Some people seem to lack the capacity to feel joy, sorrow or love. David Robson discovers the challenges and surprising advantages of “alexithymia”.
By David Robson
Caleb is telling me about the birth of his son, now eight months old. “You know you hear parents say that the first time they looked at their kid, they were overcome with that feeling of joy and affection?” he asks me, before pausing. “I didn’t experience any of that.”
His wedding day was equally flat. To illustrate his point, he compares it to a Broadway show. In front of the stage, he says, the audience are transported by the drama. Look behind the scenes, however, and you will find the technical engineers, focusing on analysing the technicalities of the event.
Despite taking centre stage at the ceremony, he felt similarly detached from the tides of emotion swelling up in the people around him. “For me, it was a mechanical production,” says Caleb (who asked us not to use his full name). Even as his wife walked down the aisle, the only sensation he felt was his face flushing and a heaviness in his feet; his mind was completely clear of joy, happiness, or love in its conventional sense.
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