Now that we understand coercive control, is it time to question ‘romantic love’?

Back in the 80s, when I was young and anxious, I searched for a way to calm my irrational fears. To that end, like many of my generation, I devoured the self-help books that were very popular at the time.

Decades later, so not-anxious that I may have over-corrected, I can remember little of the advice in any of them, except one. That was contained in a runaway bestseller called The Road Less Travelled. In it, author M. Scott Peck made the powerful point that love was an action. In fact, he argued, it was not a feeling at all.

The main game in love, as in everything else, is not what you say, or what you feel. It’s what you do.Credit: ISTOCK

I was struck both by the simplicity and common sense of this idea, and by the fact that I’d never heard it put quite like that before. Yes, of course I had heard that “actions speak louder than words”, but I’d never considered it from the perspective of love. It made me think when I first read it and it continues to make me think today.

As the years have passed, I have begun to question the whole idea of romantic love. I now worry that as a concept it may put the vulnerable, especially young women, at risk, particularly as we begin to understand more about coercive control.

When I was young, we even called romantic love “the chase”, as if men were the hunters and women the prey. If love is an action, thought about that way, romantic love doesn’t seem much like love at all. It looks more like a form of war and conquest. It’s about the pursuer asserting his power over the pursued, about women as captives.

If you think I am overreacting, remember that it is commonplace for perpetrators of horrific domestic violence and coercive control to plead that they only behaved in the way they did because they love their victim so much. They are driven mad by love, they claim, compelled by forces beyond their control to behave irrationally, even terrifyingly.

Tell it to the judge – as they used to say back when I was reading those self-help books. And, oh, how I wish more of them had done so. Thumping someone is not love. Terrifying them is not love. It’s power and control. Restricting your partner’s access to money or their choices over who they can see or what they can wear is not love. Jealousy is not love. It’s insecurity. Insisting on sex is not love. It’s the misuse of power.

Love is an action when an exhausted mother gets up time after time during the night to nurse a sick and restless child. Having been there, I know she may not feel very loving about being dragged from a snatch of blissful sleep for the umpteenth time, but she gets up anyway. She also soothes the child, cuddles it, makes sure it feels safe and cared for. Yes, she hopes this will help the child sleep, but she acts lovingly.

At the other end of life, when a man cares for a partner who is struggling with Alzheimer’s (women are much more likely to get it than men), we also see love in action. I am always moved by the gentle patience of those who care for people who are losing their grip on the world.

But carers, like mothers, are only human, so acting lovingly must also feel infuriating, exasperating and futile. The sick child will likely get well and grow up; the demented partner will only decline. I am sure all carers must struggle with feelings that are not at all loving but – if love is an action – they have no need to add guilt about their frustrations to their burden. As long as they act lovingly, they are doing all that anyone could ask.

It is commonplace for perpetrators of domestic violence to plead that they only behaved in that way because they love their victim so much.

To understand that love is an action is to have a firm method to measure who you should spend time with and, especially, who you should partner with. Does the person make you feel better about yourself or worse? When you are ill, do they tend to you? When you feel humiliated or belittled, do they reframe things for you in a more positive way? All are acts of love.

Honestly, forget the flowers and chocolates, the extravagant compliments and expensive gifts. If you ever feel you are being swept off your feet – run, lady or gent, run. There is no more vulnerable place than to have your feet dangling in mid-air. No one who really loved you would ever put you in such
a dangerous position.

Too many of us confuse love with those irrationally obsessive feelings we sometimes have about others. They are nice and there is nothing wrong with them, if they are understood as not the main game. The main game in love, as in everything else, is not what you say, or what you feel. It’s what you do.

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