I’ve been thinking about dangers and discoveries in intimacy.
*For the sake of confidentiality, all names in this essay have been changed to pseudonyms; additionally, these pseudonymous character names describe an amalgamation of characteristics and observations rather than any one specific individual.
I met Sarah* five years ago, the day after she made an emergency call for help when she discovered that her boyfriend was in fact a sexual predator. It terrified her that through her first two-and-a-half years of college he’d exploited her and other women on campus sexually and emotionally. Over the next several months, she worked her way through this trauma, graduated with her class, and settled into working successfully since then in jobs she likes that pay her decently. After the terrible boyfriend, there were a series of not-so-well-chosen and therefore brief partners, each of whom pushed her deeper into the question of why she kept choosing mismatched men and what it would take to finally find a relationship in which she thrived.
She met her current partner two years ago and after tiptoeing closer for a year, she trusted him enough to move in with him. She has learned not to allow her anxiety to distort her trust in him, they share deep pleasure together and have a great deal of fun with a dozen or more close friends. And they are in an endless conversation about important and sometimes just playful experiences they share.
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Sarah and I were recently talking about what she’s learned from her failed relationships and the difference in these two years of life and love together. She talked about feeling safe with him, mused about their future, wondered if the relationship would endure and what she could do to keep it fresh. She paused, then said, My purpose in this journey is to discover him. I was surprised. Here was a young woman who did not focus on being the best version of myself or letting him know what I need from him. She wasn’t even focused on her need to share myself honestly with him. No. My purpose in this journey is to discover him. As soon as she said it, I picked up my pen and wrote it down.
As I’ve reflected on her comment, I keep running into speed bumps about her mission of discovery, those elements of her search that make me cautious for her. If she focuses on who he is and comes to understand him deeply, does she tie herself to whatever she finds that he wants from her? Is she compelled to conform to what she discovers about his desires? In this same cautionary way, by focusing on her discoveries about him does she let herself off the hook about expanding her own self-awareness? Does she shape herself in the relationship based on who he is even if it means neglecting or distorting who she is? Part of my therapeutic task is to raise these cautionary issues with her and let her explore and discover ways to keep her focus on him while at the same time taking very good care of herself.
I find this to be true, more and more: When I am relentlessly curious about you, you will eventually show me who you really are. And when you reveal yourself to me, you’ll reflect to me who I really am in your eyes. The more I discover about you, and the wider the mirror of my love for you, the more I can see myself reflected in your love for me. This reciprocal vision, this enhanced awareness we have of one another and of ourselves becomes our expansive love for one another. This is how we create the deepest intimacy and, at the same time, genuine self-awareness.
The more I discover about you, and the wider the mirror of my love for you, the more I can see myself reflected in your love for me. This reciprocal vision, this enhanced awareness we have of one another and of ourselves becomes our expansive love for one another.
This may seem a bit too romantic to be real, though it is the love Sarah is looking for and, frankly, what I want more of in my life. We're at our best when we're in love like this. It calls forth my most authentic self and connects me with your most authentic self. We create an increasingly safe space for each of us, and for the two of us together. The popular writer Margaret Atwood captured the intimacy such curiosity creates when she wrote, I exist in two places, here and where you are.
The larger problem for me is not that it seems unreal but that it seems so rare. I just don’t see many people who experience or even work toward this kind of I exist in two places intimacy. I think many (perhaps most) of us want this kind of love, but it’s too difficult to create. Are we somehow inherently incapable of such intimacy, as if this persistent distance between us is in our DNA? I don’t think so; I think we’re made to be close to one another. But life has frightened us away from intimacy and made us doubt its possibility.
I've been married for sixty years and, despite eras of confusion and disappointment, have found my way to a pretty good level of intimacy. During the same six decades, as a pastor and a therapist I’ve worked with hundreds of couples to help them get closer to one another, with an even mix of success and failure. Here's what often goes wrong.
Too many people choose a partner who lacks the broad-based compatibility that is the necessary foundation of reliable intimacy. Mel expresses his love for Eileen in a way that doesn’t translate for her. He tells her that love means providing for her and their family, allowing them to live in their nice neighborhood, sending their kids to these elite schools, having their circle of successful friends. Eileen's response is that she also works hard, and enjoys the benefits. But none of that, nor all of it together, makes her feel loved. Working hard is part of the deal they made when they got together, but it doesn’t come across as his interest in what she believes or wants in life, or what she needs from him in a deeply personal way. Eileen wants more than to be provided for, and at the same time, Mel wants to be desired by her. He wants time, face to face, to just be with one another, without some agenda about the budget or the kids’ schedules or the meetings they each have on their calendars.
Emma and Ralph cannot FIND time for intimate conversations, because their relationship is complicated with responsibilities for work and family life. They have to MAKE time, every week, to sit and talk without interruption, but it's the best Ralph can do to say “Please pass the butter” without falling asleep at the table. They're both working two jobs to keep their heads above water, and these conversations about discovering one another seem to require a leisure only their uptown friends can afford.
Allen simply isn't interested in sharing intimately with Karen. His inner voice says, I don’t want you to know me because it’s none of your business. I know enough about myself to go about my life, and our life as a couple, without sharing with you stuff about me that’s private. I’m not hiding anything – messing with our money or with another partner, doing drugs in secret – none of that stuff. I just want to keep whatever little bit I know about my inner world to myself.
Ken and Robert struggle to connect. Robert is afraid that if he shares openly with Ken about his prior life, Ken won't like what he discovers, since Robert doesn't like it himself. This fear of being known, this feeling that I’m not the person you think I am, this fact that I don’t want you to know how small and confused I am – all this makes Robert run like a deer from a forest fire when Ken says those terrifying seven words: “I want to talk about our relationship.”
Helen and Connie have been friends for sixty years, a relationship that has outlived both their marriages, and the raising of their children. Surprisingly, after all these years, they're less intimate than they once were. On three or four occasions over the decades, Helen has shared with Connie emotional secrets, looking for support. Every time, Connie's response has been, in Helen's words, to rip her a new one. So now, Helen keeps from Connie anything precious or fragile. Even though it’s been a while, she cannot forget those painful events. So Helen will let Connie go only so deep, but never again to a place where she can be hurt like she was before.
Many of us want the kind of intimacy that comes with mutual discovery of our partners and ourselves but are distracted or undone by these speed bumps that inevitably appear. Nonetheless, such intimacy is within reach. From sixty years of personal and professional experience, there are a few things I think give any couple a better chance at deep connection to one another and a deeper knowledge of their own inner world.
Choose the right partner. Research confirms that the more the two of you have in common the more likely you are to have a long, satisfying relationship. Don’t be quickly persuaded by your passion for each other. Insist that this passion finds its place in your broad-based compatibility.
You can learn the skills you need for intimacy. It may be easy for one of you and more difficult for the other, but you can teach one another to talk honestly, listen carefully, and to be insatiably curious about each other. This is my young friend’s conviction that My purpose in this journey is to discover him.
You can make your relationship, and the intimate conversation that sustains it, as much a priority as work or kids or friends. And in fact, you’ll have to make this a priority, or your intimacy will wither from neglect like plants deprived of moisture.
For intimacy to grow, we simply must RESPECT each other’s differences as legitimate, and explore how each of us came to feel and believe things so differently. As you explore, you’ll be surprised at how each of you experiences the same incident in your relationship so differently from your partner. You have to tell yourself this is not an I’m right and you’re wrong moment. We come from different backgrounds, see with different eyes, hear with different ears. Learning the history of these differences is one of the wonders of our discovery of one another.
Finally, it’s important to moderate our expectations about intimacy. To be certain, we’d like to have the I exist in two places experience all the time, but that just doesn’t happen. There’s too much going on in our lives to sustain a constant level of exceptional intimacy. But if we get pretty good at these discoveries, we’ve done as well as we can. To live in such a partnership is something to be grateful for, something to be proud of as an accomplishment, and certainly something to celebrate.
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