Three styles of closeness.

Island

Alone is where you rest

As an island you like people, and you like your own space more. Being with someone up close costs you energy, most of all with the people nearest to you. Tatkin calls this interpersonal stress. Your ideal partner is somewhere in the house but stays out of your room until asked in.

You settle yourself alone, with a book, a screen or a project. Everyone does that sometimes. Islands lean on it too much. Time alone is a kind of trance, so hearing your name called from another room feels like being shaken awake. Going from solitude to company is your hard direction.

The home that shaped you

Tatkin traces this to a home where relating did not come first. At least one parent cared most about performance, looks or what other people thought. There was little face-to-face play and little apology after a hurt, and you were often left to yourself.

You learned to guard the self more than the bond, and that needing things was shameful. So you became undemanding and careful about what you revealed. As an adult you say little about yourself, dislike owing anyone anything, and expect a partner to be just as self-reliant. His example is a couple who agree to give each other nothing at Christmas.

The need you hide

Tatkin does not accept this independence as true self-sufficiency. It grew out of going without, he says, whereas real autonomy grows out of having been able to depend on someone. He reports that island children look content playing alone while their stress hormones run high and their play is thinner than other children's. Adult islands, he adds, sleep, eat and work less well when the partner is away.

A few more tells. Asked who put you to bed as a child, you answer at once but cannot find an actual memory, and your picture of childhood tends to be rosier than it was. He considers islands the least able of the three to explain their own behaviour. And because you give so little away, your reserve can look like dishonesty when it is really caution.

Wave

Close, then suddenly not

As a wave you had what the island missed: at least one parent who enjoyed holding you and being near you. But this parent was often taken up with their own worries, low mood or sense of being overwhelmed. Sometimes you were seen and sometimes looked past, and part of your job was to manage their feelings.

Tatkin's picture is a child on a diving board calling for a parent to watch. Some days the parent is watching and some days not.

Hard partings, angry reunions

People do not wear you out, and you would sooner be with someone than alone, so your hard switch is the reverse of the island's: from company to solitude. Partings sting. Reunions are mixed, because the relief arrives together with anger at having been left and the expectation that it will happen again.

Tatkin calls the result being allergic to hope. Hoping for something in love sets off the expectation of losing it, and that makes you angry in advance. So a compliment gets a dry remark, and you may find fault or threaten to leave. He is direct about it: a wave has to own the hostile things they do out of fear of going all in.

You settle through someone else

When you are upset you move toward your partner. You talk, ring again, leave long messages, because you cannot calm down without them. This is external regulation, and Tatkin stresses that it runs one way: you need to be soothed, and a real back-and-forth is hard for you in that state. You also think out loud, so your talk can run long while your partner grows more upset.

The habit has a generous side. You are good at looking after other people's feelings and tend to end up as the listener in any group. And he credits waves with one thing over islands: your worry is about the relationship, not only about yourself.

Anchor

At ease in both directions

Most people wish they were anchors, Tatkin says, and he repeats that it does not mean healthier or better. As an anchor you are comfortable alone and comfortable in company, and moving between the two takes no effort. You say neither too much nor too little, keep no secrets, and are easy to follow.

You read faces well and can name what you feel yourself. Apart from your partner, you miss them and think well of them. When you meet again you are plainly glad, with what he calls a gleam in the eye. When something is wrong you want to sit down face to face and sort it out together, which is interactive regulation.

A home where relating came first

In an anchor's family, relationship came before performance or appearances. A hurt was mended quickly, with an apology. Your parents looked after each other, so you did not have to manage their moods and were free to be a child.

That is why you can depend on someone without shame and stand on your own without strain, and why you carry neither the island's fear of being engulfed nor the wave's fear of being left. Your working rule is what he calls true mutuality: whatever the two of you do has to work for both.