I married my childhood sweetheart. How sickly sweet is that? Horribly wholesome. A snog and run was the plan. I had ambitions to sleep around, experiment and explore, get a couple of iconic divorces under my studded belt. But, alas, we’ve been together 21 years and I adore him. We have built a beautiful life together, grown up together. I even still fancy him.
How did this happen? I went against all my plans. I chose to follow my gut.
Enduring and sustaining a love takes bravery and grit. And trusting your gut is hard. You must accept your fallibility and be willing to forgive. You must honour your inner voice, the one that spits the bitter truth our ego hides from. Logic is limp when it comes to love. Ultimately, it comes down to instinct: someone either smells right or they don't. Location, timing, time zones, suddenly become irrelevant. Our belly knows first. We just need to listen to it.
This is where literature can help. Prose can powerfully put words to a messy feeling. When we read a gutsy book, we become both voyeur and participant. We slip into the protagonist's mindset, live their consequences and wince at their lessons. As we turn the pages, we get to suspend reality and taste-test experiences and decisions, all from the safety of our candlelit bathtub.
The books below have named a lot of feelings for me. Sometimes a book is a mirror, sometimes it’s a punch in the face. Read even one of these and you’ll get the metaphorical punch you need to realise that the first person you should trust when it comes to love is, well, you.
Love & Misadventure by Lang Leav
My best friend sent me this book in the mail. One day it just plopped, unannounced, onto my door mat, I tore it open and inside she’d written “you are an excellent best friend”. This beautiful, iconic collection of poetry from Fijian Australian poet Lang Leav is iconic for a reason, putting delicate language to the wordless feelings that surround falling in and out of love. I flick through it now and then – it’s like visiting a wise and kind friend.
All Fours by Miranda July
If you want a depiction of a person totally, completely trusting their gut, then that’s All Fours. A woman gifts herself the time to takes a cross-country drive – but, 30 minutes in, she abandons those plans, checks into a surreal motel and what ensues is a plot based completely on instinct. It’s gutsy and gorgeously raw, as we see the protagonist develop a new sense of self. A brilliant depiction of how trusting your gut really means trusting yourself – and the truth and power you get in return.
I'm A Fan by Sheena Patel
This is a masterclass in opposite form: what happens when we don't listen to our gut. It’s a book about obsession, with a chaotic narrative energy, and so I in turn became consumed by reading it, devouring the pages in one day. The protagonist is obsessed with a man who treats her carelessly and is painfully aware of it the whole hideous time – learn from her. It's a sharp, addictive read on the gap between knowing and acting, and the connection between our inner worlds and what plays out in real life. A stark reminder that trusting your instinct means actually following it.
Hunger by Choi Jin-young, translated by Soje
This short but super intense novel was a word-of-mouth sensation in South Korea, following a devotion like no other. Chapter by chapter, it follows a couple, offering alternating voices and perspectives. It is a love story but not a conventional romance – more a wild fever dream about how far instinct can carry us against every rational thought. (Note: it does have some shocking themes, so maybe read the blurb first if horror elements aren’t for you). But the way the author explores destruction, defiance and devotion will make you think. A truly unique read.
Eat Bitter by Lydia Pang
My memoir is an exploration of food and feelings, with bite. Told through the Chinese idiom ‘eating bitter’, which means to endure before tasting a sweetness, I reimagine this philosophy as I confront the experiences that taught me to trust my gut: burning out, testing my marriage, navigating fertility struggles and caring for a parent. It’s a tender ode to the connections that led to and came from these experiences: my family, my ancestors and, ultimately, my relationship with myself as I surrendered and softened. If you fancy a cry and some ‘unnervingly honest’ truths (my favourite review so far), tuck in.
This article is part of On Connection, Service95’s special issue in partnership with Bumble. Discover all the stories here.
