A gay man who is attracted to women is confused about his sexuality. Mariella Frostrup tells him to relax and find out what works best for him

The dilemma I have known I was gay since I was a boy, but recently I have started having sexual feelings for women that I've spent a lot of time with at university. I went to a single-sex school and have never really had any female friends. I wonder if this might have contributed to my belief that I was gay. Ever since spending time with these women I haven't had as strong feelings for men and for the first time find myself fantasising about these women. Can one's sexuality change in such a short time? Is this normal?

Mariella replies What's normal? So much of our behaviour is conditioned by our formative experiences and later circumstances that it's hard to separate what we started out feeling and what developed along the way. I've known parents announce their child is gay at the age of three and others remain blind to their children's sexuality through adulthood. I've seen girls evolve from Barbie-addicted pink princesses to tattoo-covered teenagers with multiple piercings. As for boys, if I had a pound for every show-tune lover in short pants who turned into a heterosexual school rugby captain I'd eat at Nobu every night and still have change.

After a decade of my mailbag, there are few surprises left in the terrain of the human heart. Uncovering digressions from what we perceive to be "the norm" is what makes opening my inbox a weekly treat. As a species we are definitely not set in our ways. Furthermore, as soon as any of us becomes complacent about the status quo, along comes a life event to test our incredulity.

You say you've always known you were gay, but the circumstances you describe won't have given you much opportunity to test the alternatives. It's long been my theory that in secondary education single-sex schools are great for girls, for whom boys are a distraction, and terrible for boys who afterwards take years to reconcile themselves to women as friends and equals. Just look at Boris Johnson if you want a prime example.

My feeling is that an absolutist position on sexuality isn't strictly necessary, and certainly not until you are well into adulthood. Society may file its inhabitants into neatly labelled boxes, but one of our most interesting qualities is our ability to shape shift. Some argue that life is complicated enough without leaving our sexuality open to interpretation. For others it's the most predictable of their impulses and, unchallenged by fate, whole lives can be played out devoid of deviation from their chosen normality.

You don't have to try the physical act with both sexes to know for sure what you prefer, but the opposite of what you believe to be your natural proclivity is potentially a pleasant surprise. Like passion itself, your sexual predilection may seem overpowering – until it passes and something else takes your fancy. I'm not saying all heterosexuals are actually bisexual, but I certainly think most of us are capable of an equally profound sexual experience in a same-sex liaison. What you ultimately choose – if you do choose – should surely be the person who feels right, not the person boasting the correct genitalia?

Happily most of us are more than the sum of those basic parts. Who we have sex with, how we like our sex and who we fantasise about when the lights are off are frequently mysteries even to those closest to us. In many cases we're estranged from our desires ourselves, self-delusion being as powerful an impulse as any other.

As citizens of a "civilised" society we try to give our brains and not our physical desires control over our actions. The alternative – a frenzy of bacchanalian cavorting with whoever takes our fancy – is exactly what monotheistic religion was invented to avoid. Visiting the British Museum's Pompeii exhibition with my kids this week, predictably, what they were most interested in was the licentious behaviour exalted in much ancient Roman art and iconography.

We are certainly a less carnally indulgent culture. But conclusively partnering with one sex or another has obvious flaws when examined in depth. What you're confronting is the true nature of human sexuality, a state of flux that's dependent on nurture, fate, circumstance and character. I suggest you try not to hurt anyone in the process, but relax and enjoy finding out what works for you.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. To have your say on this week's column, go to guardian.co.uk/dearmariella. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A happy, optimistic man is brought down by the relentless negativity of his partner. Mariella Frostrup tells him to stop always looking on the bright side of life

The dilemma I have been living with my partner for 22 years. He is a lovely man but a negative person, and I don't understand it. Everything is about mortality and ageing, traffic, too many friends coming over, will we make our flight etc. I love him and he is one of the loveliest men I know, but he can't seem to live in the moment. I am younger than he is by a few years, but I don't understand the negativity and the propensity to think that life really is a crock. We have a great life, great friends and family – what's not to love? I am a positive person, I enjoy life, but sometimes I feel like I'm in a bubble and he doesn't get me or what I am. Trust me, I try to be the understanding spouse, but sometimes it gets me so down I want to run away.We both know so many positive, lovely people, and it is a real treat to have them in our lives, but I don't understand why he feels this way.

Mariella replies Are you for real? I had to have a little lie-down after reading your letter, I was so exhausted by the tsunami of goodwill. Such displays of heavenly virtue are guaranteed to send a sane person hurtling into the arms of any passing misanthrope. I admit goodness tends to bring out the worst in me. Agony aunts, too, can experience irrational prejudices. We are only human, after all.

So what about you? You really do love the universe and all who reside there; you even ended your email to me with kisses! Are you a bit profligate with your affections? What do you hold back for those you really love or, like increasing swathes of mankind, does the milk of your human kindness surge out among your "network", making no distinction between cyber and flesh-and-blood friends?

It may sound mean-spirited, but while none of us fancies cohabiting with the Grinch, at least misery gives you something to work with. Joy acts like a trampoline, everything that touches it bouncing right back off it. Inhabiting the same space as someone so unrelentingly jocular, who unilaterally loves life, must be pretty exhausting. Perhaps, ironically, it's your capacity for extreme happiness that's driven your partner to the opposite extreme.

You only seem to see the downside when it's your beloved. "What's not to love?" you ask about friends and family – and I'd happily be specific, but there just isn't enough space on the page. On a more positive note, you may be hitched to Mr Grumpy but you've lucked out on the in-laws; not a single one worthy of ducking behind a pot plant to avoid a chance encounter with. As someone so focused on the bright side, I'm sure that's already occurred to you.

It could just be me: I'm suspicious of extremes, and your ebullience is causing me concern. You describe your partner as "one of the loveliest men" and I keep getting stuck on the "one of". Just in case my instinct is right, and you are thinking of other lovely men, can I caution you against the bombastic bon viveur, a tempting character, I know, when you are long-term hitched and displays of unmitigated enthusiasm are thin on the ground. It can be dazzling in the focused light of their joie de vivre, but just as swiftly they'll point their beam elsewhere, roving the terrain for new converts and leaving you deeper in darkness.

Moving on is certainly not a crime, but if it's tempting you, make sure you're doing so for the right reasons. Most of us find it a challenge to stay put for the duration now that we're living three times as long as our ancestors used to. Seeing the world differently is one of the toughest incompatibilities to reconcile in a relationship. If your worldview has become so diametrically opposed to your lover's, it may indeed be time to call time. A pessimist simply doesn't recognise the world through optimistic eyes and vice versa, but in relationships many of us get typecast as one or the other before we're even aware the auditioning phase is over.

You're playing Mr Jolly to your partner's Mr Morose. How about switching roles? Could you countenance as an experiment lowering the tone of your giddy delight? Without you to rely on to pull him up, your partner might have to do a bit of the legwork himself. Likewise spare a thought for how far you might drift without his ballast. When you've been together for decades, surprising each other is essential fuel for reinvention. Changing the mindset of a lover invariably involves a willingness to contemplate similar seismic shifts in your own behaviour. For a positive thinker like you, that should come as no great challenge.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. To have your say on this week's column, go to guardian.co.uk/dearmariella. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman whose husband spends his time on household 'projects' is frustrated that her domestic contributions are ignored. Mariella Frostrup says it's time to share the weekend more fairly

The dilemma My friends think my husband is a marvel. He's forever building a garage, gazebo or grotto.  All his projects are big and shiny and can be admired by all. Meanwhile I spend my weekends, after a busy week at work, clearing up, washing clothes, forcing my kids to do their homework, food shopping – all the essential chores that nobody ever sees and nobody ever thanks you for. Last weekend, when I asked him to feed the kids while I dropped off some old clothes to a friend he uttered the immortal line: "Can't you do anything?" as he stood there dripping in sweat and surrounded by planks. Is it unfair of me to be so angry? I feel frustrated and invisible. Is this a man/woman thing? And if so, what can I do to get my partner to recognise that the reason our children aren't on the streets and our fridge is full is that one of us does the support work while he performs non-essential but all-consuming "projects"?

Mariella replies That's it, you've unlocked it. The key component separating the sexes – not genitalia but singularity of purpose. Deep, deep down in the male psyche there lurks an enviable and uncanny ability to focus. Or maybe it's just centuries of nurture, watching their fathers do likewise, that has spawned this admirable skill.

While we women dilly-dally, making decisions, leaving jobs half done, forgetting where we've put the house keys while we water the hoover and leave the laundry in the dishwasher, men, like blinkered horses, look straight ahead, oblivious to peripheral vision, where a discarded pile of wet towels might have caught their eye.

Whether it's the Cup Final, the conservatory or making model aircraft, pity the poor fool who dares stand between a man and his hobby. I'm presuming you both work, which makes the weekends a time when it's important to unwind. For many men, such "jobs" are a therapeutic and centuries-old way of balancing their minds after the rigours of the working world. The greatest discrepancy since so-called "equality" became the norm is the absence of similar space for women to de-stress from their own career demands.

You rank among millions of parents whose lives are divided between the strains of work and the demands of domestic drudgery, with barely a minute in between. The majority of housework is still done by women – 80% do more household chores than their partner, while just one in 10 married men does as much cleaning and washing as his wife. We do get 10% of the world's wealth in exchange, so I guess that's fair enough!

No wonder reports keep being published about the escalation in female alcohol consumption. Women drink too much because it's the only way to disable our brains and allow for some thoroughly dysfunctional downtime. That's not to say women can't concentrate. Half the reason we were kept in servitude for so many millennia, apart from rare Boudicca-like exceptions, was that we juggle so well that without our perpetual motion the world itself might stop spinning.

Yet the sum total of these endless hours of action is, as you say, unimpressive – only a meal on the table, a sock drawer sorted, abandoned toys taken to Oxfam and children with clean teeth. None of which counts for much when your friends are blinking under the gazebo with a glass of plonk in their hands going: "Isn't he so clever!"

While the male eye zooms in on a particular element to the exclusion of all else, a woman's gaze flickers from one tedious task to the next, to the point where we can't distinguish between the importance of mopping the kitchen floor and achieving world peace. It's why when women come home after a few hours of their partner's childcare it's not unusual to find the child perfectly fine, if perhaps caked in placatory chocolate, while all around lies chaos. Launching a broadside is so tempting in the face of this penance after your "little jaunt", but it is pointless. You will be told to "relax", they'll clear it up later (won't happen) and anyway it was the kids they were asked to look after, not the house.

The only satisfaction is that such a response accepts the premise that just one of the myriad chores you perform is more than enough to keep the opposite sex busy. The only answer is to sit down together with pencil and paper and negotiate an equal split of domestic duties. In my own experience, the entente cordiale will be short lived. The good news is that not all men are like this. The bad news is that many others – including ours – are.

A man who wants to settle down is only attracted to a professional dominatrix. Mariella Frostrup says plenty of women could offer that service for free – and suggests he delves into his past

The dilemma I am a 29-year-old man and I've never had a long-term relationship with a woman – just lots of flings. I attract a lot of women and feel it's only a matter of time before I ask a young lady out with a view to a more serious relationship. However, for none of these women do I hold the same desire I have for a much older woman who works as a professional dominatrix, which costs £100 per hour.

I am immensely sexually aroused just by thinking of her, which I am not with the younger women I date. I am also interested in starting a relationship with the aim of raising a family, as I have a steady job and all the necessary qualities of being a good partner. I feel a need to live out my sexual fantasies but also to have a normal girlfriend experience. What to do...

Mariella replies What a quandary. Firstly let me point out there's no such thing as a "normal girlfriend experience" so it's perfectly possible to find a mate who also lives up to your sexual fantasies. Worship is appealing initially but annoying as time slips past. In many ways your issue lies in the fact that you seem set on separating the two.

Few among us are forward thinking and self-sacrificing enough to swap erotically charged subversive sex for a kiss, a cuddle and the promise of everlasting love. Exciting no-ties coupling with an experienced older woman with a taste for discipline is in some cases as close as you can get to Oedipus while staying within the bounds of the law. The only observation I'd make is that you really don't need to be paying for it.

A strict regime with little tolerance for digression could easily be yours at home if you choose the right partner. Plenty of men would simply recommend you hurry up and get hitched. Ask my husband for starters. He's convinced that only a certifiable masochist with an elevated pain threshold would tolerate the sort of regime he's signed up for. Dare I say you just haven't met the right woman yet? Now I come to think of it I might start charging myself – though the notion that I could carry on behaving like an army drill sergeant, and get paid £100 an hour for my trouble simply by slipping on a bit of leatherette while I'm barking commands, seems too good to be true. Life, for some, is indeed sweet.

I'm curious about the way you describe your relationship history though. You seem to be mixing up two very different things. One scenario is a commercial arrangement that at least one participant is eager to continue for obvious reasons: £100 an hour is much higher than the current minimum wage. But what's in it for you?

You display a desire, intellectually at least, to conform to societal expectations and seek out an acceptable candidate to settle down with. You even tell me you have all the right qualifications to do so, yet at the top of any such list would be the one thing you lack – any real desire. For someone so motivated by sexual pleasure you display no passion for women at all. Not a quiver of consuming desire for any of those girls flinging themselves at you appears to have manifested itself.

This seems an area far more deserving of your full focus than whether or not your paid-for sex will cancel out romantic possibilities. Why is it that sex with no strings unless they're to a bedpost is so much more satisfying than seeing yourself reflected in the appreciative gaze of an unsalaried companion?

Normal human interaction, whether friendships or relationships, is your stumbling block. Your description of the opposite sex sounds as though you've emerged blinking from a bygone century. Those I've met with a penchant for disciplinarian sexual encounters generally suffered troubled beginnings. Do a little bit of foraging in the past to find out why emotional engagement is more alien to you that ritual humiliation. Women, to you, appear wholly available but thankfully avoidable to date. It's hardly the best state of mind from which to start seeking a mate.

Imagining a relationship as an exciting act of evolution would be a step forward. You talk about "young women" as though they were an alien breed. I wouldn't try to snare one until you're more enamoured. Neither should you punish yourself by hooking up with a partner if you'd prefer to carry on paying strangers. Conformity isn't the best recipe for everyone.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. To have your say on this week's column, go to theguardian.com/dearmariella. Follow Mariella on Twitter@mariellaf1

A man whose wife left him for someone else in a messy and painful split is wary of her offer of friendship. Mariella Frostrup says he should focus on healing his wounds

The dilemma My wife left me just over six months ago. For many reasons – not least the fact she left me for someone else – the split was messy and hard and nasty. After several unpleasant encounters and back-and-forths, we stopped all contact a couple of months back. Last week, however, I got an email from her somewhat ambiguously asking if we could stay friends (the message was oddly worded, and really seemed to be her offering me a chance to be her friend, rather than her saying she wanted my friendship). I don't know what to do. Despite the horror of the break-up, I can't imagine a life without this person who I loved so much in it, yet I fear that seeing her, and trying to establish a "friendship", would open all the wounds again.

Mariella replies Just now I think you're right. That's the very short answer. Time is often the only balm for raw emotional wounds and a six-month separation, including two months of radio silence, certainly doesn't qualify as a satisfactory period for recuperation.

I'm not surprised your ex is offering friendship. Your nights may be spent tossing and turning mourning her loss but I'll bet she's similarly tortured, in her case by guilt. There's no such thing as a painless separation or indeed an "amicable" one. As the Abba song goes "breaking up is never easy" and they were the gurus of my teenage years on divorce and separation!

Placing "amicable" and "separation" together creates an oxymoron – we don't usually decide to end a partnership until the very sight of our soon-to-be ex fills us with disgust, misery, agony or a combination of all three. Alternatively they dump us, which creates sensations of abandonment and despair. It would probably help if we reinvented the terminology. "Dump" is ugly, "ditch" equally unwelcome, "break-up" sounds painful, and none summons up the multifaceted nature of love's ebb and flow.

Killswitch, an app that erases all online evidence that the relationship ever took place, seems a rather blunt approach but I can see its appeal at the end of a love affair. A favoured song, most enjoyed tipple, holiday snaps, or old discarded T-shirt all offer instant recall and exacerbate the agony of loss. My most ill-conceived affairs thankfully took place before the advent of the internet and so my foolishness and dysfunctionality are more easily forgotten, at worst surviving as love letters tucked in a box in someone's attic or in text form on old, discarded mobile phones. That's if my love missives are even considered to merit storage!

The most embarrassing examples of emoting between my husband and me are only recorded in early emails – not what I'd want in the public domain but not enough to stop me ever wanting to leave the house if they did find a wider readership. Nowadays whole marriages live and die on social networking sites. From first kiss to last jibe, their entire evolution can be tracked in a lover's profile. I wonder if that makes it harder to remain friends with all that history accessible at the touch of a button.

Apps like the aforementioned Killswitch are gaining momentum and create a sort of Khmer Rouge-style Year Zero from where fresh starts are obligatory, but in real life it's less desirable and less achieveable. Such draconian measures misinterpret the nature of love, which, deep down, generally celebrates a particular connection with another human being of which it is worth preserving memories and perhaps salvaging into a different sort of relationship.

It's hard to rediscover that core appeal until all the heightened emotions have died down, but when seeing your lover again only causes a slight twinge rather than extreme pain there will come a time at which friendship is certainly possible. Nevertheless, finding yourself emotionally adrift and at the vagaries of someone else's choices, or having your relationship "re-evaluated" (a less-insulting description perhaps?) drains directly from our reservoir of self-confidence. No matter what the quality of the relationship at the time of separation, the laws of love seem to dictate that there's always a winner and a loser.

Personally I think there's a lot to recommend being friends with your ex and I'm glad to admit that I'm living proof of its possibility. Nobody knows you better and if they are still happy to accept you, foibles and all, it somehow mitigates the sense of loss and can be quite a confidence-restoring exercise if you look at it from a totally selfish point of view.

Many new lovers and spouses struggle to reconcile themselves with their partners' relationship history but it's an insecurity I left behind in my 20s. Mathematically speaking I'm sure the odds of having an affair with your ex husband or wife are far lower than with a stranger you meet in a bar, so it's to be recommended from that point of view alone.

Your critique of your estranged wife's request suggests you've spent too long scrutinising the offer and seeking out nuance, confirming my theory that it's still far too soon to contemplate a platonic relationship. I suggest you tell your ex that while you appreciate her suggestion, it's premature. I'd also be tempted to display magnanimity, wish her the best in her future arrangements and establish yourself on higher ground. It's a perfect position from which to regard your own exciting future.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. To have your say on this week's column, go to theguardian.com/dearmariella. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman is upset that her father and brother treat her mother disrespectfully, but is it up to the mum to change her life?

The Dilemma For years my mum has confided in my brother and me about the troubles of her marriage to our dad, and it is worse now that we are in our 20s. My dad took early retirement and spends his days following his own interests: running, cycling or obsessively doing crosswords. Just as when he worked, he leaves my mum to do all the housework and upkeep for him and my brother. When I visit what used to be home, it feels loveless and hollow, and my mum is becoming increasingly distressed at the life she has been left with. My dad is inflexible and emotionally barren, with no kind of physical intimacy with her. Sadly, my brother is seeing callous relationships as the norm.

I don't know what I can do to show my brother and dad that their treatment of my mum is outdated, sexist and cruel. She is mocked for her opinions or for being "melodramatic". Leaving home and seeing the reality of relationships that normal people share illustrates their lack of compassion verges on the sociopathic to me. I don't know how to make my father and brother see themselves in a different light and act more like a family, or how to rescue my mum from growing lonely.

Mariella replies You've set yourself quite a challenge. Much as the adults who raise us can only look on, aghast at our more outlandish life choices, so we can only gently nudge our parents toward other lifestyles. Your mum is living like many of her generation, and more distressingly a high percentage of subsequent generations, still trying to work out how feminist triumph turned into an unmanageable to-do list featuring career, family, domestic life and partnership. Behind many front doors the advances of the last 70 years are still not in evidence. Whether it's as simple as the division of domestic chores or childcare, or the dark despair of domestic abuse, the chasm between the haves and have nots is surprisingly large. Visiting a friend the other day I admired a display of orchids in a neighbouring cottage window. She told me that the woman who lived there, when she wasn't being beaten and abused by her husband, lovingly nurtured them. The orchids clearly were the repositories for her dreams.

The shocking truth is that your mother, merely disparaged and undervalued, actually has it easy. For one in five women in this modern, emancipated, forward-looking country, daily life is a ritual of misery. I'm not saying that the extremity of the crimes against women mean that you shouldn't highlight your mum's unhappy circumstances, but it's important that none of us assume that all women are free of such tyranny. Your observations about your mum's life are reflected in homes up and down the country to a greater or lesser extent.

The domestic servitude seems less of an issue than your father's disconnection from the barest minimum of relationship requirements. Her circumstances will only change when she develops an active interest in leading a life of her own, not passively replacing her husband's expectations with her daughter's. There are women (and men) who choose to keep their lives small, tucked under the radar and safely ritualised in the monotony of a daily routine. We fought for the right to choose, not to dictate, and your mother's choice is as valid as any other, if presently unfashionable.

Your father and brother will only change when their needs are no longer being serviced, and you gusting in on a breeze of liberation from time to time is unlikely to have much effect. Ultimately it's not your battle. If your mum doesn't feel her life is of greater value, then all you can do is try to raise her expectations. It always struck me as ironic that so many of the earliest feminists waved their banners like Winifred Banks in Mary Poppins and then rushed home to rustle up the tea. In a liberal society, women's rights can't be foisted on their subjects any more than domestic drudgery.

We all have choices, no matter how difficult. If your mum is to reinvent her maturity, she needs to taste the possibilities that freedom can bring. Whether she develops an interest in gardening, joins the National Trust or the WI, watches the entire Nora Ephron canon, joins a walking group or takes a once-in-a-lifetime trip, she needs a transporting activity that overrides her inbuilt domestic impulse. None of us has the capacity to see over the rainbow, but a taste of what might lie there is usually enough to set us on a journey of discovery.

A young man wishes he'd had more sexual experiences, and worries he is held back by shyness. Mariella Frostrup says the important thing is quality, not quantity. Email your dilemmas to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I am a 20-year-old man, but I still get terribly insecure about my sexual experience. I've not been with many women and I often get jealous of partners whose number is higher than mine (in some cases much higher). I'd like more experience, but I feel I'm held back by my shyness in public situations or my feeling that women generally won't be interested in me. I listened to someone the other day complaining about the burden of having had too much sex too easily. While I don't want to become that, I wouldn't mind somewhere in between.

Mariella replies Ah, the much-lauded middle ground. It's not an agony aunt you need to find but a Google map. Forget the Amazon or Antarctica, the steppes of Siberia or the wilds of Namibia, the sort of places that promise exotic or individual adventures, you are asking me to point you in the same direction as everyone else: Ibiza, perhaps, or southern Spain. When it comes to sexual excitement you are looking no further than the home counties, where just over your picket fence the neighbours are keeping up appearances.

Your letter isn't focused on the complications of your relationships, or the pleasure of them – it's all about maths. But your ambitions appear to be based on an average that doesn't exist. How much sex you have depends on everything from your religion to your location, your age to your libido, the length of your relationship, the stress in your life, the number of available partners in your vicinity. Looking for common ground on lovers accrued is a particularly unrewarding pursuit. I've got girlfriends who've been married for 30 years and girlfriends who've been having casual sex for almost that long. You certainly can't tell which is which when you're pressed up against them in a nightclub!

Why do you care about the sex levels of strangers? Physical attraction is such a primal instinct that reducing it to basic accounting seems entirely to miss the point. Sex is textured terrain – not a croquet lawn, but a wildflower wilderness where taste, smell, touch and other exciting sensations are out to play. When you're in the throes of passion, it's pheromones and bacchanalian instincts, barely remembered but instantly recognisable, that rule the day.

Instead of celebrating the experience you've already shared with a few individuals, and no doubt hope to carry on enjoying through life, you're looking at it mathematically. You want to elevate your seduction score. But if more sex makes better sex, we'd all be trying to date porn stars. The old-fashioned truth is that really great sex normally occurs with people we consider equally inspiring before and afterwards.

I've been asked how to spice up sex lives, not really my area of expertise (any suggestions from readers gratefully received…), but I don't think I've ever been asked how to keep up with Casanova in conquest terms. Sex is definitely an area where you want to retain your own unique appeal rather than inhabit a no man's land between the great and the bland.

Your letter is fascinating because it doesn't for a moment mention the quality of the sex you are having, the characteristics of the individuals with whom you have sex or the ups and downs of your sexual adventures to date. All you tell me is that, compared to your contemporaries, your numbers are down. It's curious that as members of a species unique for idiosyncratic and individual achievements, so many of us hanker for the humdrum. Children are particularly consumed by this desire to follow the crowd, and (until we bankrupted them) it's what made teenagers such fertile quarry for advertisers in their catch-one-and-they'll-all-want-one philosophy.

Confronted with the absolute certainty of our mortality, it's senseless that so many of us spend our lives trying to slip through our allotted time without standing out. As you get to my age and the people you love start falling like flies, it's easy to become melancholy about missed opportunities. With only one shot at the art of living why are we so timid when it comes to exploiting it? For many of us, the sum of our ambition is not to stand out from the crowd while we draw breath! You are apparently seeking, not better sex, or sexier sex or naughtier sex but just more of it. I suggest you focus on the quality of your engagements and let others boast about the quantity. You would definitely be the more appealing partner amid the chorus of sexual bravado that rumbles on around us.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman who has abandoned life as an escort feels stuck and Mariella Frostrup encourages her to seize control of her destiny. Do you have a dilemma? Email mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I worked as an escort for almost a decade until recently making the impulse decision to quit. With no money, having squandered everything I ever made, I am back at my mother's house, but the atmosphere is strained. My other adult siblings have no jobs and depend on my mother – one is a student and the other has mental health problems. I am desperate to leave but the idea of conventional work scares me; I have two degrees but I'm struggling to make that translate into self-esteem. I want my independence back but I can't cope mentally with earning money the way I was before. I feel in a cage of my own making.

Mariella replies Welcome to life behind bars! The human condition seems to be primed to waste large proportions of our time in such cages of our own making. It's the few, the brave and the intrepid among us who manage to break free.

It's easy to forget that no matter how finite the road you've chosen, there are alternatives – perhaps not as instantly accessible, or obviously suited to our abilities, but certainly available. A decade is a long time in any profession, and when work is lucrative and on your own terms it's even harder to turn your back on it.

The good news, which should also be esteem-enhancing, is that you've actually done it! I'm sure you didn't expect it to be a simple matter of swapping one career for another, so patience will have to enter into your vocabulary. It may also take time to work out what inspires you, though with two degrees and your obvious people-pleasing skills you should find yourself ahead of the competition in most areas.

The very fact that you have overcome our natural aversion to challenge by changing the status quo speaks volumes about you. I caught myself out the other day while lecturing my daughter on why she needed to concentrate on her maths, which she doesn't have a natural aptitude for. Trying to help her with some year 5 equations, I could feel myself becoming frustrated and then resigning responsibility with the immortal and shameful words: "Dad will be home soon." There's nothing like raising kids to highlight the hypocrisy of parents.

It's a capitulation I make too often. On the surface I may seem to have risen to challenges but in reality my instinct has always been to head down the road least demanding. With luck as my companion I've stumbled on one job after another that suited my talents. The older I get the more useless I feel as skills that I could, once upon a time, just about master now elude me entirely. Having a very handy husband has entirely put paid to my DIY abilities: for example, where once I would decorate, restore and even rewire, now I either buy my way out of such demands or beg my other half to fix it. I experience a strange buzzing noise if a plumber tries to explain how the boiler works. On a desert island I would be lucky to last an hour.

I'm not proud of such inability and I am even more ashamed of my instinct to indulge it. You've already achieved so much by liberating yourself from a job that was no longer what you wanted. Whether you were an escort or a shop assistant, a neurologist or a painter, having the ability to step away from the status quo and reinvent yourself takes guts and determination.

You've already done the tough bit by turning your back on lucrative employment in pursuit of an alternative lifestyle. Living back at home with your mum and siblings is no picnic, I'm sure, but as you are well aware it's a means to an end and the discomfort may prove a spur to propel you on.

Instead of chastising yourself I'd be bathing in self-congratulation. There are not many of us who manage to drive our destinies forward rather than just riding pillion on fate. Having seen the vagaries of human passion in close relief, you'll be no stranger to the complexities of the human psyche.

Pick up a copy of Belle de Jour's Intimate Adventures of a London Call Girl, and remind yourself of the humiliations you could be enduring in order to earn a crust. Then head down a more personally rewarding and less emotionally costly route. Meanwhile, in sympathy and sisterly solidarity, I will learn to fix the boiler.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A single mother whose toddler cries constantly is at the end of her tether. Mariella Frostrup says she should go to her GP, as both she and her child need help.
Email mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk with your dilemma

The dilemma I have a 28-month-old who constantly whines. She dislikes everything and constantly wants her daddy, who can't stand the noise, so we don't live together. She has been like this since she was born, 10 weeks early. I feel she is in pain in some way, but nobody wants to listen. Why else would a perfectly normal child be miserable all this time? It doesn't make any sense. I have two other children from my first marriage and they were fine. She has a paediatrician, but even he thinks she is fine. She is on Osmolax to help her bowels, but it doesn't work. I can't stand it anymore, I'm very depressed. I don't like her, but I love her and want to do the right thing, but nothing works. I have tried everything I know.

Mariella replies Please take this letter and show it to your GP tomorrow morning, as it's no longer just your baby who needs help but also you. I can't stress more strongly how important it is that you sit down with a medical professional or social worker and explain exactly how you are feeling within yourself and also about your little girl. You've been very brave in articulating what a surprising number of parents feel, but don't dare express at some point in the parenting process. Admitting to anything but all-consuming adoration for your baby is these days considered unacceptable, but there are few (mothers, particularly, as they are often the ones left to cope) who haven't at some point had similar thoughts, silenced by social pressure and fear of stigma.

Do you have a good friend you can talk to? Sometimes it helps to be reminded that you're not alone in trying to cope with a challenging child. It's perfectly possible to love your toddler, but struggle to like them when times are hard. Plenty of mothers have experienced similar sensations at some point or other, but failed to express them as well as you have done. I'm presuming your GP has discussed the possibility of postnatal depression with you? The separation from your partner and the demands of your troubled little girl have doubtless made you emotionally vulnerable and you may be battling a mental disorder that you need support and medication for.

If all fathers moved out because a child was whining there would be an epidemic of single mothers. Your husband's place should be at your side shouldering joint responsibility, not absent, and blaming a two-year-old's crying for his selfish choice. Currently you do seem to be blaming your little girl for things that are definitely not be her fault. If all fathers moved out because a child was whining there would be an epidemic of single mothers. Blaming your daughter for the absence of the daddy she cries for is irrational, unfair and just one of the reasons I'm urging you to seek professional help and support. Your husband's place should be at your side shouldering joint responsibility, not absent and blaming a two-year-old's crying for his selfish choice.

If your relationship couldn't handle the strain of one troublesome baby it was unlikely to survive the many challenges further down the road.

Your child is entirely innocent and most likely suffering some health-related issue that has yet to be diagnosed. It won't be the first time a child's suffering has taken too long to diagnose because of their inability to articulate their symptoms. That's why you must contact your GP straight away and get them to take seriously your feelings and the strain you are under.

Please also don't forget that babies are emotional sponges who soak up the atmosphere around them. If you are feeling angry and ignored it's very likely that your baby is reacting to that, too. There is plenty that can be done to help find the cause of your child's troubles, but in these tough economic times you may need to stamp your foot a bit harder to get the attention of social services. You have every right to do so – that's why we all pay our NI contributions, so make sure your voice is heard. There are also independent bodies you can contact for help, such as Family Lives and the helplines Parentline (0808 800 2222) and the Samaritans (08457 90 90 90 – they are there to help everyone, not just the suicidal). All are available 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Believe me when I say you are not alone. Most importantly of all please remember that children pass through many different phases as they grow toward adulthood, as you'll have experienced with your older kids. This needy, disgruntled baby will soon be entering the school gates, you'll blink and she'll be a teenager and too soon after that waving you goodbye – I've no doubt your relationship with her will evolve and blossom along the way. Sometimes trapped in the vortex of mothering it's hard to see the fuller picture, and you are clearly going through such a patch. Don't beat yourself up or blame your baby. We all need a bit of help and support from time to time.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A single man who has fantasies about being a woman is concerned he might be gay or transsexual. Mariella Frostrup tells him to stop fretting

The dilemma I'm a 36-year-old guy and I've always considered myself straight on the whole. I have had many heterosexual relationships and one-night stands as well as a couple of homosexual "experiments" in my younger days, all of which I enjoyed. I've been single for a couple of years now and, while watching porn, I've had a lot of fantasies about being the girl, particularly when the video features one girl and several guys. I'm worried these fantasies mean I might be gay or transsexual, although this is not something I desire consciously. Do you think I should seek therapy?

Mariella replies Quit worrying. Desires and dreams that you don't play out in real life are called fantasies for that very reason. Pornography plays to our deepest desires and exists to do exactly what it says on the jacket. If it involves the exploitation of the weak or dispossessed, causes harm or inspires violence we need to employ our moral judgment about whether we want to indulge. But for adding frisson to our fantasies there's no question it can be a powerful tool.

When it comes to sex, exploring your imagination is just part of the fun and there are few among us who haven't conjured up scenarios we'd be very unlikely to embark on literally. If the X million readers of Fifty Shades of Grey were using it as a handbook there wouldn't be a pair of handcuffs or killer heels left unemployed between here and Vanuatu.

Yet, despite the omnipresence of sexual imagery and innuendo across our media and in advertising, there's a resounding silence around real sex in the UK. As a result it's easy to imagine yourself as some kind of freak just for stepping beyond the humdrum and letting your imagination take a leap. Gather a group of strangers of both genders together for a truthful discussion about their sex lives and you'll be transported to an alternative world, where sexual orientation exists on a Richter scale of impulses, and the most conventional among us have surprising – and others might say perverse – desires to confess.

The myth about what happens behind the twitching curtains of suburbia is not only potent but in most cases correct. Everyone has sexual fantasies, but surprisingly few are comfortable discussing them and even fewer take them to their natural conclusions in the real world. For most of us the joy of sex is that it allows us to escape and lose ourselves in a space where impulses and senses take precedence over expectation and rules.

The fact that you have these fantasies doesn't mean you are anything other than a human being with a capacity for imaginative carnal adventures. Whether you've been repressing instincts that you are uncomfortable about is worth exploring, but rather than contemplating that possibility with dread where's your sense of adventure? Your psyche could be leading you towards a truth about your own orientation and there's no harm in exploring those instincts as far as you feel comfortable. These desires aren't causing you pain or likely to cause anyone else harm so seeking a talking "cure" seems unnecessary at this point.

We live in a society and in an era when sexual experimentation has never been more acceptable. I'd be surprised if even among your close circle there aren't others with, at the very least, a fluid sexuality.

I'm all for personal privacy, but when it comes to the nation's favourite pastime it does seem odd that we can't talk about it in any meaningful or explorative way. We excel at sniggering and are gluttons for the dirty details of others' lives but averse to a frank conversation with lovers or friends about what we like, need or fantasise about.

I'm not a sex therapist, but there are plenty you can call on if you want a professional to dissect your dreams. Personally, as your unqualified confidante, I think you need to stop fretting, enjoy your fantasies and perhaps even think about acting them out. By all accounts the internet is a great place to find an enterprising playmate with similar tastes.

To read Pamela Connolly Stephenson's response to this dilemma, go to theguardian.com

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

An adopted man is hurt that his natural mother doesn't want to see him. Mariella Frostrup says that she must have her reasons – no matter how painful
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I am a 50-year-old man, adopted at birth. I left it to two years ago to trace my natural mother (largely because of guilt that it could be construed as a betrayal of my adoptive parents). However, more recently curiosity, or a real need to know, got the better of me. Through an aunt I got a letter to my mother. She was horrified because her husband (whom she married six weeks after my birth and I suspect is my natural father) apparently knew nothing about me, but he found out by accident by opening my letter. I have two half-brothers and a half-sister (quite possibly they are full-blood siblings) who know nothing about me. Because of my mother's distress, I agreed to promise not to contact her again or any other member of "her family". Now I am angry. With her and with myself. I won't break a promise, but I am angry I gave the promise. The matter feels unresolved. Morally, who has the rights here?

Mariella replies Now you're asking! That's a real Pandora's box you've prised open. Not that anyone would blame you for acting on your impulses. Plenty of adopted children, no matter how happily raised, find themselves compelled to uncover the secret of their biological roots in later years. I certainly understand the desire to discover "who you really are" in adulthood, but I'm not convinced that tracing your bloodline is the key, or that finding "home" is an ambition unique to those not raised by their birth parents. To be asking big questions about your place on the planet is natural as you reach your half century. You are at the perfect age to become preoccupied with such matters and you are hungry for tangible answers to what are really more existential questions. In terms of seismic life changes our 50s are rivalled only by our teens for the emotional turbulence taking place. Seeking your birthparents, questioning your sexuality, discarding long-term relationships and changing career direction are all common and offer pertinent examples of how what's happening in your body is echoed in your head as you hit real middle age. We may have more money, leisure time and even wisdom than we did earlier, but the desire to tether yourself to something solid also becomes pervasive. I suspect there are many answers to why you started seeking your mother in earnest and not all of them will be connected to your early abandonment.

It may be useful to bear in mind that while many adopted children are eager to trace their parents, there are even more of the population, who grew up with theirs, trying to create serious distance from them. Parents are rarely the answer to our dreams, or even a feature of them – they're useful in childhood and an annoying nuisance when we're grown up. As a parent myself, it's a realisation I've come to with extreme reluctance but serious conviction.

Your mother's response to your unsolicited contact may surprise some readers and horrify others, but it really just confirms that she may have had profound reasons for giving you up. Without answers you are naturally making presumptions about the circumstances of your adoption. There's no convincing evidence that your mother married your natural father – in fact, I'm tempted to argue the opposite. It's equally possible that she found herself pregnant and was forced to choose between being an unmarried mother or her now husband's bride. It won't have been an easy choice 50 years ago and I've no doubt it continues to haunt her, but that doesn't mean she feels able to confront or reveal her secret. You may be the surviving evidence of a long buried and, to her mind, shameful affair which would explain why she was less than delighted to hear from you.

There is certainly no moral blueprint for the conundrum you find yourself in. You have every right to push for acceptance but no right, I'm afraid, to demand it. Instead of getting angry and frustrated you should first reconcile yourself to what it is you are really looking for? Your mother, naturally, but also perhaps a place to feel accepted and belong? Despite romantic indoctrination it's unlikely that any person, let alone one with whom you share no history, only biological matter, can singlehandedly satisfy such an ambition. You've found her and discovered that she isn't what you hoped for, or at least that her response to you is far from satisfactory. Now you have to decide whether genes are enough to make pursuing her a continuing ambition. If you are after family your siblings might have more to offer, but be aware that you run the risk of a similar reception. Having made your presence felt perhaps the best plan would be to stand down and wait for your mother to become aquainted with your presence in her world. Events move very much faster these days and for the older generation keeping up can be quite a struggle. And if your mother doesn't come looking for you I appreciate it will cause you much heartache, but she may have good reason to avoid contact or she may be the sort of person you wouldn't want to have contact with. Either way your life has evolved perfectly well without her and will continue to do so if she fails you now.

Thankfully there are some on your path who get a more positive reaction from their birth parents, but a happy conclusion and unqualified welcome into a readymade new family is by no means guaranteed. Any future relationship with your birth mum should evolve as an added blessing, rather than your life's ambition.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A father, afraid his daughter will leave to live with his ex, blames his new partner. Mariella Frostrup says fear is blinding him to his child's bad behaviour. If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I am at my wits' end. My partner of three years has never really got on with my three children (she has her own three, who are incredibly hard work). Two of mine have left home so my youngest (age 12) is feeling particularly vulnerable, especially after my partner told her she is tired of my daughters treating me like shit. While I do not disagree with the sentiment, she should never have said it and she refuses to apologise. I feel I'll now lose contact with my youngest daughter, who could decide to live with her mother on a near-permanent basis – something hard for me to contemplate, as I fought to have equal parenting and love her to bits. What can I do?

Mariella replies Quite a lot, actually! First, though, let's have a frank discussion about your current situation. I appreciate how annoying it is of me to ask, but shouldn't you have addressed this divergent approach to childcare at the beginning? Blended families are increasingly the norm and yet, when it comes to the health and welfare of the innocent bystanders to adult acrimony, we fail to discuss our philosophies until it's way too late.

Merging with another partner when you already have kids creates a new position of immense responsibility. No matter how fabulous a lover's attributes, their qualifications for step-parenting are worthy of equal scrutiny. It's ridiculous that mature adults think it's acceptable to allow passion to override all other considerations, as though they were hormonal adolescents in lust. Love is only blind if you decide to completely suspend the use of the gifts of reason and choice that set us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom. Viewed from afar, allowing the pulsating rhythms of passion to be the sole determining factor in our choice of future partner, having already experienced the drawbacks of that approach, is not rational behaviour. Yet most of us march blindly forward, propelled by the same emotions that got us into trouble in the first place, convinced on no evidence whatsoever that things will be different second (or third or fourth) time around.

I'm not saying that any future liaison need depend entirely on the parenting potential of the lover in question, but it should at least be a consideration. Neither do they need to have previously procreated themselves, but as with any person we'd entrust our children with, you need to understand their approach and establish how they foresee their future role. I appreciate it takes some of the romance out of any new union, but is that a bad thing?

Blended parenting seems a scenario ripe for a makeover. Grown adults responding only with their hearts and not their heads in an age when lifelong partnerships are a thing of the past is just silly. It's increasingly hard to distinguish the adults from the children when it comes to divorce. Often it's the children who wind up shouldering the majority of the responsibility during such periods of emotional turbulence and, as in your case, wielding an unhealthy amount of power over guilt-stricken or warring parents.

I'm afraid yours is an all-too-common problem. You say you agree with your partner's sentiments but not her actions, yet how difficult must it be for her to watch you responding through guilt and fear rather than a rational assessment of what's best for your child? Condoning your daughter's bad behaviour because you are afraid of losing her to your ex-wife is really not acceptable. Your child needs to know that your relationship with her is based on solid, loving foundations and sound parenting rather than emotional blackmail. You can't make such a Faustian pact to ensure your share of her childhood and expect a happy outcome. Your daughter will simply learn patterns of behaviour that will lead to misery now and in adulthood.

Your partner may not have handled it sensitively, but she's done you a favour in raising the issue. There are frank and honest discussions to be had all round. As your daughter enters her teens it's essential that you and her mother work together to give her a stable infrastructure to fall back on. You still have time to send her out into the adult world with a better opinion of both her parents and an improved blueprint for relationships. It will take time, humility and a determination. It's not the easiest route, but it's the best one for your girl.

There's also a conversation to be had with your partner. I doubt her children are naturally "difficult" – they are simply learning behaviour from the adults in their lives. Your letter suggests an unhealthy degree of antagonism toward each other's previous families, and that is a surefire guarantee of future problems. If you can't discuss things in a constructive way, then family counselling could be worth pursuing. In situations like yours there is rarely right and wrong, just misunderstanding and lack of communication. Sustaining a healthy level of dialogue that sees all the adults in a child's life working together, not at odds, is the key to the modern "blended" family.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman who has been unfaithful to her fiancé thinks he must be the wrong man for her. Mariella Frostrup says she needs to take a hard look at herself
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma At 33 I've just broken up with my fiancé after a year of agonising and depression. It was a relief, but the impending sense of loss is unbearable and he's asked for two more months to fix it. We've been together for 12 years and engaged for six. Around our engagement I fell for a friend, and although I didn't act on this I can't seem to return to my pre-2007 awe for my fiancé. I also dislike weddings. In 2008 I kissed a couple of people, last year I slept with a stranger and last month I risked even more on a one-night stand.  I feel more of a brother-sister type of relationship with my fiancé. I did tell him about this, but he didn't take it seriously. Details would destroy him so I ended it based on his short temper and antisocial nature (we rarely go out and he avoids my friends). He is my best friend, knows me inside out, makes me laugh and cares for me greatly. He's the most decent and loyal man I have ever known, and would be a wonderful father, but I can't picture us walking down the aisle or my romantic feelings returning.

Mariella replies I hate to think how you'd treat an enemy! Seriously, what does best friend mean? You've lied to him, been unfaithful then blamed the break up on him – it's hardly A* behaviour on your part. Now you've left him with the challenge of "fixing it". You're right about one thing – your relationship, in its present state, isn't worth prolonging.

I haven't had exposure to his failings but, as you point out, they aren't the primary cause of your split. It's not your ex who would benefit from some serious navel gazing but you. As any agony aunt will confirm, identifying other people's faults, like spotting issues in their relationships, is far easier than tackling your own. Achieving familiarity and some kind of accommodation with your own psyche is much harder work, but there are enormous rewards if you put in the effort. Your letter gives me a fairly clear picture of where you should start.

Sabotaging your relationship with random and, I daresay, unsatisfactory sexual trysts is an act of self-harm – blaming others for your own choices is another. I note your use of the word "awe" as an emotional state to aspire to, suggesting that your concept of what a long-term relationship requires is quite unrealistic.

Interestingly, the qualities you credit your ex-boyfriend with are some of the most valuable – decency, loyalty and a potentially great parent would feature high on most people's wish list. Awe, on the other hand, is not much in demand, and even in Jane Austen's time it would have been deemed a little old fashioned. More pertinently, elevated worship, like over-powering passion, stands little chance of surviving the daily realities of domestic life.

Losing your sense of awe can only be a good thing; blaming your break-up on this poor man's bad qualities, instead of your own inability to commit, is not.

There's no need to list your sexual digressions to justify your decision to end the relationship, either to him or indeed to me. These trysts are not the reason you and your partner can't be together – they are a symptom of why you aren't ready for a long-term relationship at all. The devil is not in the detail of who and when, but in your need to seek out such short-term distraction from long-term problems. What made you think that telling your fiancé about his failings was a better way to go about it than voicing your own doubts?It seems an act of cowardice and emotional insecurity to point the finger of blame at the man you've betrayed.

You say this man didn't take you seriously when you told him you felt it was more of a sibling relationship. Yet again it appears you are looking for someone else to take responsibility for what you feel. If he had "taken you seriously", what did you expect him to do about it? Owning your actions, no matter how dysfunctional they may be, and understanding your own desires are basic requirements for a happy adulthood. No wonder you are in such a state of confusion. You are looking for answers in all the wrong places – in bed with strangers, in an unsatisfactory relationship, in pursuit of a different partner, but never within yourself.

Get to know and like yourself better and you'll find it so much easier to build a relationship with someone else. Adulthood, marriage and parenthood will be far richer and more rewarding when you are no longer living with a stranger.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A mother who steals her kids' chocolate feels unable to stop herself eating. Mariella Frostrup says she needs to put herself out of temptation's way

Email mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk with your dilemma

The dilemma I am 45 next week, married with three children, nice house, part-time job, but life is dominated, rather embarrassingly, by… diet. I am no idiot, yet stealing my kids' chocolate, eating in secret, defining good and bad days by the amount I have eaten is the norm.  So boring, so superficial – I am not vain, believe me, but I'm 2st overweight and it rules my life – help!

Mariella replies How very Bridget Jones of you! You're definitely not the only one being tempted. This whole confectionery business is out of control. Every time I buy a newspaper or a pint of milk I have to battle off a cashier styled on Chitty Chitty Bang Bang's child-catcher or Mr Creosote's waiter. No, I don't want 40% extra Bounty for the price of last year's less gargantuan bar. The only place that added value is going is my waistline.

Chocolate bars have never been bigger, cheaper, free with the daily news or just small change away from your drooling mouth. With the government taxing anything they think they can get away with, it's curious that confectionery has yet to catch the chancellor's beady eye as being ripe for a slice of new revenue. Or could it be that we are now such big babies that denying us our sweeties is the only political act that would guarantee a revolution?

No sooner has big business been warned off selling us one product that might kill us than they find an alternative to seduce us with. I wonder if Philip Morris has any cocoa-bean plantations yet. The net result of sating our sugar habits will certainly help to ensure tooth decay, obesity and bad health. Yet still we flock, as ridiculous as volunteers for a cut-price beheading, eager to exchange our hard-earned cash for a blast of cheap chocolate. A dentist friend told me the other day that for the first time in his long career he was having to perform root-canal treatment on five- and six-year-olds whose baby teeth were rotting faster than they could grow adult ones. It's a salutary illustration of the horror of plenty.

While in large parts of our world other people's children are dying of malnutrition, back home we're stuffing our own with crap. My children learn about the charity Mary's Meals (marysmeals.org.uk), which provides school meals to children in the developing world, while all around them are enticingly cheap treats dressed up as an "energy boost". Meanwhile there isn't a household name in the confectionery business that hasn't increased the size of its product to suit an imaginary species of giant yet to walk our planet. There's so much sugar in food they're virtually giving it away. What enormous profit margins they must already be enjoying if they can afford to be so generous.

So, first and foremost, on behalf of your kids, I recommend you stop buying the stuff. You're clearly not doing your family any favours, and you yourself are struggling to resist. Purge the house and let your children enjoy a once-weekly treat, bought with their own pocket money. I recently emptied an entire kitchen cupboard of the rubbish I'd squirrelled away or confiscated over the summer holidays. It was truly a cathartic experience, although the kids are now Googling adoption agencies.

Middle age is as fecund a time as our teenage years for picking up vices. For many of us there's a yawning space to fill – the void that comprises all the things we thought we would have done or should be doing at this stage in our lives – and these are one way to deflect attention from it. For some, it's too much wine; in your case, it looks like chocolate. Removing temptation at home will see you briefly cast as a domestic she-devil but will reap dividends for all.

A trip to a hypnotist might help harden your resolve to quit. Also, how about putting the money you save on chocolate towards a less self-destructive "treat" – the gym, yoga classes? Exercise is important, as our bodies start to slump and stiffen. It may not be enticing as a pastime, but one benefit of adding physical activity to your day is that a little of what you fancy can be an acceptable reward.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman regrets accepting a date from a colleague, as she thinks she'll make herself vulnerable. Mariella Frostrup advises her to build her resilience by going ahead
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I was asked out by someone I work with. I was put on the spot and said yes because I couldn't bring myself to reject him. I am friends with this person and didn't want to hurt his feelings. I have problems with relationships, as they make me stressed rather than happy. After I said yes I immediately regretted it. Being in a relationship makes me vulnerable, I open myself up to the other person, causing me pain, and all I can think about is how I am no longer "hard". When my mother died I shut off most emotion and I don't want to let it affect me now. I don't want to hurt his feelings but I don't feel comfortable with a boyfriend. What should I do?

Mariella replies Thank goodness for people who put us on the spot. How else would we get the encouragement to step out of our comfort zones and put our emotional lives in peril? Avoiding relationship repercussions is like avoiding sunlight. The rays may be harmful, but think of all the good stuff you're missing out on too, from beach holidays to vitamin D.

There is a yin and yang argument here – you need a little sour with the sweet, good with the bad, hot with the cold, if you are to experience the full range of what life has to offer. Increasingly, we've grown wary of extremes and our caution denies us golden opportunities for euphoria. We're so busy creating safety features that we forget the sublime satisfaction that comes when sad times turn sweet again.

You may be acting ice cold in denying yourself the potential of passion but, as you admit, you are more vulnerable than you have perhaps ever been. Losing people you love, particularly those who provided the foundations of your early life, can be immensely traumatic and take many years to recover from. When my dad died I was 15 and I cowered in the shadow of that loss until my mid-30s. Only after I stopped mourning him daily was I ready to marry and have my kids.

I understand your fear, but allowing it to rule your choices reduces your capacity to maximise your brief tenure on this earth and that is a duty we are all charged with. You are suffering a very contemporary malaise. Damage limitation is all the rage, from Kafkaesque health-and-safety initiatives to non-slip surfaces and stickered barbecues that read "hot when lit".

We focus on ensuring that the worst can't happen yet such efforts are in vain. Life is unpredictable. Whatever plans you have in store, there will always be a scenario you haven't prepared for to take you by surprise. There is nothing scarier than "losing your heart" and also nothing more incredible. The full wonder of our complicated biology is only explored when our pheromones go into overdrive on exposure to a fellow human. Part of that delectable delight comes from the sense of losing control, of having our fate taken out of our hands for a brief time, while we explore the terrain of reckless abandon. It leaves you open to pain, but without that possibility you deny yourself the chance of ecstasy.

You're clearly suffering a bad case of vulnerability, but it's nothing to be embarrassed about. It just makes you part of the human race. Your colleague has done you a favour. It's an act of friendship to ask you out and it deserved that act of faith from you in accepting. Going on a date isn't a commitment – it's just a tiny tentative step towards the future.

On these pages I'm forever chastising people who make bad romantic judgments and then blame their errors on the madness of love, whether it's dating your best friend's husband or a vicious drugs baron. Love is only blind if you insist on covering your eyes. You are the polar opposite of fools who rush in but are equally happy to pronounce yourself defenceless, without reason or choice. We both know you have both, so you can make cautious forays into the emotional unknown, little by little, and reclaim your resilience. Your colleague has extended you a lifeline. You have nothing to lose but your fearfulness by seeing where it swings. Whether or not he's boyfriend material is irrelevant, you just need a bit of practice to get you off the ground.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman who has had two miscarriages is trying to deal with her sister's abusive relationship. Mariella Frostrup tells her to take a step back and focus on herself

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I'm 37, happily married and run a successful business, although at the moment I struggle to get out bed and make it into work. In the last 15 months I have lost one pregnancy at 23 and one at 26 weeks. Doctors say I will need three consecutive miscarriages before investigations are done. This frightens me about becoming pregnant again. I also have a sister who is 30, is in a physically abusive relationship and feels unable to leave, despite endless financial and emotional support from family and friends. Our parents died nine years ago in a car accident. Being able to neither carry a child through to full term nor help my sibling out of her desperate situation is extremely painful and is eroding my self-worth. I don't know what to do.

Mariella replies Poor you. One of those experiences would be an emotional knockabout, but the combination is positively killer. Pulling yourself back up while the punches appear to keep on raining down requires reserves of strength that are hard to muster. In such circumstances your sense of perspective becomes unreliable – as you can see from your own letter, your successful marriage and business merit no more than a line.

It's a lonely business when you lose a child not yet arrived in the world. Even your spouse may struggle to feel this body blow to the same extent, no matter how committed he is to creating a family. You're caught in an all-consuming emotional tangle that requires lengthy unravelling after each unborn child. One miscarriage is hard to crawl back from, as I and many other women can attest to. To be required to endure three before you receive further help must seem sadistic, yet it's based on evidence that two may just be misfortune rather than a health issue that needs tackling. Either way, determination is essential when it comes to baby making. These days advances in medical science mean that having a child is more likely than not, so you should remain confident about that eventuality. That's why it's essential that you be kind to yourself and don't overload your expectations by leaping into the ring for another round before you have fully recuperated – physically and mentally.

Your sister's situation is another story. Its narrative interweaves with your own, but you mustn't tally it up as your problem. Watching those we love refuse to extract themselves from destructive relationships and choices is one of life's greatest frustrations. Yet it's only our own distance from their problems that gives us this broad view. For those trapped inside four walls of misery, even the front door can seem an infinity to reach.

If your sister's partner is committing crimes of violence against her and she refuses to seek refuge, you may have to pass the matter on to an outside authority, whether social services or the police. You may be reluctant to dictate your sibling's course of action, which is also understandable. Whatever route you take, you must remove your sister's troubles from the list contributing to your malaise.

Making another adult see reason is a long-term project that has to be free from the influence of our own irrationalities. If you're training as a counsellor or therapist you're taught the skills to brush off your patients' occasionally self-inflicted traumas, otherwise, as the nursery rhyme goes, you "all fall down". Advice and support is only helpful if you maintain detachment – full immersion makes you blind to the path out.

Sitting out here beyond your emotional force field, it's clear that neither scenario relates back to your parents' tragic deaths, yet of course your psyche is tracing one long line from that event. Perhaps it's time to talk to a professional about the tsunami of woe you've been submerged by? Simply getting it all downloaded could offer a fast track to a cure. Taking time out from the hurly burly to indulge your sadness is rarely promoted, but I'm all for a period of recuperation. Sink gently into a cocoon of indulgent sorrow, and sooner or later you'll find it so claustrophobic you need to break free. Nothing ever stays the same. It's as true of bad fortune as it is of good –which is a mercy for you.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman who has moved in with her boyfriend and his abusive mother finds life difficult. Mariella Frostrup says what she needs is simple: a room of her own…
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I have been dating my boyfriend for a year and five months. He is the youngest of four boys, who are married with children, and he is the only one at home. I met his mum two weeks after we started dating and I have been living with them since we got together. His mum is 61 and has been through quite a lot. She looks very old for her age. She smokes, drinks and gambles heavily and moans about everything. She's abusive towards him and constantly shouting at him. She expects us to take her to the casino at least four times a week and pick up all her supplies: cigarettes, alcohol, lottery tickets etc. My boyfriend is used to it, and it kills me when she swears at him. I can't go on like this; he and I are starting to fight. I feel like our lives revolve around this 61-year-old woman. We babysit her; she's rude, never wrong, needs my boyfriend and has made it very clear that she doesn't want to share him.

Mariella replies Yet she's allowed you to move into her home? It sounds to me like she's prepared to share him but on her terms. Times are hard and young people are finding it increasingly difficult to find their feet on the housing ladder, but I'm wondering if affordability and lack of opportunity are the only issues preventing today's young from fleeing the coop.

When I was a teenager the promise of a shared room in a grubby squat in west London was enough of a lure to move country for. We couldn't wait to wrest responsibility from the adults and get on with our own lives. Back in the 1970s getting out from under the watchful gaze of your parents was priority number one.

Living on baked beans, only switching a two-bar heater on when the temperature fell below zero and wearing secondhand clothes that smelled of moth balls and worse seemed a small price to pay for liberation from home, hearth and siblings. Back then fashion choices were simple: Levi's or Wranglers, straight legged or flares, so fashion had minimal claim on our purse strings.

When it came to a home, we weren't afflicted with grand designs or even lowly ones – just an urgent impulse to spread our wings, discover privacy and occasionally sleep until noon, undisturbed. The notion of negotiating TV channels with our parents or having to ask permission to have a friend around after the age of 18 was anathema.

Perhaps it was the short time span between the counterculture revolution of the 60s or sheer naivety on our part, but neither penury nor fear of worse prevented us from grasping independence the moment it was a tangible possibility. To be honest, parents seemed similarly delighted to see the back of us and rediscover their long lost and frequently mourned freedoms.

Nowadays personal responsibility, the Holy Grail for my generation, is increasingly out of fashion. We want to stay young forever and that commitment has a curious infantilising effect on us all. Parents borrow their lifestyle choices from teenagers, while teenagers stay in their bedrooms decades after their expected departure date.

In your letter you talked about your host's bad habits but not her generosity in allowing her son and his girlfriend to live under her roof. Like her or loathe her, she certainly sounds like quite a character and while you depend on her hospitality it seems fair enough that you dance to her tune. If you want to escape her antisocial antics you're going to need to find a room of your own, no matter how cramped and unaffordable.

My worry is that your boyfriend quite enjoys the current dynamic. He has home comforts and the care of both his mother and his playmate. Your letter suggests he's untroubled by his mother's vices and unsupportive of your attempts to assert your independence. It looks like this is your battle and, quite honestly, without his support it's hard to see what you're rolling your sleeves up for. You aren't going to change his mum, and you don't know yet whether he's prepared to make his own life outside her sphere of influence.

In this situation your only choice is how long you're prepared to wait. My advice is to start making plans for your own exit and keep your eyes peeled for signs that he's willing to grow up enough to follow you. If not, he's certainly not worth hanging around the house for. Meanwhile rent the film Tatie Danielle– it might help you to see the funny side of your situation. She and your current landlady have quite a bit in common!

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A woman is fed up with an old friend and wonders if it's time to cut her out of her life. Mariella Frostrup says she should hang on, but first have an honest conversation
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I'm in my late 20s and have been friends with a woman for the last 10 years. I am increasingly thinking that I should cut her out of my life, but I am reluctant to do so as I feel sorry for her and at times she can be a good friend. She has always been quite selfish and jealous and this recently came to a head when I told her I had set a date to marry my partner. She greeted it with indifference and my infrequent attempts to discuss the wedding are met with mumbling and a change of topic. Every time I see her she is negative and I always leave feeling down and angry. We went out recently and she drunkenly told me she wished she had met my partner first which I thought was really inappropriate. I have no doubt that given the chance she would sleep with him. She spent the rest of the night crying on my shoulder about how unhappy she is. Part of me feels that I can't cut her out of my life, as it must be terrible for her to be so unhappy and insecure. I am rubbish with confrontation and challenge, so a fresh perspective would be welcome.

Mariella replies Firstly, well done. Your credentials as a good pal are well and truly established. Many would have flounced out in fury after that last encounter, but impressively you're still hovering about, recognising that your friend's bad behaviour is born more of her own unhappiness than any begrudging issue with yours.

It's an example of the profusion of dysfunctional impulses that underpin many of our closest relationships. Comments, made without guile or forethought, are left unexplored, creating the perfect environment for resentment and suspicion to fester.

In romance we feel the need to zoom in and expound on our partner's foibles in intimate detail; in friendship we tend to do the opposite, avoiding confrontation through fear, lethargy or both. As a result resentment builds like pressure under a volcano. The eventual eruption causes havoc for all in its wake.

You mention your decade-long relationship with this girl, but her positive qualities only in passing. As we mature there are people with whom we run out of steam, but there are also those with whom a little straight talking would prove rewarding. It's a time not to shut up, but to reach out. Don't dodge difficulties by avoiding intimacy. Discarding the years of history and intimacy your friendship has accrued, without dignifying them with discussion, cruelly undervalues what you've shared. It's a coward's way out.

We may desire unquestioning admiration from our intimates, but disciples are rarely a rewarding support network. Perhaps it's the ease with which new people come into our lives, the global catchment offered by the internet, that makes us casual about those we are closest to. Faced with obstacles we glide on, discarding those with whom we have issues, but conversely far more that glues us together.

At a friend's 50th the other night it was salutary to see so many faces who had slipped from sight for decades, guilty of perceived misdemeanours. Petty squabbles that at one time seemed worthy of angry animation had been rendered insignificant by elongating lifelines and increasing proximity to the ultimate oblivion. Sustaining true friendship is a lot more challenging than we give it credit for.

Your friend's coveting of your partner is no doubt a clumsy way of saying something much more profound. You may dread the conversation, but it's surely worth allowing her further explanation. You can't cure her woes, but you might help her air them by initiating a frank debate about the declining state of affairs between you. You have little to lose and the possibility of gaining greater understanding of where both of you might be going wrong.

She may find it impossible to reconcile your version of the friendship with her own, you may fall out, but at the very least instead of fretting about inappropriate remarks, you'll establish what inspired them. Good friends have bad times, and it's worth trying to keep them company through the rough and smooth. It's what we hope they'll do for us.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A man who is recovering from mental illness worries he will lose his partner, who is burnt out from caring for him
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I've been with my partner for seven years. I have suffered from mental illness for most of that time. I'm making a good recovery now, but my partner is burnt out from supporting me while I was ill. We still love each other enormously, but she says she isn't sure whether she can have a "normal" relationship with me now – she doesn't know if she can transition from being more than a "carer". I can't go back and fix the damage my illness has done and I'm putting all my efforts into being well, and being there for her, but I don't feel it is enough. I don't know how to help her move past it, or how to heal the huge amount of resentment she feels towards me. I love her with all my heart and it seems tragic to lose her when we are (at our best) so good together.

Mariella replies Aren't we all! We rub along nicely when the going is good but, unfortunately, it's the rest that pulls us apart. It no doubt seems unfair that just when you have learned to navigate the emotional turbulence of your debilitating illness you face the prospect of losing your anchor.

As you've discovered, weathering difficulties in a relationship draws on specialist skills that can leave the carer feeling washed up and redundant when tranquillity is restored. A nurse's outfit is really only sexy in the bedroom. On a day-to-day basis it loses its allure.

Most of us are conditioned to be attracted to certain types and thrive in a particular dynamic. It's often only when we shed those pre-settings that we experience truly rewarding relationships. In adulthood steering a malfunctioning relationship towards new horizons can feel like an insurmountable challenge. We are creatures of habit, particularly when it comes to the bad ones, and struggle to adjust when called upon to expand beyond behavioural settings hardwired in our youth. As with every emotional tic in adulthood, the roots go back to our formative years.

As the child of an alcoholic father, I took two decades to be attracted to a man who didn't need saving. Choosing the wrong mate time after time based on criteria that we are unaware is blueprinted into us is an all too common experience. We are conditioned to perform particular roles, as you see in families all the time: the unruly one, the caring one, the quiet one, the clingy one. Over time we become addicted to the reaction that performance elicits from those around. It's particularly in evidence when it comes to with the whole nursing and co-dependent business.

Women seem particularly attuned to seeking out not partners but rehabilitation projects, though there are plenty of men who reprise the pillar of strength routine when they could do with support themselves. Learning to appreciate a relationship based on equality of care and mutual support can take practice. I've watched too many couples miraculously negotiate tough times – from addictions and serial adultery to bi-polar disorder– only to fall apart once the normality they aspired to becomes reality.

Some people thrive on strife and stress, while others prefer total tedium. The territory in between those two polar opposites is vast and underpopulated. Our tendency to slip into predetermined patterns isn't reserved solely for those facing the big issues, from mental illness to addiction, bereavement to ill health. In many long-term relationships we lose our ability to see partners for who they are, seeing only who they are around us. Familiarity does breed contempt, and in every partnership you need to find ways to reinvent your interacation with each other and retain the ability to surprise. No doubt you're so relieved to see daylight you are cruising tentatively along enjoying the ebbing forces of your mental disorder. You say all your energy is going into your recovery, but now you need to redirect some of it into your relationship. Seduce your partner into seeing you not as a patient requiring care, nurture and support but as a man able to survive and flourish without her if necessary, but with her if possible.

Experiencing your relationship with another human (other than your children) as a burden of responsibility, rather than a positive choice, is not conductive to long-term happiness. Being a carer is an exhausting role and leaves little room for excitement, romance or respect to flourish, elements compulsory for any relationship to fizzle along, let alone burn bright.

It sounds like this woman of yours could do with an excess of attention on her for a change and that may require you to step up from your previous passive role. To make a full recovery you have to be able to survive and thrive independently. Happily that's exactly how to show your partner you are not simply the man she thinks you are. Go to it!

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1

A young woman can't stop fantasising about a man who works in a bicycle store. Mariella Frostrup thinks it might be time to buy a new bike…
If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk

The dilemma I only seem to be attracted to unavailable men, which has turned into a real issue and is making my life miserable, as it has been nearly a year since I last had sex and I'm becoming frustrated. I am a  24-year-old woman and I came out of an abusive relationship at the beginning of the year. For a few months I have been attracted to a man who works in a bicycle store opposite my uncle's shop – I can't stop thinking about him and fantasising. He most likely barely knows I exist. My uncle and his family know each other, but aren't close. As it stands, this man and I have no reason to communicate. I can't seem to fancy anyone else and I want to be able to start looking at available men. All my friends are in real, adult relationships, and I feel immature and delusional. Please help me.

Mariella replies I barely need to. Judging by your letter, you are well on your way to helping yourself. Simply being able to recognise where you are going wrong is an important step in the right direction. Thank heaven for fantasies: they're like chocolate in the afternoon – a harmless boost to the humdrum day that keeps you perky. Who could survive without that? I see no reason why you shouldn't obsess about the man unless he's already taken or has a murky past with women. If there's a danger of returning to the familiar terrain of the abusive relationship, avoid it at all costs.

You don't illuminate me on this man's unique qualities, only his profession, but I'm sure he must have plenty to recommend him, given that he ignites such lustful desire.

The trick to solving your problems is to be brutally honest with yourself about what you're after and then take action. If your priority is ending your period of sexual abstinence, he may well be the answer to your dreams. If you want an adult relationship with a chance of survival, who knows, he may well be the guy for that, too. The point is you'll never know by viewing him like some storefront mannequin.

Whether you're into bikes or not is irrelevant. Love makes actors of us all at some point or other! You need to take action. Most relationships begin irrationally, so embarking on an affair with someone you fancy is perfectly natural. Even the most stultifyingly boring marriages began with a spark.

What's worrying me about your behaviour is that this relationship seems only to exist in your head. The man you're mooning about hasn't an inkling of your passionately beating heart. Wouldn't it be a good idea to ascertain whether he's worthy of all that longing, or likely to reciprocate? It's not as if he's locked up in an office and hard to engineer an encounter with. All you need to do to check whether the attraction is mutual is to pretend to peruse the bicycles he has on offer.

Any form of interaction, no matter how feigned or mundane, would be better than what you are settling for. A brief conversation about bike brands and tyre pressures may lead to a fabulously exciting affair. Lasting love is on offer in many unlikely places, but the qualities to sustain it tend to be far more predictable. Your longing for the bike man has every chance of being not just requited but returned – however, his qualifications for long-term commitment are hard to establish while you are blinded by lust.

All relationships require a degree of mutual physical attraction to get the flames started, but committing to a long union based solely on sex appeal is a big mistake. I could count on one hand the couples I know whose relationship has passed the 10-year mark that still count sex as top of their list of leisure activities. Companionship and tolerance, supportive co-parenting, mutual interests or plenty of independence to pursue opposing ones, shared political beliefs, harmonious cohabitation of the kitchen and bathroom – all of these figure much higher in a tick list of what will keep you together long term. Right now you are enjoying neither sex nor sustainable romance.

Fantasising about this spanner-wielding stranger while not even braving a hello is plain immature. You need to make a move or move on. Normally I'm advising my correspondents to think harder about their particular problems, but in your case I strongly urge you to stop doing so. You're 24, and your life stretches ahead with enviable longevity. Go out, have fun, flirt, but keep your senses alert for a guy who has more to offer. You'll be endlessly surprised by where positive action can take you – even a conversation about bicycles can have hidden depths.

If you have a dilemma, send a brief email to mariella.frostrup@observer.co.uk. Follow Mariella on Twitter @mariellaf1