While we are either ignored or misrepresented by most of the world,

in our relationships we can thrive from a gratifying sense that out identity has been accurately

tracked, drawn, and committed to memory.

They know our favourite foods, our childhood traumas,

our quirks around travel, our morning habits, and our ambivalent feelings about certain friends.

But it is the extent and overall accuracy of this knowledge

that can provoke sudden moments of claustrophobic irritation

when our partners use their privileged overview of our characters to level a claim about who we are

that seems to reduce, caricature, or limit us unduly,

and is blind to our evolutions and aspirations for change.

"Don't be silly! You're not someone who ever enjoys holidays." they might assert with the

confidence and authority of someone who's shared our bed for close to a decade,

or they might say "That's far too late for you.

You're always asleep by ten."

or, "You've never liked dancing.",

or, with real surprise when we come back from the library, "But you don't even like books about politics!",

or, to the attendant at the deli counter, "No, no, no. They don't like pickles."

The comments and the sure manner of their delivery reflect an experience of us built up over time

through the patient work of love

but they can also prove wholly enraging.

It feels as if the authority that the lover possesses has malignly been deployed to fix us into a role

that actually no longer feels quite true.

They're telling us who we are, the nicest thing in theory,

but getting it rather wrong, which is the about worst thing in practice.

Though a particular trait might admittedly have existed for many years,

we may, beneath the surface, quietly be attempting to change.

We are tentatively trying to evolve.

We no longer want to remain who we once were in every detail.

We have new, original, aspirations.

We want to shed our skins.

We're trying to open ourselves up to different experiences.

We maybe want to give pickles a go.

And yet the partner has set themselves up as the jealous guardian of a self we no longer quite identify with.

They insist that who we are now claiming to be must be false, pretentious, mean spirited

or an attempt to hoodwink others,

all because it isn't who we have traditionally been.

It's clear that, alongside physical development, we are all engaged in a lifelong process of physiological evolution

which is far harder to spot, to discuss, and give room for in others.

Because we look more or less the same from the outside

those around us naturally assume that we must remain, more or less, the same on the inside too.

Yet we are continually on the way to discovering new sides of ourselves.

We're shedding allegiances, stretching ourselves in unfamiliar directions,

and clearing out irrelevant positions and enthusiasms.

Perhaps we're gaining a new zone of confidence at work,

or we're getting more cautious and circumspect where we were once rather reckless.

We might be discovering the beginnings of a new kind of passion for the arts

where we used to be quite judgemental,

or perhaps we're firming up certain opinions around money or politics.

These changes may not yet be very clear, even to us;

there are no birthdays to mark them, or public occasions to lend them weight.

We can't easily explain them to our partner and may not be too sure how to make them plausible.

And yet the changes matter to us hugely.

They are, in a way the most important things going on in our inner lives right now

and we are therefore acutely sensitive to anyone who might sweep away, or with a mocking laugh

destroy the tentative foundations of our future selves.

Children show us most clearly the passions unleashed

when another person holds us too tightly to an earlier version of ourselves.

At a party a parent might explain of her child "Oh, he's five."

Only to find the child approaching them a moment later and protesting in an intense angry whisper,

"That's not true at all! I'm five and three quarters next Tuesday."

Giving due weight to our evolutions, be they bodily or emotional, can matter an awful lot.

That's why we can find ourselves in such intense arguments when a partner makes a remark that

would have interested the person we used to be back in the spring,

or they make a criticism which could have been very true of our outlook at Christmas,

or buys a jacket we would have loved three summers ago.

What rankles is the static picture of who we are that's implied in what our partner has done

and that defends the part of us that associates intimacy with being given the space to evolve.

Despite their love out partner hasn't kept pace with our growth.

They failed to be sympathetic to the impulse for change.

They are fixing us too tightly to a portrait that, though it was once satisfying, is truly no longer accurate.

The partner isn't being mean.

Change is frightening because the one evolution we're all terrified of

is the kind that will take our beloveds away from us.

The reason we get stubborn about a new love of pickles may be that it stands as an awful harbinger of

what might be a new love for, say, another person.

The ideal solution would be to develop a view of the essential normality

and unthreatening nature of growth.

We will all, over a long term relationship, be growing in a range of ways

which can undermine any settled claim by one person to 'know' the other.

What we grasp of our partner can only ever be partial an temporary and we shouldn't grow

jealous or angry on that score alone.

We're not like books, written once and shelved in a static library.

We are like continuously updated, edited, and expanded online texts,

where a core set of themes is daily enriched and nuanced live before our eyes.

True love requires us to allow our partner to become someone rather different than they were

when we met them

and to welcome their evolutions, rather than use the portrait we painted of them at the start,

as the fixed reference point from which any deviation has to be considered a disloyalty.

The creature who emerges from they chrysalis is likely to love us more intelligently and deeply

as they are to want to fly away to someone new.

We should use the phrase "I don't really understand you anymore." not as a despairing exclamation,

but as a hopeful call to renew our sources of intimate insight.

It's common to accuse long term relationships of being a bit boring,

but our tendency to evolve offers us a way out of the limitations of monogamy.

We are, if we are correctly attuned to the phenomenon, only ever with one person for a very short time.

In truth we cohabit with a constantly shifting array of people who just happen to have the same name,

and inhabit more or less the same body, and lie next to us in similar ways in bed,

yet, beyond these common points, such are the differences they may really just as well

sometimes be wholly new people.

We can, in one relationship, without drama, enjoy an array of new lovers, embracing all the different versions

of the one person we are with.

Our relationship reboot cards inspire conversations that can help to rekindle love between you and your partner.

For more click the link now.