Tag: mental-health

Psychotherapist Esther Perel explores eroticism, lust, love, desire, security, and commitment in her book, “Mating in Captivity, Unlocking Erotic Intelligence” in which she challenges surrendering to the doomed fate of a sexless marriage.

Through the book, Perel hopes to encourage the reader to “question yourself, speak the unspoken, and be unafraid to challenge sexual and emotional correctness” by presenting several client case studies which explore fantasies, fidelity, monogamy, and sex after children.

A compassionate and non-judgemental acknowledgement that spice and sizzling passion isn’t the thing for everyone, that some relationships are centred on “warmth, tenderness, and nurturance” and that there is “no one way, and no right way”, creates an emotional safety to begin broaching topics that are often taboo and enveloped by shame. 

Perel provides a widely accepted therapeutic framework that “the first place we learn about love and relationships is in our original family” which means that the environment in which we are raised – the messages we receive and perceive from those around us – shapes our understanding of how to relate to ourselves and to others:

• How was love expressed at home?
• Was there discussion or avoidance around sex?
• How did gender dynamics play out?  

These messages set our expectation for how relationships work in life, a blueprint. This blueprint becomes more relevant when a change occurs when we go from more spontaneous-style sex on the dating scene to entering a family dynamic, even a family of two after saying “I do” as we often begin seeking to replicate or correct past experiences, known as the “repetition compulsion” (thank you Sigmund Freud). It’s important to note that the other person in the relationship is also bringing their blueprint into the equation which is why effective communication is fundamental to healthy relationships.

This dynamic is further complicated when kids come on the scene and there are multiple titles attached to your “former lover” – partner, wife, mother – as well as different priorities and time commitments, which Perel’s case study summarises with, “I knew we were in trouble when I couldn’t even think about sex until all the toys were put away”, a statement which I imagine resonates with many a parent who is struggling to rekindle the spark with their partner. 

“Love and desire are not the same. Cosy is not the same as sexy”.

While the above statements may not be ground-breaking, in therapy, often the simple messages stated clearly by a professional land in a meaningful way with clients. As we now seek the heat of desire, lust, and eroticism as well as the warm love and tenderness in the same person, it’s helpful to have these statements in mind when thinking about what mode you and your partner are in and when and how to change from cosy to sexy.

When discussing fantasises, Perel astutely navigates the shame barrier by informing us that “sexual fantasies don’t reflect reality”, when you close the bedroom door, you close the door on reality too. Perel highlights that typically women struggle to own their fantasies and often “she makes him, and his desire for her, the centrepiece of her sexual identity”. So, we’re not only bringing our thoughts and beliefs from our origin family, but also internalised gender-norms from society; tough stuff!  

Eroticism can seem like a minefield, as Perel describes it as being “fuelled by a host of feelings that are far from proper: aggression, raw lust, infantile neediness, power, revenge, selfishness, and jealousy (only to name a few)” and can be rife with fear, anxiety, and insecurity. 

However, she also describes eroticism as an “act of generosity and self-centredness, of giving and taking” and highlights the importance of cultivating erotic play which by definition is “carefree and unself-conscious…a fundamental feature of play is that it serves no purpose”.

What strikes me from these contrasting concepts is that there needs to be love and emotional safety within the relationship if each partner is to let their guard down to explore creativity and play in the bedroom while also allowing the other to see our “improper” thoughts and feelings. Perel creates a beacon of hope by saying that “love is a vessel that contains both security and adventure, and commitment offers one of the great luxuries of life: time”, if love is at the heart of your marriage then let’s do the work.

“Marriage is not the end of their romance, it’s the beginning.”

Through her case studies’ stories, Perel conveys some key aspects of therapy: challenge, disclosure, strategies, beliefs, and returning to therapy.

A common trope is that therapists listen, nod their head, and ask “how do you feel about that”. But a key function of the therapist is to offer challenge. Perel light-heartedly captures this concept through one of her case study examples, when a client says, “The laundry won’t just do itself you know.” To which she responds, “And sex will?”. Challenge doesn’t have to be scary or aggressive, as a therapist the intention is to provoke thought and open conversation. 

Perel takes the pressure off her clients by reassuring them that, when working with fantasy, “disclosure is not a necessary part”, a concept that can be applied more broadly too – you don’t have to tell everyone everything, and you don’t need to tell your partner everything. Your mind, your thoughts, your feelings, and your desires are all yours and you get to decide what you share and what you hold for yourself. This is your power.

Perel provides some insight into how to open discussions about sex by asking her clients to reflect on their connotations of sex, desire, and marriage and inviting clients to talk to each other about, “what does sex mean for you?”, “how was sex treated in your family?”, “what are the important events that shaped your sexuality?”, “what would you most like to experience with me sexually, and what are you most afraid of?” to enable shared understanding, find common ground, and navigate any differences.

We all hold unhelpful beliefs that are often started in childhood and morph over time through our experiences. Perel’s simple statement that, “often, therapy is a process of dismantling these beliefs”, reassures the reader and potential clients that is a common feature of therapy, dismantling beliefs that no longer serve.  

Through Perel’s understated line, “I’ve worked with Jackie and Philip on and off for years”, she normalises the idea of returning regularly to therapy. At times, folk can think they’ve “failed therapy” if they need or want to return for more sessions, but this couldn’t be further from the truth! New life circumstances can throw up different problems, it can be helpful to revisit previously learned coping strategies, and it can be useful at any point to have an impartial person listen and guide. A common analogy is that if you were physically ill, you probably wouldn’t decide not to see the doctor because you saw a doctor once before. Come back to therapy at any time, the door is open. 

The biggest flaw in this book for me is the language and tone which almost became a barrier to completion. Perel flags in the acknowledgements that she’s not a native English speaker, however it’s a pity the book wasn’t edited more effectively to create a smoother read.

My problem with the language begins where Perel refers to “eros” (physical love, sexual desire; Greek god of erotic love) in her introduction. No definition is provided but the word is repeated throughout. Whether or not readers know the intended meaning upon reading the word, my argument is to take the reader with you by providing a definition.

The hopping from colloquial phrases like “what happens in Vegas” to Latin phrases such as, “sine qua non” disrupts the reading flow and creates an inconsistent rhythm. And this broken flow is exacerbated through a mix of French and English language. In one relationship case study, Perel says that the male is “avoiding her démarches”, a statement which is quickly followed by the male finding it increasingly difficult to “fuck her”. For me the use of French elevates the tone, then the colloquial swearing brings it back down in a way that feels really disjointed.   

There are words used in both English and French that I didn’t fully understand, despite being a psychotherapist who studied languages (in a past life). I imagine that this book would leave many readers reaching for Google at the mention of “contretemps”, “quixotic”, or “mensch” to name but a few. As a therapist, I speak with the intention of being understood. This of course doesn’t mean dumbing down or patronising my clients, but there’s an intentionality behind my language to ensure understanding and the formation of a strong therapeutic connection. I appreciate that in this case, Perel isn’t our therapist, she’s our author, but more considered language or more effective editing could have gone a long way. 

Perel alienates her reader at times – referring to Americans she says, “nowhere is our profound discomfort with sex more apparent than in the way we approach teenage sexuality”. There are 341 million Americans, and her statement lacks nuance of the difference between different American states, religions, and cultures; the melting pot of America. 

Perel goes on to contrast Americans with Europeans who “view adolescent sexuality as normal” and “not a problem”. Who are “Europeans”, and do they really share an approach to sex? I would argue that Brits don’t view sex as normal and not a problem; in fact, there appears to be a lot of embarrassment and shame when it comes to talking about bodies and their functions. I would contend that the various countries are influenced by their own cultural norms, history, and religion. Added to this, the UK has one of the highest rates of obesity in Europe, which for many people is often another influential factor in the bedroom. Is Perel really saying that countries like Germany, Ireland, Italy, Luxembourg, Serbia, the Ukraine, and the UK all share an approach to sex? Admittedly I’m not an expert in the field, but I find it hard to believe that this would be the case. I don’t believe that there is one shared European approach to sex. 

Perel states in her introduction that her intention is for the book to be an “honest, enlightened, and provocative discussion” about sex in modern committed relationships, and I think she does meet that intention. Although I underlined several points of interest, I also wrote several question marks on the pages; I was unsure of the relevance of the statement or couldn’t even follow the meaning of the statement. This book lacks a bit of punch which I chalk down to the inconsistent tone and language that makes it hard for the reader to get on board and follow the author.

This was an interesting and thought provoking read but difficult to engage with and so I’ll only be giving this 3/5 recommendation.