Why We Sulk and How Not To

One of the most exciting aspects of the early days of a relationship

can be the sense that a lover understands us, without us needing to speak too much.

With other people, we're always having to explain ourselves at length.

Even when we do, they frequently struggle to grasp our drift.

But a true lover, on the other hand, seems to get us almost immediately,

even in the finer grained aspects of our personalities.

No sooner have we tried to explain, for example, our feelings towards autumn evenings

or that bit in a song we like, when the violins start to rise, that they generously step in and say

"I know, I know", seemingly ready to confirm our every sensation and idea.

This is a profoundly beautiful and exciting discovery,

but it can give rise to a hugely troubling dynamic, in terms of the long term success of relationships,

because the view that a good lover must intuitively understand us

is, over time, one of the most dangerous suppositions, responsible for a catastrophic outbreak of sulking.

Sulking is a highly distinctive phenomenon within the psychology of love.

Crucially, we don't just sulk with anyone.

We reserve our sulks for people we believe shoud understand us,

but happen, on a given occasion, not to.

We could explain what's wrong to them, of course,

but if we did so,

it would mean that they had failed to understand us intuitively,

and therefore,

that they were not worthy of love.

A sulk is one of the odder gifts of love.

Our incensed background belief,

that a good lover should just know,

explains why on the evening when they unwittingly cause us offense at a party

we'll sit quiety in the car on the way home

and we'll reply with a simple "nothing"

when inquired if anything is up.

and when we get home,

we'll disappear straight into the bathroom and bolt the door.

And when they ask again "please, just tell me what's wrong",

we'll remain silent with our arms folded

because we implicitly believe

that a true lover,

someone really worthy of our affection,

would naturally be able to read our intentions

through the bathroom panel,

through our outer casing,

and into the caverns of our burnt and pained souls.

Sulking has its touching sides,

evoking the enormous faith

that we place in our partner's capacities to interpret us.

But, part of becoming an adult

must surely be to believe

that we cannot fairly continue to expect others to read our minds

if we've not previously deigned to lay out their contents

through the admittedly very cumbersome medium

of words.

Even the most intelligent, sensitive lover

cannot be expected to continue to navigate around us

without a lot of patiently articulated

verbal indications

of our desires and intentions.

Those charming, early, lucky guesses

about what our lovers feel

should not fool us for too long.

Even in very successful relationships

there's only a tiny amount

that a lover should ever be expected to know about their beloved

without it having been explained in language.

We shouldn't get furious when our lovers don't guess right.

Rather than bolting our mouths

and retreating into the comfortable silence of a sulk,

we should have the courage, always,

to try and explain.