The day after I’d given birth to my eldest child, I took a look round the ward and noticed one of the mothers pick up her baby and press her lips to its face. With brio. With enthusiasm. With love. The shock of realisation hit me. I hadn’t yet kissed my baby. I’d forgotten.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, though: I had a similarly low urge to be tactile with my husband. In my own childhood, kissing had come a long way down my parents’ priority list. So it was unlikely to come naturally.

Theoretically, I should be equipped with first-rate cuddling credentials, thanks to a part-Jewish heritage that should have guaranteed a lifelong kissing and cheek-pinching schmaltzfest, not to mention unlimited chicken soup.

The problem was that while my father was, indeed, Jewish, my mother could trace her ancestry back to Eastern European nobles who regularly hunted Dad’s forebears. While my all-English cousin’s family got to play charades, we spent winter nights playing our own version of Cluedo with real bodies as we traced the family tree, trying to work out whose ancestors might have killed whom, where, and in which pogrom.

When my father tickled me, he broke my wrist

It was exciting. It was different. But it wasn’t cosy. If anything, it reinforced the notion that if anyone tried to kiss you, you frisked them for a meat cleaver first. As a result, physical contact in any form tended to be a disaster. Not only were we rubbish at kissing each other, but the one time my father playfully tried to tickle me, he accidentally broke my wrist.

Family culture is hugely important in determining how cuddly you’re likely to be. “Our parents are the model for our behaviour so, if they’re uncomfortable with touching, the children often are, too,” says Denise Knowles, who has been a Relate counsellor for 17 years.

But at least I’m not alone. My friend Janet Hosein can’t remember the last time she hugged her mother. “I had a ‘cuddly’ relationship with her for the first 21 months of my life, until my brother was born,” she says. “Because he was the first son, the physical relationship was transferred to him.”

As if hand-me-down family attitudes aren’t bad enough, there’s the prevailing cultural climate to deal with, too. We might have sloughed off the legacy of the Victorians, who kept social touching to acceptable levels by confining it to slightly racy parlour games with kisses as forfeits but, in reality, all we’ve done is trade repression for confusion.

These days, teachers are regularly warned to avoid physical contact with pupils, however tiny or tearful they may be, lest the gesture be misconstrued. And, in the workplace, being demonstrative can be construed as a sign of weakness, which may be why women are less tactile than they used to be. “You’ve got hard-nosed businesswomen feeling that, like men, they have to put their emotions to one side to get where they want to be,” says Knowles. She also points to the phenomenon of younger women competing with their male counterparts by drinking – or brawling – in a macho environment. The result, she says, is a culture that permits touching only as way of celebrating a sporting success – or starting a fight.

Meanwhile, self-help experts urge us on to ever greater feats of emotional literacy, armed with examples from the natural world to reinforce their case. Even fish, apparently, like being stroked. It was a blow to discover that when it comes to supportive touching, I come a poor second to haddock.

Modern Brits do manage some warm ’n’ fuzzy things better, though. Until relatively recently, many health professionals believed that handling premature babies was harmful. It’s taken years of research by psychologists such as Dr Elvidina Adamson-Macedo at Wolverhampton University to tell us what our instincts weren’t making clear: that gently touching and stroking babies, even those on ventilators, can help them thrive by boosting their immune systems.

Should I try to fake my emotions?

But, babies aside, we’re still struggling when it comes to touching other people. Adamson-Macedo cites a Brazilian-Portuguese word, dengoso, that describes somebody who wants to give and receive affection in the form of a hug, a kiss, or both. Unsurprisingly, there’s no English equivalent. “In my family, hugging and kissing just happens,” she says. “Here, you must be on your guard. Everybody keeps their distance as if you have some sort of disease.”

So what should I be doing to cement my relationship with my partner? Ever since our wedding, when the priest had to remind me to kiss the groom back and it became clear that I wasn’t the most tactile wife on the block, I have tried to be more demonstrative. The good news is that I’m not a lost cause. Showing emotion is something that can evolve over time, as long as people are prepared to adapt, believes Adamson-Macedo. She cites her own marriage as proof. Her husband came from Yorkshire, while she was raised in Brazil. To start with, he was uncomfortable with public displays of affection but, as the years passed, he relaxed when he was with her. So, in the interests of forging a stronger partnership, should I try to be more tactile than I really am?

Definitely not, says Dr Simon Moore, a psychologist at London Metropolitan University: “Natural emotions are instantaneous, which makes them difficult to fake. When Auntie pops round at Christmas to give you your 18th pair of socks, you look pleased and surprised because anything else would be rude. But if you filmed it, you’d see something called facial leakage – the milliseconds where you’re searching for the right look.”

The key to success lies in finding a way of expressing your feelings that feels comfortable. “We are told that we should be naturally touchy-feely people. But assuming that the sexual side of a relationship is fine, bonding doesn’t need to be tactile as long as we’re giving our partners the emotional support they need,” says Moore.

Knowles agrees. “If how I feel love is by doing helpful things – such as organising the house – then that’s how I’d demonstrate it.”

Are my husband and I getting there? Well, we are still together, occasionally even holding hands to prove it. And it must be working, because our children are more tactile than I ever was. Even my oldest, who’s now in her teens, and almost my height, still plonks herself heavily in my lap for a cuddle, which is something I love, though the effort almost kills me.

So, more than a decade and three children later, I reckon I’m well on the way to spontaneous-kisser status; assuming, of course, that the Postit notes I fix to the front door and car dashboard – “Start engine, turn steering wheel, kiss husband and children” – are allowed.

There’s only one problem. Apparently, it’s not enough. Recently we went to see my sister, who has just had her first child. When we left, she kissed all my children. Then she held out her baby expectantly. It was small, damp and smelt of alien sick. I did the only thing possible. “How do you do?” I said. Then I shook it by the hand.

Unlocking the emotional blocks Nothing’s more painful than being rejected by someone that you love. That’s why we go to great lengths to hide our vulnerability. But this creates blocks that make it harder to for us to communicate with our partners. Marital therapist ANDREW G MARSHALL examines some common emotional blocks.

Showing emotions

A person who has difficulty showing emotions will have been given the message as a child that some feelings are not acceptable. However, we can’t just sieve out the unwanted feelings, such as anger or jealousy and, sooner or later, all emotions are shut out – including, love, joy and compassion. People with this block often find themselves in business-type relationships, running a house and raising children together, rather than being true partners. If this is you, take a fresh look at the so-called negative emotions. For example, anger can provide the energy to right wrongs and get a problem out in the open.

Arguing

Either these people never saw their parents argue, or they had terrible rows that ended in divorce. In both cases, these children grow up with no experience of safely disagreeing, compromising and finally making-up. As adults, they go to any lengths to avoid conflict. However, anger doesn’t disappear but slips out as passive aggression: sarcasm, sulking or agreeing to do something but sabotaging later. If this is you, learn to say no. You will be surprised at how often your partner will accept this.

Crying

Even during life catastrophes, such as the death of a parent, these people never shed a tear; many haven’t wept since they were children. They are mostly men because the conditioning that “big boys don’t cry” is so strong. But I regularly counsel women with this problem, too. Sadly, their partners never realise how much they are hurting under the surface and therefore do not offer much support. That’s why sufferers feel misunderstood or taken for granted. If this is you, break down the barrier gradually by learning to name your feelings. For example: “I’m feeling sad.”

Fear of commitment

This is not only a growing problem but one of the hardest blocks to break. Many children of divorced parents grow up frightened that history will repeat and they too will be abandoned. So they aim for the “perfect” partner. Somehow they believe that if only they can find their soul mate, they will live happily and conflict-free for ever. Unfortunately, many singles set the barrier so high that everybody fails. I’ve met people who have rejected possible partners because they disliked their favourite book. All relationships must include compromise.

Andrew G Marshall is the author of I Love You but I’m Not In Love With You (Bloomsbury, £8.99)

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