is the wish to help another person

but an intention doesn't always or automatically translate

into a ready capacity for true assistance.

Picture a five-year-old

who's stumbled into his parents bedroom

and surprised his mother crying

She's normally so strong and ready with help for him

Now he longs to do something to staunch the tears but he's at sea

The sobs might be about the mortgage,

a turbulent time at work, or

an argument with her partner

But all these aren't for a child to grasp

He sweetly suggest a glass of water

and pipes up that he might run downstairs to get Knitted Rabbit

The impulse to help floats

logically free of any actual ability to do so

Two people can long to be supportive and generous towards one another

and yet lack all the skills to deliver on their good intentions,

and therefore end up feeling isolated, resentful, and unloved

We cause ourselves trouble because we're too slow to recognize an odd, largely unmentioned phenomenon:

how varied and particular our notions of help can be.

We take our own preferred style of being soothed as the natural starting point for how to soothe others.

But when we're wrong and our partner's original distress is compounded by their sense of having been ignored or insulted.

We take them to be ungrateful and cruel and vow never to attempt to be kind again.

An urgent task is therefore to try to understand the particular way in which we, and our partner, need love to be delivered in order to feel that it is real.

We might be types who, when we're sad or in difficulties, need first and foremost to speak.

What we say may not be entirely sequential

We might go back over things a few times and omit to cap our stories with neat endings.

But that might not matter because what we want above all from a partner when we're suffering

is that they sit with us, at length, and listen

We want them to signal their engagement with their eyes but not with their mouths,

to register our anger, to observe our disappointment,

and at most, at opportune moments to prompt us with a "Go on…" or a small supportive sound.

Yet what we absolutely don't want: answers, solutions or analyses,

for them to open their wallets, to give us a plan, or to rush to fill in our silences

We want them to sit listening because the real problem we need assistance with

isn't so much the specific issue we are mentioning

(the parking ticket, the in-laws, the delayed delivery)

It's the overarching sense that most people we encounter

can't really be bothered to take the time to imagine themselves correctly into our lives

Perhaps there was a history to this:

our parents might have been practically minded, busy and successful

but somehow rather callous and distracted

in the way they sought always and immediately to push our difficulties out of the way with logic.

Now we feel how an immediate "solution" can be an excuse for not listening to the problem.

That's why just being heard feels like the quintessence of love

We might almost deliberately take our time,

go back over points our partner

go back over points our partner had thought were finished

and re-explore a jagged bit of our story, not to mislead,

but because such rehearsals

create the backdrop for the only style of help we crave and trust:

receptive, quiet attention.

Then again, at another end of the spectrum,

love might not feel real

unless it's accompanied by precise and concrete solutions

Vague sympathy is worthless

We might want to hear a flow of ideas as to what we should do next,

what sort of strategy we should deploy,

whom we might call, and how we can get answers.

It's all very well for someone to say they feel our pain;

we would prefer a plan.

Love is a sheet of paper with a list of bullet points in your partner's handwriting.

In addition,

we might not be averse to evidence that our partner has spent some money on our problems,

time isn't a currency we respect.

We might want them to pay for an accountant or a lawyer

or offer an evening in an expensive restaurant.

After an economically fragile childhood, to feel really helped, we might long for evidence of financial outlay;

we can't be reassured just by what someone says

We've built up a residual suspicion and distrust around lone verbal offerings

We remember how nice it was

when an elderly relative unexpectedly gave us a very well-chosen present when we were nine and in hospital after a bad fall.

They never said very much to us

(perhaps they were rather shy)

but this gesture truly touched us

We felt sure of that kindness, as if for the first time,

when we learnt just how much the present had cost.

Differently again, when we divulge our agonies,

our priority may just be to hear that everything will eventually be okay

We don't mind a little bit of exaggeration.

Despair strikes us as cheap, reasons to give up are always obvious

For us, love is a species of hope

Or, alternatively, it's hope that may be enraging.

What calms us down is a quiet walk around the prospect of catastrophe.

We don't want to be alone in our fears

We long for someone to explore the grimmest possibilities with bleak sangfroid:

to mention prison, insolvency, front page headlines and the grave …

Only when our partner is ready to match our most forbidding analyses

can we be reassured we're not in the hands of a callous sentimentalist,

rather someone honest enough to see the dangers and to worry about them as much as we do

and perhaps stick with us while we serve out the prison sentence.

A cuddle can sound to some like a petty response to bad news,

but for us it can be the most reliable evidence of heartfelt love.

To help our minds, we need someone first to reassure our bodies,

to hold us tightly and quietly while we close our eyes in pain and surrender to their firm embrace.

Help in adulthood may for others be associated with the gift of insight,

but for us, it is touch that soothes.

We're picking up on memories of early childhood.

Wise parents know that a distressed child doesn't need a lesson or a lecture;

they should be laid down on the bed, held, and their head stroked by a giant, soft adult hand.

The misfortune lies in how easily we can irritate with the wrong offer of love

and in turn, how quickly we can be offended when our efforts at loving go unappreciated

Recognizing that there are different styles of help, at least alerts us to the severe risks of misunderstanding.

Instead of getting annoyed at our lover's inept and sometimes wildly misdirected efforts,

we can grasp, perhaps for the first time,

the basic truth that these blundering companions are in fact attempting to be nice

In turn, the clearest clue of the kind of help our partner wants is the help they offer us.

It seems love can't remain at the level of intentions alone:

it must involve constant strenuous efforts to translate our wishes

into interventions truly aligned with the psychology and history of another human being.