The decision

This chapter asks you to decide something. It comes late because at the start it would have sounded like the advice you've always been given, to just say what you want. By now you've seen why that was hard and why it's still right. Your feelings show far less than you think, your hints mostly read as passing remarks, and years together give people confidence about each other more than they give accuracy. You've also seen that the test only measures guessing. And you've seen that something asked for and gladly given shows care as clearly as anything could.

Here's the rule I'd suggest. Put it in your own words if you like.

When I need something from someone, I tell them what it is in one plain sentence, and I judge them by what they do next.

It has five parts, and each answers a chapter.

I work out the need first. I ask myself what would help, run through the kinds, and make it specific. If I don't know yet, I say that.

I say it plainly. I say what I'd like and when. I ask for one thing and leave the history out. A stranger could understand the sentence.

I don't say "fine" when I'm not. I say what's wrong, or use the holding sentence, or say I'd rather not talk yet.

I judge by the response. Whether they guessed doesn't matter. What matters is whether they were willing once they knew.

I ask them too. I use "What would help right now?" in place of guessing, and I tell them what I like so that they can surprise me.

It helps to plan for the moments when the habit will try to restart. Peter Gollwitzer and Paschal Sheeran pooled ninety-four tests of plans in the form "when X happens, I'll do Y" and found that they make people more likely to follow through. A plan like this works because you've decided what to do before the difficult moment comes. Three are worth writing down.

When someone asks if I'm all right and I'm not, I'll say "Not really" before I can say "Fine".

When I notice I'm sending signals, by sighing or going quiet or banging things, I'll stop and ask myself what I need, and then say it.

When I catch the thought "they should have known", I'll ask myself what exactly I told them, and whether a stranger would have understood it.

I'll be honest about what to expect, and this is my expectation and not a finding. The first few asks will feel exposed and slightly flat. The other person may be surprised, or clumsy, or may even ask what's brought this on. Overall's couples suggest it will feel less successful than it is. You'll still say "fine" sometimes, out of reflex. Some requests will be refused, and that will sting.

Against that, you should get more of what you need, starting within days, because most of it was available all along. You should spend fewer evenings on imaginary verdicts. The other person should gradually relax, and you may find they start to offer things unasked, because now they know what's welcome. You won't get a partner who reads your mind. You'll get one who knows more about you, because you've told them.