a consistent lack of empathy between partners. Thus, while romance and finance tend to provoke anxiety in couples, it is how they are dealt with that matters, along with the degree to which each person emotionally “hears” the other.

In your case, you would need to loosen your own internal boundary regarding introducing a sensitive topic. He would need to ease up on his interpersonal barrier, enough to get the conversation started. Clearly you and your guy have different attitudes around touch, which cannot help but have an impact on the overall connection.

I think you would be doing him a favor by bringing this up, because if he wants to be in any close relationship it will have to be dealt with. I would hope he’d be relieved at your courage, since the move would show him that the relationship is important to you.

Without risk, relationships suffocate. Keep the focus on how you feel, as best you can, and what you hope will come from discussion. Starting with a mention of the “good stuff”—such as his generosity, great conversations, and so on—could make the more difficult parts easier. You might want to partner with a couples counselor who can help facilitate things.

Thank you for writing. I hope this was helpful.

All the best,

Darren Haber, PsyD, MFT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

I have been having a torrid affair with a coworker for seven months. It has been undoubtedly the most exhilarating, liberating, but also emotionally wrenching time of my life. I am cheating on a husband I love very much, but with whom intimacy can best be described as muted. He has never had a sex drive to match mine, and at this point—seven years into our marriage—we are almost never intimate. When we are, he generally doesn’t orgasm, nor do I. I think we do it more out of a sense of love than desire.

Stress is not an issue here. My husband and I do not have children, and we both have careers that allow for plenty of time together. We spend that time doing things we both enjoy, from biking to wine tasting to road trips. Again, I really love my husband! I just don’t feel any sort of carnal craving for him. For that matter, I’m not sure I ever did, even though he is quite handsome.

[fat_widget_sex_right]

We have talked about our sex life (or lack of it). He knows he’s not as motivated by sex as I am. We have accepted that we’re different in that way, I think, because we have so much going for us otherwise. We’re not trying to be something we’re not with each other. I actually love that aspect.

Sexually, the man I’ve been having the affair with is the yin to my yang. He rocks my world like no one ever has. Orgasms aren’t everything, certainly, but just to put things in perspective, last night he had three (!) and I had 12. He has ignited something in me that was dormant for a long time. However, we don’t have a future together. We’re in different life stages, and I don’t intend to ever leave my husband. The arrangement with the other man is purely sexual. And I don’t want it to stop.

Do I feel guilty? Of course I do. I’m not sure anyone goes into marriage thinking they will one day cheat on their partner. But I also feel like I do not get everything I need from my marriage, and I don’t feel it is realistic to expect my husband to fulfill every need I have. I am still reconciling what all this means for us, but I would welcome any thoughts you have. —Wanting It All

Dear Wanting,

Well, talk about the seven-year itch! It is hard to argue with 12 orgasms when you’re accustomed to having zero. On the other hand, something is concerning you here or you would not be writing to me about it.

Your letter raises a profound, and complicated, question about romantic relationships. Is it possible sexual desire and love are separate (or can somehow be lived separately)? Your letter appears to answer that in the affirmative—and you are not alone in feeling that way. But there is probably more going on here than meets the eye. There is, for instance, a hint of what could be a rebellion (understandable) to the sexual dissatisfaction you have experienced.

I take it you believe your husband would be hurt if he knew about your affair. You obviously love him, though it also sounds as though your relationship is akin to a very warm, close friendship: affectionate, respectful, even tender (nothing at all wrong or inferior about any of that) … but also missing a certain “spice.” In fact, given your level of sexual appetite is higher than his, I wonder how you have navigated that difference over the years. Was it a matter of no longer being able to hold out? Is it possible the intensity of the affair is due to your withholding or repressing your desires over time, to the point where you no longer could?

Questions arise for me around this. Did you realize early on that the two of you were sexually incompatible? How was that reconciled? Was there a sense this might be more deeply addressed as time went on, or that it would change? Are you the type who more naturally sets aside their own needs for the other? Is the affair a kind of “rebalancing”?

There are psychologists and other social observers who believe a marriage contract for life is impractical. Search the internet and you’ll find intelligent arguments for a rethinking of monogamy, due to perhaps unrealistic expectations imposed by such an arrangement. I must be frank in saying I am not of this view and thus have a bias. Perhaps I’m old-fashioned in this way (which isn’t to say you aren’t).

Monogamy is challenging, of course. At the same time, it forces us to do something difficult: look our partner in the eye and find a difficult but necessary level of honesty to work through differences. Based on the information you provided, I am not sure whether this was ever an option in your case. It’s possible you underestimated the risk to yourself in having to hold back or curb your desires in order to not offend or overwhelm your husband.

You say quite openly—and I appreciate the candor—you don’t want the affair to stop but plan to never leave your husband. As you acknowledge, the affair at some point will end. Then what? The problem remains what to do about your striking difference. Coupledom is so often the negotiation of differences, often revolving most thornily around money, sex, and parenting.

You are not in an easy position and have not been for a while; I can even imagine being disappointed with your husband. Your behavior communicates this dissatisfaction. You sound like a genuinely nice person, and nice people can have trouble airing disagreements or disappointments.

I would be curious to know how this affair came to fruition—what led up to it, whether it was sudden or a slow build. Did you or your husband have an inkling of how vulnerable you were to sexual temptation? Did or does he possibly “look the other way”? (Some marriages have a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy regarding affairs.) What does the man you’re having the affair with represent for you—besides the obvious—that your husband does not? I try to advise partners to not take the other’s (or their own) dissatisfactions for granted; they can fester and leap out of the unconscious via surprising actions or behaviors.

I am going to take a small leap here and guess you are writing not only because you feel guilty or worried about what your husband might think if he found out, but perhaps you’ve felt caught in a bind for some time now and want a little validation for maybe needing this affair—for needing to feel attractive and sexually desired. You may also feel angry at having to feel guilty, since you have self-sacrificed for a while.

I was struck when you said, near the end of your letter, you don’t expect your husband to fulfill every need you have, as if it would be an imposition to ask more of him. Maybe it’s time to be a tad more selfish.

You say quite openly—and I appreciate the candor—you don’t want the affair to stop but plan to never leave your husband. As you acknowledge, the affair at some point will end. Then what? The problem remains what to do about your striking difference. Coupledom is so often the negotiation of differences, often revolving most thornily around money, sex, and parenting.

Which also leads me to wonder: what, exactly, is the deal with your husband? Is he repressed or withholding in bed, and has this been discussed? Is there fear of intimacy or vulnerability on his part? Does he have a hint of how unsatisfied you have been? Are there health factors? Were I seeing you as a couple, I would ask you both to lean in. Your challenge would be to speak up and let him know how unsatisfied you feel and withstand the risk of his feeling hurt. The reason we stretch like this is because of the reward of a deep and unique empathy and trust.

As I’m writing this, I’m feeling the tug between hoping you’ll enjoy your overdue pleasure and the hope that a happier arrangement can occur with your husband, along with a diminishing of the guilt you’re feeling. Again, an affair is a short-term outlet, not a long-term adjustment or way of growing closer. Unless, of course, there’s a reason you do not wish to be closer. I just cannot shake the feeling that something is being avoided here: first on your husband’s part, and then perhaps on yours in wanting more but feeling it’s “obvious” it can’t happen. In the meantime, your psyche is in conflict.

You could, I suppose, continue to lead a double life of sorts, but in the long run that strikes me as potentially risky both for your husband’s feelings and trust and for your own peace of mind. I don’t sense your desires are going anywhere soon (and there’s nothing wrong with them). Sex can be a wild card; it’s hard to predict where passionate feelings will lead.

You’ll note I haven’t addressed the question of whether to tell your husband about the affair. In the first place, you did not ask, and secondly it is a tangled question in which there is an argument to be made on either side. It is easy to say “honesty is the best policy,” but this simply isn’t true all of the time, in every situation—and there are many truths in a complex relationship. I think it comes down to the kind of relationship you have and want to have. There are many helpful books and therapists out there to help you sort this out.

Thanks again for writing!

Darren Haber, PsyD, MFT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

Hallelujah! I just retired at age 63 after four decades in the loan industry. I can’t wait to see what retirement holds for me.

After my husband died in 2004, I wrapped myself up in my work and put romance and sex on a very dusty shelf. I went on one date in 2011 with a man five years older than me, but I wasn’t ready and I really didn’t feel a spark with him anyway. Now that I am retired, I am thinking about filling my time with someone (or maybe multiple someones!) new again. I feel ready this time. But I also feel sure about something else: At this stage of my life, I find myself much more attracted to younger men than older men or even men my own age. When I say younger, I mean 20 or 30 years younger. Something about that feels wrong, but I think that’s more because of society’s expectations than mine.

[fat_widget_right]

I signed up for my first dating website yesterday and lo and behold I already have a whopping 18 messages! I was surprised that most of them are from younger men—one is a college sophomore! I am blushing but also smiling and laughing, if I am being honest. Apparently there is no shortage of younger men out there who are looking for “older” women like me. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised by that, but I am. Pleasantly so.

I know there may be potential complications with dating outside my generation. We may not have a lot in common and there may be gaps in maturity, wisdom, and life experience. I’ll probably get funny looks. I might shoot some funny looks back, though. Is it so wrong for me to want to date younger men? Could be fun. Ha! —Young at Heart

Dear Young at Heart,

You go, girl! Thanks for your spirited question, though I’m close to positive you already know the answer. Why in the world would it be wrong? First of all, you seem comfortable with it. Sixty-three leaves a lot of life to be experienced—having turned 50, I hold fast to that statement. To each her (or his) own. Love is not only blind, it often has a sense of irony.

Where is it written only men may seek out younger companions? I can only imagine by the tenor of your note that you are flattered by the attention, and why not? You experienced the loss of your husband (belated condolences) and have worked hard in your career. Why not have a little fun now that you have time on your hands?

You mention some potential pitfalls. There are always pitfalls in any situation. Also, it is hard to generalize about differences in regard to generations, maturity, and so forth, since we are all so unique. Some of us are “beyond our years,” others not so much. There is no such thing as being “mature” or not; usually there is maturity in some areas but not in others. (Maturity here is not to be confused with being stoic or emotionally reserved.) We may be patient and sage in the office, but frantic or angry behind the wheel, and so on.

Of course, there are stages of life that a younger guy might not be able to understand personally—such as retirement—but perhaps he’s a good listener and willing to learn about your experience, and isn’t that something you’d want from any partner?

As a therapist and psychoanalyst, I can’t help but be curious about what draws you to younger men. The most common reason for this, which may or may not apply to you personally, is the theme of youthfulness or vitality.

I think the key here is “having fun.” Life is heavy enough; why not keep things light and get to know some of these guys in person? You may know this, but there’s no substitute for in-person interaction, and it’s easy to build up our fantasy of another person before meeting them. This may also be old news, but I’d encourage you to try to keep it short and sweet the first time. Maybe coffee or a drink in a safe, public venue. An hour tops, which gives you an “out” if it’s not a match. Finally, I find that having a disagreement or two during the first few dates isn’t necessarily a bad thing since it shows how the two of you resolve conflict— key to any relationship, short- or long-term. Nothing is less fun than rigidity. Thus endeth my advice.

Additionally, and in the spirit of keeping things light, please take what I’m about to say with a grain of salt. As a therapist and psychoanalyst, I can’t help but be curious about what draws you to younger men. The most common reason for this, which may or may not apply to you personally, is the theme of youthfulness or vitality. Older men often seek younger women because of a fear of their own mortality, which aging makes impossible to ignore and which many folks experience as a traumatic loss. For many men, a loss of virility or stamina or peak physicality (and impending retirement) can create massive insecurity. Women for whom appearance is important are often distressed by aging, and many of the women I work with in therapy report that age brings a kind of reckoning of one’s life’s choices, both the positive as well as opportunities lost or shrinking.

I would be curious about what this interest in a younger guy means to you, which does not at all mean you shouldn’t pursue it. Quite the contrary; being clearer about what appeals to you (and what doesn’t) makes the dating process easier, since you know what attracts you and what might qualify as deal-breakers (which may or may not include dishonesty, lack of empathy, and so forth). One of the nice things about getting older, I find, is we can be more direct with ourselves and others about what we like or don’t like, in and out of the bedroom. It’s advisable to be up front about what you are or aren’t looking for with whomever you date, even if you’re not sure yet. Clarity on the front end tends to circumvent misunderstandings or hurt feelings, even if you’re uncertain about where things are going with someone.

Finally, the “father” side of me wants to say be cautious about who you let into your life, meaning access to intimate details of health, family, finances, and so on. This is not to imply you’re likely to meet a scam artist (though they do exist), but it takes time to get to know a person, and people reveal themselves through their actions and behavior over time. Most of us try to be on our best behavior in the beginning and let the rough edges slowly emerge. It can be intoxicating to meet a special someone and feel like you want to give all of yourself right away, but trust is precious indeed and needs to be earned little by little. There is a balance between caution and openness, which everyone finds for themselves. Indulge and have fun, take a weekend away to a new romantic place, take dancing lessons, try a new cuisine or neighborhood you’ve never visited, go to a rock concert (you’re never too old), be adventurous … just remember in the back of your mind it takes time to get to know someone—the good, the bad, and the in-between.

Having said all that, I wish you all the romantic fun in the world, with some well-earned enjoyment—as well as good wishes for the new year. If you would like support in navigating this journey into unfamiliar territory, therapists are here for you. Thanks again for your question!

Darren Haber, PsyD, MFT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

I hope you can help me with something. Recently I decided I don’t want to drink anymore. I was never a big drinker to begin with and don’t have an alcohol problem, but when I hung out with my friends, I would often have two or three drinks, which is fairly typical for everyone in our group. But even though it feels good in the moment and makes me more social, I don’t like the way I feel after drinking alcohol, and that’s increasingly true as I get older (I just turned 35). It pretty much ruins the next day for me, as I barely feel like getting out of bed, let alone leaving my apartment.

[fat_widget_right]

This is a hard decision for me because I really like my friends and I don’t expect them to not drink around me. But it feels weird sometimes to be the only person who isn’t drinking—almost like I’m the one person who isn’t in on the joke. It’s just not as fun. I also don’t want to feel pressured to drink, even though I know my friends wouldn’t actively try to get me to do something I wasn’t comfortable with. Likewise, I also don’t want my friends to feel pressured to not drink just because I choose to abstain. I’m worried they will think I think they have a problem or that I am judging them.

What do you think I should do? —Sober Thoughts

Dear Sober,

Congratulations on a mature decision. I guess I have my own sober thought, which is (with all due respect to your friends): are there any social activities to choose from besides imbibing, especially at 35? I can understand this as the focus at 25, but as one’s 30s roll around, the “party” kind of peters out and new responsibilities—work, family, etc.—eke into the foreground. It sounds like this is where you are going with your admirable decision, quite appropriate for someone a few years from 40.

Of course, this is a generalization, and there are some professions—journalism, entertainment, trading, and tech, to name a few—where “getting drinks” can be almost ritualistic. But many folks in those professions are sober, or can have one or two and then head home, in some cases to their partner or kids. The focus becomes less the booze than the socializing. Plus, as you astutely state, as we get older it often gets harder to shake off liquor’s aftereffects.

Are there any alternatives for your group besides drinking? I would think your friends would support your decision, and wonder why you wouldn’t tell them. (More on that in a moment.)

I can understand feeling like the “odd person out” if you are not partaking. Though I can’t imagine that, if they truly are friends, they would mind trying something different now and again, especially if you are in a city. There are plenty of ways to hang out or blow off steam: music, readings, dancing, theater, comedy clubs, etc.

If the main focus of this gang is the liquor, that itself is worth a ponder. Perhaps it’s worth expanding your social circle in any event; try going online and finding a hiking group or even a language, photography, or cooking class (or whatever moves you). Perhaps you could get more involved with local community or, if you’re so inclined, religious or spiritual activities. Familiarity and routine can be comforting, but may also keep our worlds smaller than is needed.

Perhaps you fear feeling rejected or seen as “wimpy” for not drinking. You don’t sound judgmental and your decision is sound; anyone judging you is not much of a friend.

I am intuiting that this group may be a holdover from college, or that you work together? True friendships would have more than only that in common; the underlying anxiety in your question makes me wonder if you are concerned you’ll be alone if you lose this group, though again, if they are not willing to be flexible, how reliable are they? Perhaps you fear feeling rejected or seen as “wimpy” for not drinking. You don’t sound judgmental and your decision is sound; anyone judging you is not much of a friend.

I can share with you some personal experience, which parallels others’ experience, though my situation is slightly different than yours. When I got sober and began recovery, with an alcohol problem that had me at the end of my rope, only two people protested that sobriety was “going overboard”; one smoked marijuana regularly, while the other had a problem (long hidden) with “downers.” The rest of my friends were congratulatory and flexible in joining me in new activities. It was something of a revelation that they were happy to see me and not the bottle.

In fact, I was shocked to discover most people truly don’t care about another’s drinking, and most don’t get smashed at social occasions. The latter was truly revelatory to me. Even now, at intimate dinner parties, it’s rare that anyone comments on (or even notices!) my having juice rather than wine.

I find that as we get older, the time we get to spend with our friends becomes more and more precious as our lives fill up with more responsibilities, especially if we start a family. It’s good to be able to savor it as much as we can. (Is dating a goal or interest of yours, by the way? I am sure any worthy partner would respect your decision.)

Finally, I detect anxiety in your decision about your effect on others. Contrary to many self-help affirmations (such as “I don’t need anyone’s approval”), most of us do care—at least a little—about how others perceive us. But there comes a time when we have to decide what’s best for us … and see who stands by us. It is not always an easy choice, and I wonder if you are beholden to the opinions of the group in a way that limits your choices. If so, it might be worth some non-critical self-reflection as to why. It has taken me quite some time to finally accept that we cannot control how or what others think of us, even when we prefer those thoughts to be positive.

Any friendship worth its salt relies—to some degree, at least—on flexibility and empathy. It sounds like you have good reasons to set aside the booze to improve the quality of your life, and for that you are to be commended. My hope is you find that your friends are more supportive than you think.

Kind regards,

Darren Haber, PsyD, MFT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

I left my job about two months ago, run-down and on the brink of something drastic because of how miserable I was. It was an extremely high-stress job in finance, and I was very good at it despite the long hours and the lack of creativity it took to do the job. Quitting it was a huge risk—I had savings, but no real prospects on the other side. I just wanted some peace after a decade of work that was at once mind-numbing and incredibly taxing.

[fat_widget_right]

Since I left I’ve been making ends meet with some odd jobs, but after two months the thought is starting to creep in that I made a huge mistake. Life hasn’t been as fulfilling as I dreamed it would be, and though I have time and freedom now to explore hobbies I’ve wanted to take up and complete some lingering house projects, I seem to be … still stuck, somehow.

Maybe I had too many expectations for quitting? Did I build it up too much in my head? The company I just left has an opening, and part of me wants to return. My best friends are there, but I dread every other aspect of being employed there again. At the time, I thought quitting was the best decision I ever made and I vowed never to go back. Should I listen to my nagging regrets? Try harder to make a new life for myself? Or opt for stability and doing what I know? —Wealth or Worry

Dear WOW,

Thank you for your letter. As is so often the case (sayeth the psychotherapist), it raises more questions than answers. But first, let me make an observation or two.

We are often confused by the question of, “Is it the external circumstances that are the problem here, or is it me?” Typically, it is both. In fact, part of the problem can be seeing it as strictly either/or. Some of us grew up in misattuned environments, for instance, where we were always the problem. Some people in therapy also struggle because “they”/“him”/“her” is at fault.

There are always exceptions, but most of the time an external situation—especially a stressful one—is a catalyst for some psychological or emotional conflict we are sorting through. We cannot avoid seeing everything through our own “glasses” or filters. And everyone has ongoing, unsorted conflicts; there is no normal in this regard, as each person’s psychic conflict is highly individualized.

It sounds here as if the job was undoubtedly stressful, and no one can fault you for being a “quitter” since you hung in for a decade! One of our most basic needs is precisely what you stated—peace. I can confirm that the financial industry is anything but peaceful, what with the advent of ever-faster technological tools which seem to increase impatience from management and demand on workers. It is inherently a nerve-wracking business since it involves money, which touches on widespread fears and needs for security, leading to ongoing, socio-cultural anxiety and neurosis.

So the pressure was on, and from the sound of it, you prospered. That is no small feat. Clearly, you have marketable skills and can perform under pressure, to your credit, with a solid résumé that speaks to a decade of experience in a stressful environment.

Yet, in spite of your palpable relief at leaving, something lingers: self-doubt, a creeping sense of “what if I goofed?” This, to me, is probably the most emotionally significant part of your story.

Stability is, at least in part, an inside job. I have worked with quite a few wealthy individuals in therapy who were terribly unhappy. (I am not saying being able to pay bills and rent is insignificant.) In this case, though, it sounds like you have sufficient funds for now and can “make ends meet.” So rather than focus on the externals (the job opening, the company) or looking in the rearview mirror (“did I screw up by quitting?”), I would suggest you take time for sustained, empathic self-reflection.

Have you considered speaking with a therapist, career counselor, or another professional who has experience helping folks with precisely these concerns? Something new awaits—something good, I am sensing—but it’s hard to know which door to open, or where the door can even be found. This, in turn, stokes fear.

I strongly sense there is also a sense of conflict within yourself that wants security and certainty and peace or serenity, a sense of wholeness within the kind of work that truly, in the long run, is right for you. This is a tricky balance, one that requires more work and exploring on your part, but I am sure it is possible. You might not find perfection, but I am certain you can get inside the ballpark.

Renowned psychoanalyst D.W. Winnicott would call this yearning for peace as coming from your “true self,” while mythologist and Jungian author Joseph Campbell might call this process the beginning of your “hero’s journey,” or journey to authentic selfhood.

Campbell stated that the hero most often refused the “call to adventure” at first, deciding to take that journey only when backed into a corner. Carl Jung himself felt it is only when cornered, or up against a wall, that our conscious mind surrenders to deeper, creative forces seeking actualization, carrying us forward like the currents of a river.

Or, as an old Zen parable puts it, we are the train on the tracks, but we cannot be the tracks.

I sense, in other words, that you need to give the quieter “other side”—which wants peace or something different, which nagged you to quit the job—a little space and patience to speak up. (Journaling can help in this regard, or talking to a professional or a trusted friend.) There is always existential anxiety at giving up a path of certainty—the financial job, where you know you can succeed and make a good living—for the blank canvas of what next. But that is precisely the adventure! In a way, we need that anxiety to keep our search in motion. And it is trial and error; don’t give up if the answer doesn’t appear right away. It will, though answers come in bits and pieces. Dramatic “aha!” moments are, for the most part, best left for movies and television.

I’m guessing your courageous decision, which was a bold and necessary step to protect your sanity and serenity, has provoked deep-rooted voices—parental, perhaps?—that are saying things like, “Are you crazy? That job paid $_____ a year! Now what are you going to do? Watch daytime TV?”

That is the voice of fear. Fear tends to lead to black-and-white perception, where you are either secure or screwed.

But you have marketable skills, as I say. From a more neutral vantage point, I would guess you have options. By calming your fear and finding outlets for existential self-soothing, you might start to see that you could, for instance, work part-time for a company or even for yourself. And you are making ends meet, which might be good enough for now until you find something that resonates.

It can be overwhelming when what we are looking for hasn’t been found or doesn’t seem to exist (yet). This doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It just means you may need a little time and support to do something naturally difficult but, it sounds like, essential.

Have you considered working for yourself? Many folks are overwhelmed and confused by money matters (my hand is raised); could you do some independent advising or work for a smaller or less daunting firm, even part-time? Sometimes companies hire people for short-term projects, via a recruiter for instance. During that time, you could explore other options: volunteering, taking informational interviews, and so forth.

Corny as it sounds, this is a prime opportunity for you to stretch your wings. Daydream a little. Is there anything you’ve always wanted to try, or even go back to school to study? Is this the time to go to grad school in the evening for your philosophy degree or take a creative writing or guitar class? There is more to life than work, and we are not defined by work alone; for many, it is the least defining point of identity.

Try browsing online job sites, A to Z, and see if anything jumps out at you, something you never even thought of. Maybe you yearn to do some socially or environmentally conscious work (as a random example); could you end up as an investment adviser for a nonprofit? Could you do some combination of corporate and nonprofit work? Do you want to chuck finance altogether and teach English in Asia or Europe, or find a finance job in an international firm and live abroad?

It is possible you could write your own job description and follow it up with persistent footwork to make it happen. It sounds like you have a rare combination of gifts: a financial talent along with integrity and a need for something more personally fulfilling. You have a soul, and it is speaking to you. The soul—or the unconscious, or true self—does not always speak in digestible sound bites, which means we need to find ways to listen deeply to that quiet inner voice which is telling us something vital.

I have worked with people in your situation, and they have prevailed by not giving up. One was an attorney at a movie studio, and he was miserable. He was on-call 24/7, and despite working on prestigious projects, he felt depleted and beat up, with no time or energy to find a partner or start a family. Eventually he decided to get training in estate law, and now runs a quiet little business with a partner, with weekdays that end at 5 p.m.

It can be overwhelming when what we are looking for hasn’t been found or doesn’t seem to exist (yet). This doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It just means you may need a little time and support to do something naturally difficult but, it sounds like, essential. I would just remind you that you have options, per the above.

It’s natural to experience awkwardness after a decade of living a certain way and then stopping. You are carving out a new way of living, day by day. Give yourself credit for doing something brave. You can always go back—to your previous job, or others like it—though I can’t help but conclude that, on a soulful level, you truly don’t want to. So, keep the search going and I am sure the answers will come.

Thanks again for writing!

Kind regards,

Darren Haber, PsyD, MFT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

Ever since my ex and I broke up a few years ago, my interest in sex has been declining. I have dated a few people since my breakup, but sex just isn’t the same. My libido isn’t what it was, and I just don’t feel “the need” the way I used to. While we were together, my ex and I had a consistently scorching-hot sex life. Sex was extremely important to me and a major source of connection. Now? Most of the time, I can take it or leave it.

[fat_widget_sex_right]

Part of me wonders if this is more about getting older and less about something else. I’m 44 now, and I know it’s normal for a man’s libido to decrease over time. But it wasn’t so long ago I was having sex almost daily and it still didn’t feel like enough. The difference is pretty stark, to the point I regularly turn down sexual overtures in the dating world, even when it’s been a week or two. In fact, it’s been a source of discontent in the relationships I’ve tried to develop. I’m not used to being the one to turn down sex.

I don’t feel like attraction is the issue, and I masturbate about as frequently as I ever did. I have to think there is some sort of mental block that is getting in the way of my enjoyment of sex. Maybe my sexual triggers aren’t being triggered enough. Or maybe my needs are evolving and my body is taking the cue. I honestly have no idea, but I miss the old, sexual me.

What do you think is going on? —More Bothered Than Hot

Submit Your Own Question to a Therapist

Dear Bothered,

Thanks for your question. Almost nothing is more personal than our sexuality and associated feelings and desires, so I appreciate your candidness.

Additionally, few aspects of our human being-ness are more complex than sexuality, so without more background I can only give a hunch as to what I think might be happening. I’ll try to be as honest as you were.

The short answer to the question “what is going on?” is: quite possibly a lot of things.

I hear what sounds like anxiety in your concern, maybe even an undertow of loss in missing “the old, sexual me.” Could it be you also miss the old sexual relationship? Your feelings of loss seem to sync up with the loss of your ex, which implies this relationship was of profound emotional importance in addition to being “scorching hot.” In fact, the scorching-hot experience is also powerfully emotional: passionate, spontaneous, wild, and playful. Sexuality is such an overwhelming experience because it involves all of us: body, mind, spirit, emotion, intimacy or closeness with another (relationality), and so on; hence its magnetic psychological force.

As to your specific issue, first I would seek a medical checkup, just to rule out any possible physiological causation.

Ruling out medical challenges, I would reflect upon just what it is you lost, in terms of emotional relatedness, when you lost this partner. I would assume, for instance, that they made it “safe” to be yourself, to let intimate aspects of yourself roam free. What made it so, as best you can guess?

As I read your question a second time, an idea occurs to me. You talk about sex as though it is a free-floating activity, almost as if having a partner is incidental to your sensual pleasure. But the more I study psychology, the more it seems to me that our existence is relational, very much bound with important others. Sigmund Freud himself often hypothesized that masturbation was a way to relieve the sexual attraction to a forbidden or incestuous other—a kind of furtive substitute for sexual longing. (Though it would take Carl Jung to expand the meaning of “connection” or fusion beyond the literal.)

I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that your loss in sex coincides with losing your ex. I’m curious what it is about this other person that created such powerful chemistry between you—and what led to the end of the relationship.

Ruling out medical challenges, I would reflect upon just what it is you lost, in terms of emotional relatedness, when you lost this partner. I would assume, for instance, that she or he made it “safe” to be yourself, to let intimate aspects of yourself roam free. What made it so, as best you can guess?

It is not unheard of that a couple will have a fiery relationship in the bedroom, but struggle to relate, empathize, or communicate. I’m thinking particularly of romantic experimentation where needs or desires are “sexualized” and satiated physically—nothing wrong with that—while unspoken emotional or psychological differences have yet to be addressed or worked through.

I often work with people who can express a strong, historically unmet need to be seen, valued, and respected only via sex or sexual role play, but not in more mundane daily interaction. In other words, the vulnerability is only physical or literal. Eventually, the relationship deteriorates if the emotional/psychological differences are not addressed. The work of the therapy is, often, in helping a person identify and articulate their needs, often difficult given highly critical or absent parents, though sticking with it often leads to more freedom and options in all of a person’s relational arenas.

Another way of putting it: sexual satisfaction can temporarily soothe an emotional anxiety or injury unexplored in the relationship, or a sense of frustration or estrangement, leading to only a fleeting sense of connection—which still does not address the relational friction.

The more I write and think about this, I’m tempted to say what’s happening here may best be described as growing pains. I believe it was the novelist Graham Greene who said that, as we age, companionship becomes more valuable than sex. This often begins to happen slowly as we creep into middle age.

In that regard, you sound right on schedule, though I know it can be unsettling, and even trigger feelings of grief and loss, if solitary sexual activity has been of consolation to you. Your current dilemma, then, could be facing a newfound vulnerability after losing a person who co-created a highly exciting chemistry. It is often the case we desire to share our existence with another more strongly than is consciously believed, whether it be primarily sexual or platonic or somewhere in between. This is often an uncomfortable or even painful adjustment—but not indicative of anything wrong with you. In fact, quite the contrary.

For men especially (though this certainly can apply to women, too), sexuality can come to represent, symbolize, or have personal meaning in many ways: as a means of finding freedom, fulfillment, and validation or a sense of being strongly valued and desired. The magical feeling of sex or romance can arise when we sense that our very being is desired by another, that this deep, profound desire is in sync with another’s desire for us.

This connection can feel transformative. It can loosen the grip of existential alienation or isolation so many of us struggle with, in an era of mostly technological connection. Some of the people I work with in therapy report feeling most “horny” or sexually hungry during or just after a period of grief.

Is it possible the situation is also difficult because your main means of consolation (sexuality, masturbation) is elusive, or less effective, in the aftermath of the breakup? That can be an unsettling realization, indeed, though by no means hopeless.

As we get older, we hopefully discover there is more to partnership than just the physical mechanics or hydraulics of sex. It sounds like you could really be yourself with this person, that you could both reciprocate and find exciting similarity of passion in the bedroom; what, I wonder, prevented this from happening outside the bedroom as well?

In other words, it sounds like you made a profound emotional/relational connection, which you deeply miss. One plus one equals three, meaning two people in deep connection create a third element: the relationship itself, in all of its maddening glory. You found unique chemistry with this person. How could it be the same on your own?

You could, if the relationship is irreparably over, ask yourself what qualities of this person you found so attractive, what it is that made them so special, especially in bed? What didn’t happen in the overall relationship that prevented it from continuing; can you look without heavy self-criticism at your participation here, your 50%, and see if anything can change to attract or keep the next person you’ll hopefully meet?

Perhaps the answer to the latter is emotional closeness, companionship, or friendship—and some deeper self-understanding, maybe even via counseling or therapy.

I can understand your painful sense of loss, bewilderment, anxiety, and even frustration at the dilemma you describe so honestly. At the same time, there is a chance to “make lemonade” by finding or seeking the succor of deeper human connection and self-awareness, with a new partner and/or others who can relate or identify with what you’re going through. It sounds like a kind of (pardon the cliché) midlife crisis, and this is not uncommon in the slightest.

I hope this gives you some food for thought, and I thank you again for your candor.

Best,

Darren Haber, PhD, MFT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

I have been with my boyfriend for going on three years. A couple of months ago, he said he thought it would be “healthy” for us to be able to have access to each other’s phones. He wants to be able to read my text messages whenever he wants and says he’s okay with me reading his too.

I thought this request was odd, to say the least. I told a couple of friends about it and they also said it was weird. Neither one has an “open phone” policy with their partners. They think it speaks to trust issues on his part.

[fat_widget_relationships_right]

We don’t have a history of infidelity, so that can’t be it. I’ve never betrayed him in any real sense. The only thing I can even think of that created any sort of weirdness in our relationship was when I got hit on at a friend’s wedding. That was about six months ago, and while I did accept a friend request from the guy on Facebook, we have only exchanged a couple of comments on public posts. Friendly, but nothing racy. My boyfriend mentioned our interactions once but not in a way that would suggest he felt threatened or insecure. Anyway, I asked him if that had anything to do with his request and he said no.

So I’m not sure what’s going on, but I don’t like knowing my boyfriend insists on seeing my messages. To avoid giving him cause for alarm, I told him I’m fine sharing. We keep our phones unlocked now and he is free to look at mine whenever he wants. Though I’ve never witnessed him doing it, I know he does. I have never looked at his. I just don’t feel a need.

What do you think is happening here? Am I going about this the right way? Should I insist on a boundary? —Open-Ended

Submit Your Own Question to a Therapist

Dear Open-Ended,

Thanks for writing in. I, too, have some concerns about this “open phone” policy and understand your reluctance, which I encourage you to pay more attention to. Before expounding, however, I’m going to briefly discuss what, exactly, a “boundary” is, in my clinical experience, since the term gets thrown around a lot while meanings differ.

Since I like to work from a point of view I call “emotional mindfulness”—and what are love and intimacy if not emotion-based experiences?—I think of a boundary as an inflection point beyond which one will suffer in an unacceptable way. This point of departure most often concerns a specific behavior which causes a person a level of distress or suffering they are not able or willing to tolerate.

It is, in other words, a way of warding off a negative emotional experience, which is why it’s so important such things be discussed in a relationship with as open a mind and heart as possible—even or especially when they don’t “make sense” or conflict with our own way of viewing things. Concrete statements can be debated, while feelings remain indisputably personal: “here is how someone ought to behave in a situation” versus “this is what upsets or hurts or feels positive about this.”

My sense is you and your boyfriend are somehow missing each other in this regard. On the one hand, you say, “To avoid giving him cause for alarm, I told him I’m fine sharing [phones].” Thus, after some internal deliberation and perhaps anxiety, you agreed with his request—except you are writing to me about it, indicating there remains some anxiety or reservation.

The concern I have here is that the focus has become centered on the mechanics rather than the emotional meaning of this sharing. By “meaning,” I refer to how you both think and feel about what’s happening and how it impacts the relationship. In a way, the background dilemma has been tabled, not solved.

The fact a guy hit on you at a wedding became understandably concerning for your boyfriend; this guy then “friended” you on Facebook, which you accepted. While your trusting of others isn’t a bad thing unto itself, I would hope you can see how that might have been anxious-making for your partner, perhaps due to some of his own history (just as some of yours may have impacted your decision to friend the guy and/or agree to share phones).

In all fairness, your boyfriend did not come out and discuss his concerns explicitly, which is part of the “missing each other” I mention above. He took a literal or physical approach rather than risking vulnerability in discussing it. You may have taken a similar route in agreeing to share your phone when you were hesitant, both of you bypassing the emotional risk or vulnerability so crucial to building closeness or intimacy.

I find generally that all behavior, especially when it concerns a close relationship, is a kind of communication, sometimes revealing intention that may or may not be conscious. On some level, your boyfriend’s impulse to check your phone—which will require checking and rechecking because it doesn’t address the underlying emotional problem, another reason it’s only a Band-Aid solution—is a way of saying, “I don’t trust you.”

Your decision to friend this fellow—and here I’m reaching a bit—could mean you do not like to feel constrained, for example in who you do or don’t befriend or interact with. You might believe, “I told him I’m taken, he gets it, and I’m fine with it.” Of course, your boyfriend could harbor similar sentiment about checking your phone: “I’m not suspicious of anything in particular, it’s just a way of shoring up trust and makes me feel better.” It sounds like both of you are facing common human anxieties that might, if mutually shared and understood, lead to deeper understanding and a strengthened emotional bond.

The “I’m” and “me” parts are key. It’s hard to put the “we” above “me” in any relationship, especially when we don’t get the other person’s point of view (more on that in a second), or if that POV conflicts with or appears to get in the way of our autonomy, freedom, and so forth.

I find generally that all behavior, especially when it concerns a close relationship, is a kind of communication, sometimes revealing intention that may or may not be conscious. On some level, your boyfriend’s impulse to check your phone—which will require checking and rechecking because it doesn’t address the underlying emotional problem, another reason it’s only a Band-Aid solution—is a way of saying, “I don’t trust you.”

It could also be saying, “I do trust you, but I get so anxious about this that I must have validation or confirmation. It’s hard to say no to this need to know.”

Your deciding to friend the guy at the wedding is a way of saying, “Hey, you can trust me, I’m loyal to you.” It could also be a matter of “I have a hard time saying ‘no’ as it might hurt the other person’s feelings, so it’s safer to just agree.”

Both of you overlap in saying, “Please understand this, don’t be hurt”—agreeing with the other’s behavior in a way that misses the underlying, more vulnerable anxieties or hopes for understanding. Thus, the relationship remains anxiety-laden, which is probably why you decided to write in.

In either case, you and your boyfriend have real (and understandably human) vulnerabilities around trust and betrayal. It’s worth sitting down with each other for an open conversation in which you try to hear the other person out in terms of their hopes and fears. If this feels uncomfortable, reach out to a therapist who can help facilitate things in an impartial way.

Perhaps your boyfriend was once betrayed by a partner, leading to anxiety around a repetition of this; perhaps you once said no to someone and it backfired or hurt you. In either event, I would think the solution has to come from within each of you in a shared way, rather than a physical or concrete way of controlling anxiety and postponing some stepping-outside-the-comfort-zone. We cannot avoid the need to emotionally stretch—sometimes awkwardly, uncomfortably—in the growth required for long-term intimacy.

I see this in couples counseling all the time, where one person needs to turn up the volume on their wants or needs (yourself, in this case), while the other needs to dial it down a bit in terms of intrusiveness or demand (your boyfriend)—while both partners attempt to center on the emotional vulnerabilities driving the conflict, rather than resting in an external solution. Putting the cart before the horse is something we all do, though the “horse” (i.e., the relationship) only ends up feeling blocked, restless, or cagey.

I hope this helps. Thanks again for writing!

Darren Haber, MFT, PsyD

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

Some people masturbate to thoughts of faceless figures. Some people masturbate to porn. Some people have fantasies about characters from fan fiction.

Me? I tend to masturbate to thoughts of people I actually know, ranging from friends to coworkers to professors to the guy next door to my boss’ husband and everyone in between. Is that healthy? I mean, in most cases I would never actually have sex with these people (it would usually be taboo or inappropriate), so I wonder if it’s healthy to even imagine it or if I should be trying to redirect my fantasies elsewhere.

[fat_widget_right]

I personally would be flattered to know that a friend or coworker or whoever was masturbating with me in mind, but I feel a little guilty about it sometimes, like I’m using someone’s image for my sexual gratification without their knowledge or consent. When I’m around these people I don’t act any different; I don’t get weird or creepy or anything. So is there any harm in what I’m doing? Is this normal and healthy? Am I some sort of deviant? —Thinking of You

Submit Your Own Question to a Therapist

Dear Thinking,

Thanks for your question. First, a quick remark regarding your question of whether this is “normal.” I gently discourage people from using this word in therapy, though I understand why they do. Perhaps because I tend to work within an existential-humanistic viewpoint, I have discovered there is no normal. I mean this within the context of understanding a specific person’s psychological and emotional life. So many behaviors or emotions are confusing from a distance, but then make sense as you understand them empathically.

Often the word “normal” often gets conflated with “rational,” or within the bounds of acceptable socio-cultural definition. Thus, it is defined by social norms, which change over time.

But consider that it is not necessarily “rational” to watch a pretend series of moving images on a screen, with actors dressed in costume and special effects generated by computer, in such a way that emotionally involves us with the characters and story we’re seeing (even when that story is called Star Wars or Wonder Woman). It is not rational to be engrossed or frightened by an obviously “fake” science-fiction novel or TV series. All of this is, however, quite human in our need for narratives and fantasies that serve a variety of emotional and psychological purposes. Certainly, sexual fantasies can go beyond the bounds of “rational”—and wouldn’t life be boring if they didn’t?

It seems to me fantasies, even dreams themselves, are often closer to the emotional or psychological truth of our existence than logic or rationality. Rationality is necessary, but too much of it becomes constricting; it’s the non-rational, creative, or unbounded energy that brings color and, frankly, gets the party started (so to speak). It’s hard to imagine a line of people lining up to see a movie about lives which remain rational or “normal” throughout.

Were you in the therapy room with me, I would be curious to hear more about these fantasies of yours, as a window into what might be happening on an unconscious or soulful level.

On the face of it, your fantasies and masturbation, even wondering about the social ethics therein, don’t strike me as unusual or alarming. Having said that, you don’t mention the frequency or intensity of said behaviors. It’s hard to tell whether they happen enough to warrant being considered compulsive. When a compulsion is present, a person often feels they ought to “get a handle” on things, and may feel guilty the behavior (or set of feelings driving the behavior) is hard to manage.

Hard to say, in other words, whether this behavior is relatively harmless (to yourself or others), a way of blowing off some sexual steam, or if it is somehow getting in the way of real-life relationships.

We all sometimes wonder about our own private habits, of course, and may secretly want validation we are not “beyond the bounds” of normalcy (whatever that is), or wonder, “Is this a problem or isn’t it?” Your question does intimate danger or risk in such self-pleasuring, since these fantasy scenarios are possibly “taboo or inappropriate.” This makes me especially curious.

What is the taboo you might be breaking? You don’t mention the specific content of your fantasies, which I am guessing are compelling or captivating in some way. In many cases, the intensity of sexual scenarios relates to some emotional intensity—pain, desire, fear—in our psyche that has not been fully explored or understood, or relationally shared, but which can create turbulence, even shame, until better understood. (That’s not a bad description of the purpose of psychotherapy, incidentally.)

You may know the content of sexual fantasies and desires so often symbolizes or “disguises” a person’s deepest wishes, hopes, and fears. Sexual fantasies are dream-like, and can be interpreted as such, much as Sigmund Freud hinted (though he stubbornly insisted on only one valid interpretation). These fantasy and dream images become a kind of “map” of yearnings or deeper desires not easily expressed consciously, for all manner of reasons.

Sometimes such needs become “eroticized” or take sexual form. The person who feels they are never noticed or truly seen may have exhibitionist-type fantasies in which they are finally “noticed” by others; the “nudity” in this scenario may correspond to a desire to feel unbounded, spontaneous—as young children are often unabashed about their own nudity.

I would suggest paying attention to the emotional hopes or wishes suggested by your imagined scenarios. The only true “taboo” I can imagine is stifling further exploration toward listening to or observing more closely the needs, wants, or hopes your psyche may be trying to communicate.

Within such scenarios, we may see or be “seen” in the most unencumbered and exciting ways. Urges or impulses that are usually kept in “storage” are free to roam. Pushing and playing with boundaries is part of the excitement, in whatever form that takes. This holds true, of course, for both masturbatory and shared sexual activity.

As another example, S&M scenarios are commonly enjoyed by those who (for instance) struggle with feeling overly compliant during their “real” life, but are then empowered to dominate in the bedroom. Meanwhile, those who enjoy being tied up or submissive might struggle with a sense of over-responsibility in “real” life.

Is it possible your fantasies are a way of asserting yourself and your needs in a way that feels elusive in your actual relationships? Are there needs or emotions that are hard to share or communicate in your interactions with others?

Clearly there is an aftermath here of guilt or self-doubt. Again, in what way is this activity “taboo” or possibly “deviant” (a strong word)? Is it that you are somehow “exploiting” these folks without their awareness? In what way might it be wrong to do so? Have you ever felt exploited in any parallel way? Are you concerned such fantasizing might somehow lead to taking action (if there is anything “edgy” or dangerous about your fantasies)? Is there something shameful about the desires symbolized by the fantasies themselves?

I can’t escape the feeling that, at the bottom of all of this, there is something emotional and very human hoping to be more deeply understood.

There is a rather significant detail left out of your note: you don’t mention if you are single. If you are, does it mean your partner would be hurt or offended?

I’m imagining for a moment you are single. Is the “taboo” an offense against yourself, in not seeking an actual sex partner and depriving yourself of an intimacy that may be overwhelming or anxiety-provoking? Or in “permitting” some (possibly sexualized) desires or needs to take shape and find expression, even if privately?

Or, if you are partnered, is there a sense of guilt or “forbidden-ness” around attraction toward others? People are often surprised to learn one can be married or monogamous and still be attracted to others. How far to take such an attraction does subjectively and culturally vary, of course. (There are cultures or traditions, for instance, which allow bigamy, and there has been quite a bit of discussion lately in social and mainstream media about open relationships.)

In short, your question is a provocative one and is worthy of further exploration in therapy. I would suggest paying attention to the emotional hopes or wishes suggested by your imagined scenarios. The only true “taboo” I can imagine is stifling further exploration toward listening to or observing more closely the needs, wants, or hopes your psyche may be trying to communicate.

Kind regards,

Darren Haber, MFT, PsyD