The Sunday Times Magazine • 27Syria). She grew up in the shadow of the
Holocaust and moved to America at the age
of 30. She writes of the unspoken rules of
her childhood. “We never asked about
death. We tried not to mention sex, and it
was better not to be too sad, angry or
disappointed and absolutely not too loud.”
She felt the pull of psychotherapy from
a young age. “I was so interested in the
mind. My mother used to call me very
curious. Every time there was some note
in the building [where she lived], I would
read it and want to know who wrote it.
Who did they write it to? What did they
mean? So I guess that’s how a
psychoanalyst is born.”A
tlas has had an
unparalleled
insight into the
sexual fallout from
the pandemic.
Behavioural
studies in the UK
and the US have
suggested that
adults are having
less sex than
previous generations and the pandemic
has further dampened the mood. A 2019
study published in the British Medical
Journal suggested that nearly a third of
men and women had not had sex in the
previous month, up from about a quarter
in 2001. Karex, the company that makes
one in five condoms sold globally, has seen
sales drop by more than 40 per cent over
the past two years. “The pandemic hurt
people’s sexual life, there’s no doubt
about that,” she says.
Not one of her patients reported a boost
to their sex lives, despite all the enforced
closeness. She believes that anyone who
did is a rarity. “I’m sure they exist, but
I think they’re the minority for many
reasons. One reason is the anxiety. When
we are anxious, sex is not the first thing
we want to have. The other reason is that
people were trapped with each other.
When we’re too close there is too much
togetherness. It’s not sexy and it doesn’t
make you want to have sex with a person
you’re with. There is something about
separateness and being a little bit apart
that is better for sexual life than just being
enmeshed and together all day.”
The third reason has more to do with
the unconscious. “This virus made us
worried about being close to each other and
touching each other. Consciously we’re not
afraid of our partners, but unconsciously it
created a real emotional drama around our
bodies and how close we are unconsciously
going to be with other people. And you
could see it. There was a window where
the pandemic was a little better and a lot
of people still did not want to meet other
people. There was this fear that lingers
and it’s not rational.”War, on the other hand, can have a
libidinous effect. “Unlike the threat of a
virus and lockdowns, we know that ‘end of
the world’ sex can become a way to cope
with fear and devastation,” she tells me.
“When set against a backdrop of life and
death, it is sometimes the erotic that offers
a lifeline, an illusion that one can survive
and a way into the land of the living.”
In the book she explains that the secret to
long-term love involves a delicate balance
between security and danger, the familiar
and the novel. Sexual romance, she writes,
thrives on danger and adventure. Her
advice to anyone looking to give their sex
life a post-pandemic boost is to get back out
into the world as individuals rather than
sticking together at home.
“Sex needs some mystery, so don’t be
so familiar, go out, come back, have
separations, have reunions. Those are
the ways to rediscover each other.”
Is it safe to assume she is an advocate of
the “maintenance shag” — the hook-up
middle-aged couples have to plan because
they’re so busy? She nods vigorously.
“Desire can die easily and it needs the fire.
You always need to put more wood in the
fire. When you do it less, you want it less,
when you do it more, you want it more.”
Atlas has three children: the fraternal
twins Emma and Yali, 16, and another
daughter, Mia, 11. She is no longer with
their father. Her husband, whom she met
after her children were born, passed away
some years ago. She now has a new partner,
Bob, whom she describes as “my rock and
my sanctuary”.
As you’d expect, she talks to her children
much more openly about sex and
relationships than her parents ever did to
her. They’re not always grateful for it,
however. “I’m not a therapist with them,”
she explains. When Emma was having boy
trouble, Atlas channelled her grandmother,
who used to tell her she was “beautiful”
and “the best”. Emma rolled her eyes and
replied: “I hope you don’t give this advice
to your patients.”
Despite the occasional rebuff from her
children, it’s easy to imagine Atlas quickly
establishing a rapport with her clients.
When people discover what she does for
a living, I expect they confide in her and
ask for advice. She confirms that some
are thirsty to tell their stories or want
her counsel — so much so that “I don’t
always tell them what I do. I try not to
work outside of work because otherwise
you are going to take care of every person
that you see.”
So what does she tell them instead?
“Sometimes I say that I’m a stay-at-home
mom, that I don’t work,” she says, adding
“especially on a flight”. Being cornered by
a stranger seeking sex therapy on a plane?
That’s a mile-high club no one would want
to join. “That’s the truth. The flight is the
most dangerous thing.”“Sex needs
some mystery,
so don’t be so
familiar. Have
separations
and reunions.
Rediscover
each other”
29%^
of men and women
surveyed by the British
Medical Journal in 2019
had not had sex in the
previous month, up from
about a quarter in 200140%^
The fall in sales experienced
by Karex, the world’s biggest
condom manufacturer, over
the past two years