Saying no
In some cases that ‘no’ is obvious. Deceit. Infidelity. Drug dependency. Abuse. Violence. All these bad behaviours are perfectly good reasons to flee, even after making an initial choice.
There can also be good reason to flee when there’s no bad behaviour at all. There are numerous partner combinations that don’t augur welclass="underline" deal-breakers in our preferences; differing values, goals, personalities; questions about one’s enjoyment of a partner’s company; a not-quite-good-enough sex life; an annoying level of conflict (even if it is generally bearable). As Ross from the TV comedy Friends commented when asked why he and lesbian Carol weren’t together: ‘This is not a mix-and-match situation’, and we shouldn’t attempt to make round holes accommodate square pegs. (We equally, of course, shouldn’t simply walk away in an attempt to force the pegs into the holes; break-up rarely works as a way to compel commitment in ourselves or others, and even if we reconcile, such abandonment will always strain the partnership, sometimes irreversibly.)
Sometimes too, the answer is neither to go nor to stay but to try the third alternative. Change. If the benefits of partnership are obvious, we could – kindly, supportively, specifically – ask for the adjustments we want. Our partner might then answer – willingly, readily, enthusiastically – that they’re happy to oblige. Or vice versa. If that’s the conversation, there’s good reason to stay.
The bad news is that, without that conversation, there’s every reason to go. Professor Ted Huston’s fourteen-year couple study, mentioned earlier in this book, found that when women in the courting phase of a relationship predict future problems, their predictions usually come true. So if we decide to stay with someone in the hope they’ll improve in time, we’re not really committing to the person they are now but to a future ideal that’s highly improbable. As Albert Einstein – who was something of a philosopher as well as a theoretical physicist – famously commented, ‘Men marry women with the hope they will never change. Women marry men with the hope they will change. Invariably they are both disappointed.’
If having done due diligence we still feel a quiver of doubt, we could stay one more day to make absolutely sure. But if what we feel at the thought of staying is a flinch, a nausea, an exhaustion, that’s our unconscious screaming ‘go’. In which case, let me offer you an absolving ‘get out of jail free’ card. It is fine to turn someone down. In fact, it’s actually best to turn them down if you have come to the conclusion that they aren’t for you. Because by walking away you’re not just freeing yourself to find someone you can love. You are also freeing your no-longer-potential partner to find someone who can love them. Don’t feel guilty. If we know our heart is not in a relationship we do right by everyone if we leave.
Not being chosen
Sometimes, though, the situation’s more complex. Our heart is in, fully in. But our feelings aren’t returned – or perhaps worse, not returned right now but with a hint that they might be at some future time. Then things become hugely more difficult – though this is also a timeless theme in our history and culture. The poet Dante’s love for Beatrice. The Hunchback of Notre Dame’s longing for Esmerelda. Mark in Love Actually standing before his ideal (but already happily married) partner with a poster reading ‘my wasted heart will always love you’. These tales touch us – and not only because we prefer a good ending to our love stories but also because they trigger a human terror that began when we were born: that we will not get everything we want in life.
Dante and Beatrice. Sometimes, there’s nothing more comfortable than focussing our choice on a prospect who, because we will never have them, will never disappoint us or be disappointed by us.
However unfulfilled a relationship – Dante loved Beatrice for life, but only met her twice – not being chosen is a blow. If, or when, it happens to us, we shouldn’t underestimate the impact; studies have equated this loss to an actual physical attack, a trauma, a bereavement. Then we need to cling to the fact that – given some weeping and wailing, but also given time, human support and a sense of perspective – we will likely move through the suffering.
But if we don’t move through rejection, we can land in deep trouble. For sometimes the label ‘non-available’ spurs us to even more commitment; surely if we can be different, woo more successfully, offer more resources, deliver more favours or simply try harder, we will get what we want.
Here the cautionary tale from literature is the Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s millionaire hero who invests everything he has in trying to rekindle the love of Daisy Buchanan’s ‘beautiful little fool’. He takes a luxurious mansion directly across the bay from her marital home, spends endless nights staring over at the green light at the end of her dock, throws hugely extravagant parties to tempt her to come to him.
It’s clear from the start that there will be no happy ending here; Daisy’s self-absorption makes it almost inevitable that, while she does restart her affair with Gatsby, she will in the end abandon him. But Gatsby himself creates his own tragedy by sacrificing all to win the love of someone who cannot truly love him, squandering his fortune in relentless decadence, abandoning his values and in the end losing his life to protect Daisy. The whole story is shot through with the pointlessness of clinging on in hope.
If our love story ever approaches that of Gatsby, the answer is not to twist our hearts and our souls out of shape as he did, but conversely to be even more authentic than usual. If after a while we are still not loved, then however much we mourn, it’s been a lucky escape. In the same way as it’s best to free up a partner we don’t want, it is also best to be freed from a partner who doesn’t want us. We deserve more than that.
Being chosen
What if, instead, we are adored without adoring in return? If our immediate reaction to being picked is obvious repulsion, that’s fairly straightforward; there likely follows a few embarrassing conversations, a little self-reproach and the occasional need to repel the boarder in question.
More difficult is when our reaction is not repulsion but temptation. For being the object of desire can be highly seductive. If we suffer the normal human tendency to self-negation, it may feel very good indeed when someone else puts us at the centre of their universe, giving us a control over them that’s even more seductive because we aren’t in any danger of ceding any control to them. (Plus, if we are feeling pessimistic because previous partner choices have misfired, such a person may be even more attractive because we believe they are our only remaining option.)
Given all this, being pursued can make us blind to danger signals. We may ignore huge signs of incompatibility, consign huge doubts to the file marked ‘ignore’. And, particularly if our would-be partner stays the course, we may stay with them despite misgivings; there is something deeply romantic about Being Won Despite All Challenges. ‘She wanted me even though she was married. . .’; ‘I wasn’t interested but he was so keen. . .’; ‘I was convinced by her conviction that I was the one for her . . .’ It was Wallis Simpson who – feeling bound to marry the abdicated Edward VIII long after she had tired of him – commented: ‘You have no idea how hard it is to live out a great romance.’
Balance, imbalance
Again, pause and take stock. Do you recognize in yourself a habit of staying in a relationship well beyond the point you should be leaving? Of leaving when you should be giving it another chance? Are you consistently drawn to those who don’t pick you? To those who are married – whether to spouse or to job? To those who care, but only at certain times, only in certain situations and only when you offer attention, support or no-strings sex?