In the BDSM community, “aftercare” is a well-known and cherished practice.

It refers to the tender, intentional care provided to a partner after an intense experience—particularly for a submissive partner who may have been (consensually) physically or emotionally vulnerable during the encounter.

For many, this post-intimacy ritual is as essential as the experience itself, if not more so. But aftercare isn’t just for BDSM.

In fact, for souls with a trauma history, aftercare can be a lifeline—a bridge between past wounds and present love.

The Christian doctrine of ordo amoris—the idea that love must be properly ordered in a divine hierarchy—has long shaped theological and ethical discussions.

From Augustine to Aquinas to C.S. Lewis, Christian thought has framed love as something to be ranked, structured, and disciplined.

But beneath the surface of this doctrine lies an implicit, often unspoken reality: ordo amoris may function less as a true ethical framework and more as an inventory of social capital—an ideological system that organizes human relationships in ways that sustain social, religious, and economic hierarchies.

In post we will explore how ordo amoris has historically served as a ledger of obligations, a method of managing social bonds, and a theological tool for maintaining power.

If love is something to be ranked, prioritized, and allocated, then who benefits from this system? And who gets left out?

There was a time when if you told someone your father wasn’t speaking to you, they’d assume it was because you crashed his Buick or stole money from his wallet.

Now, they assume you set a boundary.

Welcome to therapy culture: the religion of our modern age.

While our ancestors fretted over sin and salvation, we wring our hands over trauma and self-actualization.

We used to confide in a Imam, rabbi, or priest. Now we unload on a therapist (or, more commonly, the internet).

Instead of redemption, we seek closure.

Instead of community, we have self-care.

Instead of a Higher Power, we have, (most appropriately) our inner child.

And, in many ways, this shift has done wonders—destigmatizing mental health struggles, improving emotional intelligence.

But, like all religions, therapy culture has its excesses, hypocrisies, and unintended consequences. So let’s talk about it.

It’s ok. I’m a marriage and family therapist.

Evolutionary psychology (EP) is the field that insists every weird human behavior—from falling in love to overspending on throw pillows—can be explained by the survival strategies of our prehistoric ancestors.

It tells us that men hoard wealth because cavewomen loved mammoth hunters, and women prefer taller men because Neanderthal Chad had better rock-throwing skills.

It’s a compelling theory, and in fairness, EP does have its moments.

But too often, it veers into “just-so stories,” sloppy science, and some suspiciously convenient explanations for why the world is the way it is (and why we shouldn’t bother changing it).

More troublingly, it tends to treat humans less like self-aware souls and more like confused primates still fumbling through modern life with prehistoric instincts.

So, let’s take a closer look at the cracks in EP’s foundation—because humans deserve a better story.

Imagine our hearts as finely tuned instruments—ones that have long played the reliable melody of monogamy, a tune steeped in centuries of commitment, deep emotional intimacy, and the quiet wisdom of restraint.

Yet today, in our dynamic world of relationships, some advocate for a radical emotional upgrade: consensual non-monogamy. But must we rush to rewire a system that has served us so well?

Recent research in the Archives of Sexual Behavior by Arter and Bunge (n.d.) provides a fascinating glimpse into open relationships. In their study, 51 adults—with relationship experiences ranging from 3 to 50 years—participated in lengthy, in-depth interviews. Their findings revealed a rich tapestry of emotional highs and lows.

Hello,gentle readers! In this post, we’re diving deep into the uniquely American take on relational commitment—a notion wrapped in the same aspirational rhetoric as the American Dream.

In the U.S., commitment is often painted as an epic journey toward a “perfect” partnership, full of promise and high expectations.

But does setting such lofty standards help or hinder lasting love? Let’s examine the research and explore whether American views on commitment are inherently problematic.

In an era dominated by self‑promotion on social media and a consumer culture that appeals to our most primitive, emotion‑driven responses, two interlocking forces—Cultural Narcissism and Limbic Capitalism—have emerged as defining features of modern society.

Yet, in the midst of this hyper‑individualistic and emotionally charged landscape, the family compound—multigenerational, co‑living arrangements where extended families pool resources and support—offers a striking counterbalance.

In this post, we delve into the emerging history of the family compound meme, examine the forces of cultural narcissism and limbic capitalism, and explore how these communal living arrangements may both express and buffer against such trends.

Love is a battlefield, but before you even get to the trenches, there’s a bigger question: Are you ready for a serious relationship?

If you think the answer lies deep in your attachment style, the latest research suggests you might want to reconsider.

According to a new study in the Journal of Social and Personal Relationships (Yang et al., 2024), your friends—yes, those meddling, opinionated, and brutally honest people—might actually be better at assessing your commitment readiness than you are.

Even more intriguing?

While Attachment Theory still dominates pop-psychology discourse, newer models of relationship psychology suggest our ability to commit isn’t as neatly dictated by childhood experiences as once thought.

Here’s one for you. Two spiritual practices walk into a neuroscience lab. One, Tenzin Kunga a Buddhist monk, radiating calm, his mind locked in deep, undisturbed jhāna meditation.

The other, Bobby Joe Buford, a charismatic Christian, eyes closed, hands lifted, speaking in tongues with fervent abandon.

At first glance, they couldn’t be more different—one the epitome of stillness, the other of ecstatic movement.

But according to a study in the American Journal of Human Biology, they might just be running the same cognitive software.

Welcome to the “Attention, Arousal, and Release Spiral,” the latest brain hack hiding in plain sight across religious traditions.

Neuroscientists have uncovered that Buddhist meditation and glossolalia (the fancy term for speaking in tongues) trigger a similar feedback loop in the brain, leading to deep states of joy and surrender.

This suggests that despite their stylistic differences—monks doing their best impression of a human statue while Pentecostals go full rock concert—both traditions may have independently cracked the code on how to hack the mind into peak spiritual experience.

Dating in 2025 has reached a new level of efficiency—or self-sabotage, depending on your perspective. Enter loud looking, the latest relationship trend that takes the subtlety out of dating and replaces it with aggressive marketing.

If you've ever dreamed of turning your love life into a public relations campaign, this might just be your moment.

The premise of loud looking is simple: instead of playing it cool and dropping hints about your availability, you declare your dating intentions to the world as loudly as possible.

This can involve announcing on social media that you're actively looking for a partner, wearing clothing that literally says "single," or peppering every conversation with a well-placed, "By the way, I am VERY available." It’s transparency taken to an almost religious level, as if honesty and volume were the same thing.

The avoidant partner is the romantic equivalent of a cat that only wants affection when they decide it’s time.

One minute, they’re present and affectionate; the next, they’ve retreated into their own world, leaving you wondering if they were secretly hired by the Witness Protection Program.

But before you assume they just don’t care, let’s dive into the psychology behind avoidant attachment and explore how you can support your partner without losing yourself in the process.

Human relationships are messy, complicated, and occasionally ridiculous.

One of the most paradoxical dynamics in modern attachment research is the magnetic pull between anxiously attached and avoidantly attached partners.

The anxious craves intimacy; the avoidant craves distance.

Yet, like moths to an emotional flame, they find each other, dance their dysfunctional waltz, and often end up confirming each other's worst fears about love.

This isn’t just another case of "Attachment Astrology," where we stick labels on people and doom them to cosmic incompatibility.

Modern attachment research is moving beyond the simplistic categories of Anxious, Avoidant, and Secure.

Instead, we’re starting to see how attachment exists on a spectrum, shaped by neurobiology, life experience, and even cultural influences.