ANNA SAYS:
Like many of us, actress Gwyneth Paltrow and her husband, screenwriter and producer Brad Falchuk, have found that amid the tension of lockdown — with the children ever present — bonding with your beloved isn’t easy. Unlike most of us, the couple turned to intimacy coach Michaela Boehm to maintain their love and sex life while self-isolating. They even made their counselling session available on YouTube.
Now, Gwyneth hasn’t always given the best advice — her bonkers wellbeing website Goop famously suggested we steam our private parts and eat a supplement called Sex Dust to raise libido. But her video with Michaela suggests she may have got this one right.
it reveals the therapist, who was born in Austria and moved to California in 1994, to be an incisive woman who stands no nonsense.
When Gwyneth, who coyly claims she’s ‘asking for a friend’, inquires about what to do if you ‘don’t feel sexual’ in lockdown, Michaela points out that people respond to stress by displaying different survival behaviours. Some might want sex, while others might eat more.
So far, so surprisingly relatable. But Michaela has counselled a host of Hollywood couples, including actors Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith, over the decades.
Could she really advise mere mortals like my husband Phil and i on how to stay close when we can’t get away from each other, and are home-schooling three teenage boys? We scheduled a therapy session via Zoom to find out...
PHil is scared about what a video conference with Gwyneth Paltrow’s intimacy coach might entail. There’s nothing to be worried about, i say. As Michaela notes, this is a chance for couples to pull together.
i’ve briefed Michaela on our issues, via email. We’re in crisis mode and running on parallel lines. For starters, i’m not a hugger, especially when i’m tense. Phil is.
Phil’s way of fighting anxiety is to do a lot — cook, clean, work, exercise, buy tins of tomatoes. i feel useless in comparison, yet irritated by the many tomatoes.
With three teenagers around, we also don’t have any private time, and while we could engineer it, we’re too tired to make much effort.
For our session, we perch together on the couch, laptop on the table. Michaela appears against a fabulous backdrop — ‘an illustration by a German biologist of mosses under a microscope, from the late 1800s,’ she reveals, when Phil admires it.
After she removes her ‘house jumper’ so i can take a screenshot she suggests we talk about our ‘objective for the session’.
FirST i raise Phil’s complaint — the lack of cuddling. Phil grew up in a tactile household, so this is ‘weird’ to him. ‘So why did you marry a woman who doesn’t hug?’, Michaela asks.
‘in fairness to Anna, every time i bring it up, i get a hug,’ Phil replies. But he says that having to ask is demoralising.
‘So this is ongoing, but during the pandemic it has become more of a thing?’ Michaela says.
‘it is very hard to do intimacy when you’re playing more roles than normal; when you’re busier, more tired,’ Phil says. ‘We’ve got on well, but there hasn’t been the hugging.’
He adds that his expectations are low. ‘i do understand there’s a war on. On the surface it’s fine, but deep down i’m probably crying like a lonely, abandoned child.’
He’s joking — but Michaela notes: ‘How you were raised is how you experience and expect love.’ even if you grow up and discover a healthier way to be, that ‘love imprint’ remains and a small part of you thinks: ‘i want it this way.’
indeed. My family wasn’t tactile. i chose a man who is the opposite. i adore him, but it rarely occurs to me to spontaneously offer hugs.
Michaela describes the impact of that. She tells Phil: ‘You’re not getting something you want.’ For me, she says: ‘There is a certain “i’m not good enough the way i am”.’
She suggests the result is that we share a feeling of ‘not being good enough to get what i want’. She’s right. it cools our connection.
‘You’re constantly reaffirming the “not good enough” idea by not getting the thing you want, and not giving the other person what they want. it becomes this odd stalemate,’ she says.
Phil tells Michaela her explanation helps him understand me. it helps me understand myself, too.
We’ve had therapy before to cope with bereavement and depression, and know that a wise, compassionate therapist can foster self-awareness, and help you change unhelpful behaviour and become happier.
Michaela says our survival impulses during lockdown aren’t helping us bond, adding: ‘Anna feels like she’s not doing enough — she’s clearly lacking as a human being, wife and mother. i’m exaggerating wildly.’
Phil’s primal instincts to ‘fix, problem-solve and have direction’ are kicking in, which is why he buys tomatoes. ‘You should celebrate that,’ she tells me. ‘it’s a distinct sign that he’s a good provider.’
We had a huge row when i chased after our escaped cat (who was meant to be indoors after an injury), which led to our son dislocating his finger. Phil had said: ‘The cat will come back.’ But i’d felt compelled to mount a rescue.
‘Phil’s a general right now — he’s running a war operation,’ Michaela says. ‘You are camp nurse. You’re making sure no one gets left behind. You have an almost neurotic need to make sure everything’s nurtured. For Phil, anything that takes away from possible survival needs to be cut off!’
Phil cries: ‘This explains so much!’ Yet our differences can make us a good team. Michaela says: ‘if you play it right, you could create a stronger bond. You can use this crisis to strengthen your resilience.’
First, ‘assess your weak and good spots. list what you’re contributing, and what you’re not that good at’. it’s easier to empathise if you know what drives your partner’s irksome actions. i am astonished when Phil tells me: ‘i appreciate