The pathology of love in contemporary

relationship manuals

Rebecca Hazleden

Abstract

This paper addresses Giddens’ assertion that self-help books are democratising, and
may help to bring about a ‘reconciliation’ of the sexes. It investigates a selection of
best-selling relationship manuals for their conceptions of love and their prescrip-
tions and proscriptions for self-formation. It considers Giddens’ notion of democ-
racy in the light of these, and suggests that this is a narrow and particular one. It is
further argued that, by characterising love as a (biochemical) pathology, and men
as being defective or dangerous, the relationship manuals in this study prescribe
emotional detachment and self-mastery rather than ‘reconciliation’.

Relationship manuals came into being in their present form in the late 1960s,
and have regularly appeared in best seller lists ever since. They are part of a
tradition, at least one hundred and fifty years long, of expert advice to women
(Ehrenreich and English, 1988: 17), but in our own age, which is characterised
by increased interest in, and preoccupation with, the self (Lasch, 1979, 1984;
Rieff, 1987; Giddens, 1991, 1992), they can also be seen as contributing to a
reflexive project of self (Bauman, 1982; Featherstone, 1991; Lash and Urry,
1994) in which each of us lives ‘a biography reflexively organised in terms of
social and psychological information about possible ways of life’ (Giddens,
1991: 14).
Giddens’ celebration of therapeutic ideals contrasts sharply with the eval-
uations of most other social theorists. We are, they contend, overly involved
with ourselves, and are concerned with the social world only insofar as it is
relevant to the self. This state of affairs is usually contrasted with that exist-
ing in an earlier age, in which religion or community is said to have played a
more central role (Lasch, 1979, 1984; Lears, 1981; Sennett, 1986; Rieff, 1987;
Bellah et al., 1996). Others accuse the western state of using therapeutic tenets
as techniques of normalisation (Szasz, 1963; Polsky, 1991) in order to ‘justify’
itself and its coercive actions (Nolan, 1998), and wielding therapeutic rhetoric
to privatise political issues (Mokovitz, 2001). Others argue that the spread of
concepts of addiction and codependency has led to the ‘diseasing’ of the west
(Peele, 1989; Rice, 1996), and created a ‘culture of recovery’ (Rapping, 1996)
in which everyone is viewed as being dysfunctional (Kaminer, 1993).
© The Editorial Board of The Sociological Review 2004. Published by Blackwell Publishing Ltd.,
9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4 2DQ, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, 02148, USA.
Rebecca Hazleden

Giddens, however, famously insists that therapeutic culture has emerged

alongside a new type of reflexivity, characterised partly by the rise of the
‘pure relationship’ and ‘confluent love’ (Giddens, 1992: 61–2), principally
brought about by women. These phenomena, he argues, are largely liberatory,
and he suggests that they may lead to what he terms a ‘reconciliation’ of
the sexes (Giddens, 1992: 156). He explicitly states that he views relationship
manuals as significant social and cultural indicators, saying that ‘they are
texts of our time in a comparable sense to the medieval manuals of manners
analysed by Norbert Elias, or the works of etiquette utilised by Erving
Goffman in his studies of the interaction order’. Seeing relationship manuals
as expressive of processes of reflexivity ‘which they chart out and help
shape’, he views such texts as an important part of this ‘reconciliation’ of the
sexes. He adds that ‘Many are also emancipatory: they point towards changes
that might release individuals from influences which block their autonomous
development’; he further argues that the emergence and identification of
such diseases as codependence and sex addiction has the potential to liberate
the self, insisting that the development of the self as one’s first priority is
part of the process of the ‘democratisation of daily life’ (Giddens, 1992: 64,
156).
Drawing on Held’s (1986) discussion, Giddens outlines some elements of
democracy which he sees as being relevant to the transformation of intimacy.
These include ‘the creation of circumstances in which people can develop their
potentialities and express their diverse qualities’ (Giddens, 1992: 185) which
for Giddens, in terms of relationships, means the development of autonomy
and the successful realisation of the project of self. It includes the notion that
‘the autonomous individual is able to treat others as such’ and that autonomy
‘also helps to provide the personal boundaries needed for the successful man-
agement of relationships’ (Giddens, 1992: 189). Another element of democ-
racy is ‘protection from the arbitrary use of authority and coercive power’; in
terms of the democratisation of personal life, he says, this means that respect
for the views and personal traits of the partner should be respected. Finally1,
democracy requires an involvement of the individual in determining the con-
ditions of her/his association, which Giddens relates to the ability to initiate
and dissolve a relationship. He insists that this is also tied up with honest and
open emotional disclosure ‘any and every therapeutic text on the subject of
relationships will demonstrate why revelation to the other . . . is a binding
aspiration of democratically ordered interaction’ (Giddens, 1992: 190). I shall
return to these points at the end of the paper.
Jamieson (1999) has provided an incisive critique which juxtaposes
Giddens’ theoretical claims of sexual democracy with the lived reality of
unequal gender relations. She points out that there is a tension between sus-
taining the trust, intimacy and openness required by the ideal of the ‘pure rela-
tionship’ and the structural supports of gender inequalities which lead couples
to develop ‘a shared repertoire of cover stories, taboos and self-dishonesty’
(Jamieson, 1999: 265) concerning asymmetries in parenting, domestic labour

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 The pathology of love

and ‘emotion work’ (Brannen and Moss, 1991; Hochschild, 1990). Utilising
work by Busfield (1996) and Dobash and Dobash (1992), Jamieson points out
that women carrying the day-to-day burdens of systematic and widespread
gender inequalities are often diagnosed by medical and therapeutic experts
as suffering from a personal pathology. This is certainly not a new phenome-
non, having occurred in different ways over the last 150 years with different
kinds of experts (Ehrenreich and English, 1978), but what distinguishes more
recent examples of this type of pathologisation is that, with the rise of the
‘psy’ disciplines (Rose, 1988, 1999), it now tends to be more distinctively
psychological in character. Due to the success of popular psychology, such
thinking may also be more widely known.
Hochschild (1994) identifies a ‘cultural cooling’ towards intimate life in her
study of advice books published between 1970 and 1990. She argues that the
earlier books held more patriarchal views about the role of women in a
partnership, but that they also reflected more warmth in the relationship than
the later, more instrumental books in her study which advocate gender equal-
ity. She identifies in the latter a shift from female to male rules of love – a
culture governing personal relationships that seeks to ‘recycle male feeling
rules to women’ (Hochschild, 1994: 28n3). She sees this as being part of a
wider ‘hi-jacking’ of the feminist movement by capitalist and instrumentalist
values that were originally quite separate from, and indeed alien to, feminist
thought. I intend to discuss the more specifically gendered aspects of rela-
tionship manuals elsewhere, but for the purposes of this paper it is sufficient
to point out that Hochschild’s study shows that an emphasis on (an aspiration
towards) gender equality is not the same, and is not necessarily accompanied
by, (an aspiration to achieve) emotional warmth and intimacy.
This paper forms part of a wider study in which fifteen best-selling rela-
tionship manuals were selected for analysis, of which ten appear in this paper,
first published between 1981 and 2000, but all of which are still in print. Self-
help books tend to be steady sellers rather than fast sellers, meaning that their
overall popularity is probably underestimated by best-seller lists that include
other, faster selling types of book, and their popularity often extends well
beyond their first date of publication2. The term ‘best-selling’ is somewhat ill-
defined, with different agencies and publications producing different results
and different lists. I used a combination of sources – the New York Times, the
Independent newspaper and a list produced by the British Publishing Indus-
try (BPI, 1998, 1999, 2000). However, no list of best-sellers that I found
contained the specific category ‘relationship manuals’ or an equivalent, and
individual sales figures are hard to obtain3 – in any case the influence of a
particular book often spreads beyond its direct readership into television talk
shows and so on. There is also the problem of definition, as there is an ongoing
debate within the industry as to what exactly constitutes a self-help book
(Grodin, 1991: 407). I therefore do not claim that this is the definitive selec-
tion, nor that the findings in this paper apply to all relationship manuals –
nonetheless, I am confident that it is a fair representation of these texts. The

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Rebecca Hazleden

findings of this study are more open to scrutiny than most, as the texts are all
widely available.
Giddens appears to view the reflexivity and self-formation prescribed in
self-help books as being able to empower individuals, whilst at the same time
themselves remaining outside social relations of power. Critics such as Cloud
(1998) argue that they are instruments of oppressive economic and political
interests. In contrast, this paper seeks to analyse the productivity of the power
of this discourse (cf Foucault, 1982, 1991, 1992), regarding it as an attempt at
conversion (Miller and Rose, 1994) – transforming the reader’s personhood,
and her way of experiencing the world so that she understands life and herself
in fundamentally new ways. Such conversion transforms people at the level
of their own subjectivity – ‘personhood itself is remade’ (Miller and Rose,
1994: 35), and crucially, it is remade through the production of new ethical
truths. Thus, far from being a mechanism that renders its ‘victims’ passive, psy
discourse endows individuals with new competencies, capacities and qualities.
The question then becomes – what are these truths, these capacities and
qualities?
Throughout this paper I refer to the reader as female, in order to reflect
the majority of the readership of relationship manuals – this is not intended
to imply that it is exclusively women who read such books, nor that it is only
women who are subjectified by the psy techniques therein. However, self-help
books are usually aimed at women (Hochschild, 1994: 2) and women are more
likely to purchase and read them, especially those books which are concerned
with personal relationships (Wood, 1988; Simonds, 1992; Starker, 1989). Seven
of the ten books discussed in this paper specifically state that they are aimed
at women (Dowling, 1981; Cowan and Kinder, 1985; Friedman, 1985;
Norwood, 1986; Forward, 1987; Vedral, 1994; Doyle, 2000). Although some
are pleased to acknowledge in later books that they have received expressions
of gratitude from men as well (eg, Norwood, 1988), it seems safe to assume
that, in general, women are more subject to the messages of relationship
manuals than are men.

Love as narcotic – intoxication, addiction and fusion

When attempting to characterise romantic love, the authors of relationship

manuals often deploy the language of intoxication: ‘the first blush of love . . .
can be intoxicating’ (Carter-Scott, 2000: 231), and ‘The relationship can affect
you like a euphoric drug . . . The body, in fact, is producing a tremendous
number of chemicals’ (Forward, 1987: 19*) such as ‘high levels of adrenaline
and other laboratory-scrutinized chemicals our brains and organs secrete
upon arousal . . . caused by the phenomenon of romance’ (Friedman, 1985:
162). Some authors provide explicit descriptions of the physical processes
involved – naming specific substances and describing their effects on the brain:
‘When you fall in love, PEA (phenylethylamine) is released and creates

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 The pathology of love

feelings of euphoria, calmness, and well being . . . making you feel naturally
high’ (Carter-Scott, 2000: 233). They may hint at the dangerous nature of
these chemicals by likening them to illicit drugs which may distort one’s
perceptions:

Psychopharmacologists have learned that lovers are literally high on drugs

. . . the brain releases dopamine and norepinephrine . . . [which] contribute
to a rosy outlook on life, a rapid pulse, increased energy, and a sense of
heightened perception . . . the brain increases its production of endorphins
and enkephalins, natural narcotics (Hendrix, 1997: 62–3*).

By characterising the emotional and physical elements of romantic love as the

result of biochemical processes, the authors invite the reader to distance
herself from her emotions in order to subject them to (self-)scrutiny, whilst at
the same time they employ the subjectifying techniques of naturalising and
universalising romantic love. The emphasis on these chemicals being somehow
narcotic opens up the possibility that love, as a set of biochemical reactions,
can be ‘an addictive experience’ (McGraw, 2001: 43); indeed, ‘as addictive as
the most potent drug’ (Carter-Scott, 2000: 211). This notion of addictive, dan-
gerous and narcotic love is of central importance to many of these texts – one
book devotes five pages to the description of ‘four types of love addicts’
(Cowan and Kinder, 1986: 170–5), and others are entirely dedicated to the
notion of love as an addiction: ‘In this book . . . we will come to understand
how our wanting to love, our yearning for love, our loving itself becomes an
addiction’ (Norwood, 1986: 1–2). A direct comparison is frequently drawn
between ‘loving too much’ and alcoholism or drug addiction4: we are informed
that ‘Addictive love works like any other addiction, whether it is to alcohol,
drugs, gambling, or food’ (Forward, 1987: 87).
Even when two partners seem to be in loving harmony with each other,
they must guard against the pitfalls of love: ‘What these people are experi-
encing is a heightened, almost unbearable need to melt into or “fuse” with the
other person as quickly as possible’ (Forward, 1987: 24–5). The consequences
of this must not be underestimated – fusion is described as ‘two gray figures
locked in a repetitious, deathly dance’ (Dowling, 1981: 145), or ‘the slow, dark
dance of death’ (Beattie, 1992: 31). Such a relationship can involve significant
neglect of the self, becoming ‘a means of avoiding their own feelings . . . To be
without the relationship – that is, to be alone with one’s self – can be experi-
enced as worse than being in the greatest pain’ (Forward, 1987: 277*). Infan-
tile over-involvement with the other thus provides an unhealthy, extreme
break from paying attention to the self, for whilst ‘it is common for people to
lose their sense of “I” temporarily when they enter the realm of “we” ’,
nonetheless ‘in order for the greater “we” to continue growing, each person
will need to define the boundaries and continually strengthen their individual
“I” ’ (Carter-Scott, 2000: 239, 240). It is therefore vital to concentrate on
‘maintaining a clear personal identity’ (Friedman, 1985: 16).

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This conception of love as having addictive properties is presented by the

authors not as a new interpretation or approach by psy practitioners, but as
a fact – something that has been recognised or discovered. The psy ethical
ontology is thus naturalised – it is a truth that has been revealed. One author
says she became ‘convinced that I had discovered a major psychological
disorder’ and realised the importance of ‘recognizing, clarifying, and under-
standing . . . such relationships’ (Forward, 1987: 10*, 11*). Another author
claims that she ‘first recognized the phenomenon of “loving too much” as a
specific syndrome . . . after several years of counseling’ (Norwood, 1986: 2*).
Thus it becomes the duty of the authors, as therapists, to uncover the facts of
the client’s situation and behaviour, and simply reflect this truth back to her.
When these cases are discussed in self-help texts, the (covert or overt) im-
plication is that they will directly relate to the experiences of the reader,
and particular emphasis is given to those fables, or ‘magnified moments’
(Hochschild, 1994: 3) in which the client experiences an epiphany whereby
she comes to recognise herself as a therapeutic subject. Through this thera-
peutic epiphany, the reader is provided with a new ethical self-understanding,
as, for example, infantile, fused or addicted. Lichterman (1992: 432) has found
that readers of self-help books may indeed experience a transformed self-
understanding, as they tend to assume that such interpretations and categories
are legitimate, springing ‘naturally from clinical investigation’.
Love addiction, we are assured, requires intervention that is specifically
psy. It is a disease ‘that is identifiable, is progressive without treatment’ but
that ‘responds well to specific treatment’ (Norwood, 1986: 183–4). It is likely
to produce physical symptoms (such as high blood pressure), but the signifi-
cance of such symptoms might not be recognised by a medical doctor, because:

The temptation is to look at and treat the physical manifestations . . .

without accurately assessing the entire picture. It is vital to view these
‘symptoms’ in the overall context of the disease processes that have created
them, and to recognize the existence of these diseases at the earliest
possible time in order to halt the continued destruction of emotional and
physical health (Norwood, 1986: 188).

The authors therefore make a claim to their own authority and their own
indispensability in producing an accurate diagnosis of the condition. In addi-
tion, clients cannot hope to recover alone, thus indicating the need for psy
intervention in pursuit of a cure. Simply put, ‘recovery from relationship
addiction involves getting help’, and the nature of the help is characteristi-
cally psy: ‘the key is in learning how to live a healthy, satisfying, and serene
life without being dependent on another person for happiness’ (Norwood,
1986: 59, 184). Thus, in order to achieve recovery, one must cut oneself off
from one’s supply of the addictive substance, go ‘cold turkey’ (Norwood, 1986:
183), or ‘become “clean” ’ (Forward, 1987: 251). Initially, the ‘withdrawal
symptoms’ (Forward, 1987: 251) are likely to prove extremely painful for the

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 The pathology of love

addict: ‘Love addicts, like other addicts, panic and feel depressed and empty
at the thought of giving up their cravings’ (Cowan and Kinder, 1986: 184) and
‘The fear, the pain, and the discomfort are commensurate’ with that of the
heroin addict’s withdrawal (Norwood, 1986: 183). However, the action is
absolutely necessary, because ‘staying with the wrong man is just as serious as
having a gangrenous arm – that relationship will cause you to lose your time
and energy which, day by day, will add up to your life’ (Vedral, 1994: 7). Or,
even more seriously, it may literally ‘very well ultimately cost her her life’
because ‘Whatever the apparent cause of death, I want to reiterate that loving
too much can kill’ (Norwood, 1988: 184, 195).
Having previously provided the reader with a new identity of (potential)
love addict, then, the authors go on to pathologise love itself. ‘Excessive’
concern for the other is rendered a symptom of a psychological condition
referred to as ‘loving too much’ (Norwood, 1986 passim), ‘fusion’ (Dowling,
1981: 144–5; Forward, 1987: 24–5), ‘addiction’ (Norwood, 1986: 1–2; Forward,
1987: 32) or, worst of all, codependency (eg, Beattie, 1992 passim):

For many years, Randell believed his duty was to worry about people and
get involved in their problems. He called his behavior kindness, concern,
love, and sometimes, righteous indignation. Now, after getting help for his
problem, he calls it codependency (Beattie, 1992: 26).

Although originally a term used to describe specific behaviours apparently

identified among the close family members of alcoholics or drug addicts, it is,
we are told, now considered that codependency might occur anywhere and in
anyone. Several evaluations of alcoholism, codependency and the spread of
the notion of dysfunctional persons or ‘diseasing’ of western society, have
been provided by sociologists and other academics and practitioners, such as
Peele (1989), Rice (1996), Rapping (1996), Kaminer (1993) and Valverde
(1998), but for the purposes of this paper it is worth examining exactly what
is meant by the notion of codependency – a condition, says Giddens, of which
the identification and cure result in ‘emancipation’ and ‘democratisation’
(Giddens, 1992: 95).
The symptoms of codependency include: feeling responsible for other
people, feeling anxiety or pity when other people have a problem, anticipat-
ing other people’s needs, trying to please others instead of oneself, and gaining
‘artificial’ feelings of self-worth gained from helping others. Even using self-
help books in an inappropriate way may be a symptom: ‘You may be reading
this book to help someone else; if so, you probably are codependent’ (Beattie,
1992: 42–5, 53). Such misplaced concern for others may even explain the activ-
ities of social reformers: ‘I suspect codependents have historically attacked
social injustice and fought for the rights of the underdog. Codependents want
to help. I suspect they have helped’ (Beattie, 1992: 32, 37), but we are assured
they were nonetheless suffering from a disease, which is particularly preva-
lent among ‘professionals – nurses, social workers, and others in “helping”

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Rebecca Hazleden

occupations’ (Beattie, 1992: 34), or those with a ‘devotion to “causes”’

(Norwood, 1986: 194–5).
One author illustrates her own former state of codependency by telling a
story in which she and a friend both go for a day out, which neither of them
really wants to do, each thinking that the other does. When they discover this,
rather than assuming that the situation arose because of mutual politeness,
and perhaps finding it amusing, the author instead finds it sinister, and con-
cludes that ‘Two codependents in a relationship can really play havoc with
each other’ (Beattie, 1992: 88). She even finds an indication of the disease in
the embrace of her own young child: ‘Sometimes, my youngest son, Shane,
hangs on too tightly and too long after a hug . . . I become impatient for him
to stop hugging me. I begin to resist him . . . Maybe it’s a form of control over
me’ (Beattie, 1992: 82).
So far, we have seen that the texts characterise romantic love as a series of
biochemical reactions, and thereby constitute such love as something we expe-
rience as embodied creatures, as both the beneficiaries and the victims of our
own intoxicating hormones. They thereby render romantic love a natural and
universal phenomenon, and at the same time separate the self from its emo-
tions by interpreting the latter as mere bio-chemical responses of the brain,
thus inviting detachment from, and consequent lay-scientific scrutiny of, emo-
tional life. At the same time, psy ontology is naturalised and normalised by
the use of the vocabulary of the discovery of truths. Furthermore, they intro-
duce the notion that the experience of romantic love might somehow be a
dangerous or risky one, first drawing an analogy between addiction to love
and addiction to narcotics, and later finding a direct correspondence between
love (as an unhealthy involvement with the other) and addiction to a person
or a relationship. A new ‘disease’ of loving too much, or codependency, is thus
created, and a claim is made for the importance of psy intervention in the
disease, both for its diagnosis and its cure.
Whilst some men or young children may be diagnosed as codependent, the
condition seems to be much more prevalent among adult women. Giddens
notes that the term itself ‘in some ways describes what was once called the
“female role” in general’ (Giddens, 1992: 87), and goes on to say that the more
common term for the codependant in literature on alcoholism used to be the
‘enabler,’ ‘most commonly a woman, who consciously or unconsciously sup-
ports the individual’s drinking’ (Giddens, 1992: 88). Giddens seems not to
notice, though, that these two statements taken together pathologise women
and locate within them the responsibility for the behaviours of men towards
them. If the ‘female role’ is now to be understood as a pathological condition,
which, amongst other things, ‘enables’ some men to be drunk and abusive, this
has serious implications for the kind of democratic relationships that Giddens
envisages. Furthermore, Giddens fails to notice that it is still common for
women to take on most of the responsibility of care for children, and even
within a stable heterosexual relationship this, combined with broader eco-
nomic disadvantages that women face, is likely to mean that the woman will

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 The pathology of love

experience some economic dependence on the male partner at some stages

in her life. But there is no room for the concept of this kind of economic
inequality or material dependence in Giddens’ (1992) account – indeed, when
looking up the word ‘dependence’ in the index one is directed to ‘see
co-dependence’.

Detachment

In order to cure herself, the reader is exhorted to examine her own everyday
actions, activities and interactions with her partner, and discontinue anything
that could be construed as being ‘helpful’, because ‘There is a thin line
between helping and hurting people, between beneficial giving and destruc-
tive giving’ (Beattie, 1992: 94). Thus we are advised to stop ‘helping him and
. . . giving advice’, for whilst ‘it is not easy or comfortable for us to consider
that selfless behavior, “being good,” and efforts to help may actually be
attempts to control, and not be altruistically motivated’, we should nonethe-
less understand that ‘Help Is The Sunny Side Of Control’ (Norwood, 1986:
130, 212).
Some of the actions under scrutiny might appear, to the layperson, entirely
innocuous – or even signs of a positive regard for the partner – but, we are
informed, they may actually mask hidden psychological manoeuvres:

Praising and encouraging are very close to pushing, and when you do that
you are trying again to take control of his life. Think about why you are
lauding something he’s done. Is it to help raise his self-esteem? That’s
manipulation. Is it so he will continue whatever behavior you’re praising?
That’s manipulation. Is it so that he’ll know how proud you are of him?
That can be a burden for him to carry (Norwood, 1988: 213).

Even the devotion of an adoring wife is considered suspect: ‘Some women

control . . . through blind devotion.’ (Dowling, 1981: 145). Indeed, a small act
such as complying with a partner’s request to make a telephone call in order
to book an appointment for him is, for one author, an indication of the need
for professional intervention: ‘I learned never to take appointments made by
someone for anyone else and instead to ask these wives and girlfriends to
come in to see me for themselves’ (Norwood, 1986: 212).
We are urged to stop helping others partly for our own self-preservation
and psychological health: ‘Many women, especially those with a career of their
own, rush in all too quickly with a life preserver, only to get pulled down by
the undertow themselves’ (Forward, 1987: 27). Even the appreciation of our
help might be an indication that our relationship or partner is sick: ‘For Jim,
as for so many misogynists, her helping became proof that she really cared’
(Forward, 1987: 27*). It is important to acknowledge this problem not only
for the sake of the reader, but also for the sake of her partner, because ‘when

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Rebecca Hazleden

you take on trying to solve his problems for him, he is freed from his own
responsibility for his life’. By no longer helping her partner, we are told, the
reader preserves and protects his health, because the ‘very act of letting go is
frequently the single most helpful thing you can do for the one you love’
(Norwood, 1986: 212, 216).
Rather than show pride in any of his achievements, we should ‘let him
develop his own pride from his own accomplishments’ (Norwood, 1988: 213).
We are advised that the best situation is one in which ‘We stop worrying about
them, and they pick up the slack and . . . start worrying about themselves’
(Beattie, 1992: 63). We are assured that it is merely ‘a trick of the dependent
personality – believing that you’re responsible for “taking care of” the other
one’ (Dowling, 1981: 151). ‘If you really want to be helpful,’ advises another
author, ‘let go of his problems and help yourself’ (Norwood, 1986: 216) and
avoid showing ‘excessive concern for the welfare of the partner’ (Dowling,
1981: 145*). One author declares, ‘I prefer to keep all my energy for improv-
ing my happiness . . . and to look inward instead of outward’ (Doyle, 2000:
25).
The extent of the problem of misguided concern for the other is illustrated
by the story of one client who feels ‘inappropriate pity and guilt’ about ending
a relationship, because she imagines how her partner will suffer, recalling a
time when she herself cried for a week after one of her former boyfriends
ended a relationship with her. This is ‘fallacious thinking, because no two
human beings experience events in exactly the same manner . . . she would be
wise to stop wasting her energy on feeling guilty and pitying him’ (Vedral,
1994: 87–8). This is an example of a woman falling into the ‘compassion trap’,
a ‘universal obstacle to assertion’ (Friedman, 1985: 108), and the reader in a
similar situation is advised to ‘remind yourself that he is not your responsi-
bility’ (Vedral, 1994: 89). Above all, it is imperative that we should not try to
offer any kind of emotional support that might be construed as therapy, as
one client did who ‘fell into the role of “shrink” . . . trying to help him be more
emotionally present for her’ (Norwood, 1988: 7).
The pathologisation of care for one’s partner is proposed to the extent that
taking an interest in one’s partner’s happiness is deemed inappropriate. The
reader is told that when her partner is upset or grouchy she should distract
herself with self-care (Doyle, 2000: 143; Gray, 1993: 77) because ‘you’re not
his mom or his therapist’ (Doyle, 2000: 144), and all attempts to help are ‘a
manifestation of her disease’ (Norwood, 1986: 185). Recovery from the afflic-
tion of codependency occurs with the realisation that ‘Each person is respon-
sible for him- or herself. It involves learning one new behavior that we will
devote ourselves to: taking care of ourselves’ (Beattie, 1992: 54). Thus, the
only solution to the problem of excessive concern for the other is the process
of detachment. This is for the sake of both partners because by detaching, ‘we
allow people to be who they are. We give them the freedom to be responsi-
ble and to grow. And we give ourselves that same freedom’ (Beattie, 1992:
62). The reader should ‘Let him take full responsibility for his problems and

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the full credit for his solutions’ (Norwood, 1986: 213) and ‘let him work out
his own problems’: instead she should ‘mind your own business’ and ‘focus on
taking care of yourself’ (Doyle, 2000: 45, 103, 145). Whilst the reader’s instinct
is to try to help her partner, all such impulses must be resisted because ‘her
only legitimate work is with herself’ (Norwood, 1986: 185).
Detachment is an important lesson to be learnt in relationships with friends
and children, as well as partners. In reply to a letter from a reader asking what
she should do about a daughter on drugs and alcohol, who is becoming violent
and has run away twice, one author says:

Your job is to take care of yourself. . . . It is a very high form of love to

allow someone for whom we care deeply to suffer the natural consequences
of his or her behavior and thus to have the opportunity to learn the
particular lessons that behavior will teach. . . . I urge you to leave the
responsibility for your daughter’s abuse of alcohol and drugs where it
belongs – with her (Norwood, 1988: 41–2).

In this section we have seen that the authors portray conversations between
intimate partners concerning their emotions as ‘amateur therapy’ and thereby
render such interaction potentially harmful. They identify taking care of the
other as an act which is performed as an act of self-gratification, and equate
help, pride, praise and encouragement with a desire to exert inappropriate
control over the other, thereby characterising these as being symptomatic of
a pathology, which is detrimental to the health of both parties. They recast
empathy for another’s feelings as ‘over-identification,’ and isolate the indi-
vidual by claiming the impossibility and undesirability of understanding the
inner experience of the other, advocating ‘detachment’ from the other, and
enjoining the reader to concentrate on her self.
Indeed, the relationship of the self with itself is of central importance to
these texts – whilst all the books in this study purported to be about rela-
tionships, the majority of their content concerns the relationship with the self.
The books assume a self that has been ‘lost’ or ‘damaged’ and they prescribe
a programme of examining, interrogating, nurturing and loving the self in
order to develop a self-sufficient and autonomous self that is ‘whole’ and
‘healthy’. Detachment from others and the development of self-sufficiency is
not only seen as necessary for the development of a ‘healthy’ relationship, but
also as its own reward (Hazleden, 2003).

The beauty of break-ups and how to get rid of him

The process of becoming self-governing may involve ending a relationship

and the severing of ties can be a cause of celebration. One author proudly
relates the happy ending to the story of one of her clients thus: ‘By the time
she left therapy after two years, she was casually dating several young men

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Rebecca Hazleden

and sleeping with none of them’ (Norwood, 1986: 37). Another author speaks
approvingly of one of her clients who did not wish to be in a relationship at
all, because ‘he knew instinctively what so many people take years to learn:
that everyone is on his own life path and timetable’ (Carter-Scott, 2000: 28).
Other stories lauded by the authors include that of a woman who has ‘long,
healthy periods of no involvement,’ and allows men into her life as they fit
her goals and aspirations, and the story of another who ‘has every intention
of staying single forever’ (Vedral, 1994: 49, 72).
Whilst ‘ideally, we can love and let be’ we should also ‘love and let go if it’s
necessary’ (Friedman, 1985: 176). When deciding whether or not to leave one’s
partner, a little shove might be needed from a therapist in order to clarify the
situation, as with one of Forward’s clients: ‘While she was struggling over the
decision to leave him, I suggested that she fortify her resolve with a list that
looked at the negative side of the ledger’ (Forward, 1987: 257*). The wish to
preserve or attempt to salvage a relationship can in itself, we are told, be a
symptom of a problematic relationship – indeed, we are led to believe that a
decision to persevere with an existing partnership may not really be a deci-
sion at all: ‘In fact Lyn had made no decision at all at that point; she was
desperately clinging to the relationship’ (Dowling, 1981: 163*). In contrast, a
separation is something to be celebrated: ‘the two of them split up right there
in my office. I found it incredibly beautiful’ (Dowling, 1981: 164*).
One author devotes her whole book to ‘the most important advice you’ll
ever need: how to get rid of a man – a man who is bad for you – one who in
a big or even a small way is stealing your time, your energy, and, in effect,
your life (Vedral, 1994: 1). By following her advice, ‘before you know it, that
unnecessary man will drop from you like a scab from an old wound’ (Vedral,
1994: 289). Reasons to ‘Get Rid Of Him’ include ‘if you are bored to death
with him,’ ‘if he’s chronically unemployed’, if he is depressed, overweight, or
has sexual difficulties (Vedral, 1994: 103, 128, 141, 194). She then suggests that
there are ‘fifteen ways to leave your lover’, for which she goes on to provide
prolonged explication (Vedral, 1994: 280–303).
In order to encourage their readers to disengage from romantic relation-
ships, the authors outline the various ways in which men can be lacking or
defective. One author describes Pathological Pete, Gloomy Gus, Criticized
Cal, Smothering Sam, Jealous George and Mean Morton – all to be watched
for vigilantly and left as soon as possible (Vedral, 1994: 96–7). Another book
warns against the Don Juan, the elusive lover, the clam, the pseudo-liberated
male, the perpetual adolescent, the passive aggressive male, and the rat
(Cowan and Kinder, 1986: 77–119). Others caution against misogynists
(Norwood, 1986), or of ‘men who hate women’ (Forward, 1987), or men who
undermine their partners: ‘nearly every woman reaches a peak moment of
doubt about her capabilities, reasoning powers, or ability to act independently,
especially when a man is around’ says one – indeed, she asks, ‘What woman
hasn’t encountered her husband’s resistance?’ (Friedman, 1985: 80, 81). The
books are littered with cautionary tales of unsuspecting women who became

212 © The Editorial Board of The Sociological Review 2004

 The pathology of love

involved with alcoholics (eg, Beattie, 1992), workaholics (eg, Forward, 1987:
121), sexaholics (eg, Forward, 1987: 67), or sociopaths (Vedral, 1994: 82).
The consequences of involvement with these men range from frustration:
‘you could spend a lifetime trying to nail him down’ (Vedral, 1994: 261), to
disaster, such as that which befell a client who ended up in jail for a fraud
carried out at the behest of her partner (Dowling, 1981: 145–52), and the fate
of another woman, who ‘deliberately drove her car off a cliff’ (Norwood, 1986:
27) because of her relationship with a defective man. These are contrasted
with tales in which the female protagonist leaves her partner and becomes
more successful, in terms of career or educational advancement. We are told,
for example, about one woman who, since leaving her partner, was ‘promoted
to the position of editor’; another who, having divorced, ‘has now finished her
bachelor’s degree and is well on her way toward her master’s’ (Vedral, 1994:
64, 99); and another, recently divorced, who is ‘enroled in school now, working
towards being a marriage counselor and family therapist. She is optimistic
about her future’ (Friedman, 1985: 22). We are told that ‘It’s illuminating to
watch what happens’ when a woman’s marriage breaks up: ‘Suddenly she
begins to flourish . . . ambivalence vanishes . . . Her salary goes up . . . The
woman appears to be on her way!’ (Dowling, 1981: 191).
Whether it is implied or explicitly stated, a view that permeates these texts
is that: ‘The downside of partnering is . . . you are no longer on your own. You
are no longer a stand-alone entity’ (Carter-Scott, 2000: 22–3). Thus it is vital
that, when in a relationship, the reader should, ‘be sure that you do not lose
your head to the point of endangering your well-being or happiness . . .
protect yourself from any potential damage, be it physical or emotional’
(Carter-Scott, 2000: 200) and guard against ‘losing yourself in your relation-
ships’ (Gray, 1993: 6). This is important because ‘You alone are responsible
for your own heart and body, and you will need your head at times to guide
you to ensure your overall best interest’ (Carter-Scott, 2000: 237). As one
author says, ‘No man is worth the loss of self – because if you lose your self,
you have nothing left’; she suggests that once the reader leaves her partner
‘he will simply have lost his function as a substitute for your finding your own
self’ (Vedral, 1994: 54, 289).
Here we can see what the authors regard as the most problematic feature
of love: it provides a distraction from, and threat to, the deliberate adherence
to the care of the self. At all times, one must be aware of this risk, and remem-
ber to protect and promote the autonomous self on its own, distinct, individ-
ual life path:

Staying centered is what enables you to maintain your identity within the
context of ‘we’ reality. It requires that you remember what it is that makes
you uniquely you and enables you to stay on course with your own path.
It means that you continually ask the question ‘who am I in relation to
you?’ and are clear about the answer. . . . The only thing you have to lose
by not being vigilant about this is yourself (Carter-Scott, 2000: 241).

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Rebecca Hazleden

In this section we have seen that the authors assert that it is necessary, in the
face of the perils of love, to strive to retain self-sufficiency at all times, to value
being single above having a partner, and to remember the dangers that a love
relationship can pose to the integrity of the self. The reader’s problem has thus
been ‘shaped up’ (Hodges, 2002: 3) from one in which she saw herself as being
in a problematic relationship to one in which she understands herself to have
an unhealthy identity, and to view many elements of a loving partnership to
be problematic in themselves. The appropriate prescription for this is the
development of emotional detachment from the other, the cultivation of self-
sufficiency and the development of a psy-based focus on the self.

A ‘reconciliation’ of the sexes?

This paper began by discussing some opposing views about therapeutic dis-
course, including Giddens’ assertion that self-help books can be emancipa-
tory, that the identification of conditions such as codependence can be
liberating, and that therapeutic ideals may lead to a ‘reconciliation’ of the
sexes. I have argued that such texts tend to pathologise love relationships and
characterise love itself as being potentially harmful and biochemically addic-
tive – in this way, they naturalise and universalise romantic love at the same
time as pathologising it. However, they go further than this, by casting as
pathological any attempts to be helpful to one’s partner, family or friends;
love, care and concern for another, as well as certain incidents of polite social
behaviour are all characterised as problems which require the intervention of
a psy authority. The reader is incited to maintain her rationality in the face of
a love relationship, to detach from others and to follow her own life path. She
is to accept full responsibility for her own happiness or unhappiness, and place
the responsibility for her partner’s happiness or unhappiness squarely on his
shoulders.
It is worth at this stage returning to Giddens’ account of democracy, and
his belief that self-help can contribute to the formation of democratic rela-
tionships, which involve the following features. First, autonomous individuals
should treat others as such, such autonomy being central to the formation of
personal boundaries necessary to the successful management of relationships.
However, the autonomy advocated in the texts in this study extends to viewing
love as a narcotic addiction, and care for another as evidence of a disease –
it is difficult to see how these might contribute to a successful relationship.
Second, there should be respect for the personal views and traits of the
partner, but in these texts there is very little of this – instead, readers are
encouraged to place men in certain pigeonholes, as rats, adolescents and
misogynists, sapping the strength and energy of their female partners. Third,
there should be the ability to initiate and dissolve relationships, a condition
that involves honest and open emotional disclosure. Again, whilst the disso-
lution of relationships looms large in these texts, and is viewed as something

214 © The Editorial Board of The Sociological Review 2004

 The pathology of love

which is beautiful and to be celebrated, there is little or nothing about honest

and open emotional disclosure – rather, the opposite is prescribed, because
engaging in such talk would be dangerous amateur therapy. Instead of listen-
ing to her partner, the reader is advised to leave the house and go shopping.
Relationship manuals thus appear to strip much of the humanity from rela-
tionships between family members, lovers and friends. However, to charac-
terise the books as being mere instruments of an oppressive and coercive
political power would seem to fly in the face of the patent good intentions of
the authors, who themselves are immersed in the psy belief system of what
constitutes healthy relationships, and who on the whole clearly seek to
liberate, rather than oppress, their readers and their clients (albeit whilst aug-
menting their own bank balances). Nonetheless, to laud the self-help project,
as Giddens does, as one that is manifestly successful in achieving its aim of
emancipation, seems somewhat short-sighted, and given their emphasis on
love as a pathology, the defectiveness of men, and the necessity of detach-
ment from the other, the suggestion he makes that relationship manuals will
effect a ‘reconciliation’ of the sexes seems little short of absurd. The reader
of the self-help text is typically brought to recognise herself as having a new
identity (as an addict, or as codependent, for example) and she is thereby pro-
vided with a new responsibility to be focused not on others but on herself; an
obligation thus being born in her to practise self-mastery, to become self-
determined, autonomous and self-sufficient. This in itself is a social obligation,
as she must practice these values both for her own sake, and that of her
partner – because it is the ‘right’ thing to do. Nonetheless, she will be utterly
isolated, cast adrift in a loveless world, in which the pair relationship is bereft
of compassion, mutuality, self-sacrifice and commitment, and has thus been
emptied of much of its ethical significance. Giddens argues that the ‘new inti-
macy’ ‘implies a wholesale democratising of the interpersonal domain, in a
manner wholly compatible with democracy in the public sphere’ (Giddens,
1992: 3), but his vision of democracy is a very particular and limited one,
emphasising (neo)liberal values such as autonomy and self-actualisation over
mutual support and commonality.

University of Durham Received 16 July 2002

Finally accepted 4 December 2003

Notes

* denotes added emphasis

1 Giddens also includes ‘the expansion of economic opportunity’ (Giddens, 1992: 185) in his
vision of democracy. Whilst economic opportunities for women may have expanded in recent
years, it is beyond the scope of this paper to discuss how far we are from a position of equal-
ity of economic opportunity between the sexes. It should be noted here, however, that the dis-
solution of heterosexual relationships, especially where children are involved, almost always
leads to a significant drop in the economic position of the female partner, and that within part-
nerships, men usually exercise more control of money (Morris, 1990; Vogler, 1994).

© The Editorial Board of The Sociological Review 2004 215

Rebecca Hazleden

2 Reissues are common; for example, Dowling (1981) was reissued in 1996, and Forward (1987)
in 2002.
3 Of those that are available, at the time of publication of my editions (in brackets), Beattie
(1992) had sold more than 4 million copies, Cowan and Kinder (1986) more than 1 million, and
Forward (1987) more than 2 million.
4 For an illustration of the extent to which this comparison is drawn, see Norwood (1986: 185–6),
or for very similar examples from texts not in this study, see Giddens (1992: 94–95).

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