There are three common mistakes therapists make with consensual non-monogamy (CNM).

They pathologize it.
They romanticize it.
Or they tiptoe around it.

None of those are clinical positions.

The task is not to decide whether polyamory is enlightened or regressive.

The task is to determine whether the partners attempting it possess the psychological capacity to metabolize its complexity.

Polyamory does not increase relational complexity.
It reveals it.

And revelation is rarely gentle.

We like to believe our political beliefs are principled.

That we reason our way into them.
That we compare arguments, weigh evidence, and arrive—earnestly—at a moral position.

Recent psychological research suggests something less flattering and far more useful.

Much of our political thinking appears to be organized around a simpler question:

Who might hurt me—and what would it cost to keep them from doing so?

Not rhetorically.
Not emotionally.
Physically. Socially. Economically.

The kinds of harm human beings have always organized themselves to avoid

Something odd has happened to modern intimacy, and it didn’t announce itself politely.

We are the first generation expected to understand our inner lives exhaustively while they are happening.

In real time.
With footnotes.

We narrate our feelings as they arise.
We contextualize them historically.
We soften them preemptively so no one feels accused.

And we do all of this while trying to stay desirable, solvent, emotionally regulated, and morally correct.

It is an enormous amount of work.

Lifestyle creep is a euphemism.

A friendly word for something structural.

It is the slow conversion of flexibility into obligation.

A raise becomes a bigger house.
The bigger house becomes higher stakes.
Higher stakes become permanent output.

Nothing irresponsible happens.
Everything looks reasonable on paper.

But over time, your life stops being adjustable.

Here is the real definition:

Lifestyle creep is what happens when your future becomes collateral.

It is not about spending more.
It is about losing exits.

Interpretive control is the quiet power to decide what things mean.

Not what happened.
Not who did what.
But what it counts as.

And in modern life, that distinction is everything.

The person with interpretive control does not need to block your actions, contradict your memory, or raise their voice.

They only need to explain the situation first—and well enough that their explanation becomes the default setting.

Once that happens, disagreement sounds irrational.

Extreme self-care did not begin as indulgence.
It began as containment.

It emerged when high-functioning people kept collapsing in ways discipline could not explain.

The term took shape in late-1990s professional coaching culture, particularly among founders, trainers, and high-throughput consultants operating beyond sustainable physiological limits.

This was not wellness branding. It was damage control.

“Extreme” did not mean luxurious.
It meant non-negotiable.

The Case Coaching Culture Learned From—Quietly.

What is NATO Dating?

NATO dating is best understood not as a phase of dating, but as a relational structure.

It preserves intimacy while deferring cost.

There is closeness.
There is emotional access.
There is often sexual familiarity.

But there is no direction, no definition, and—crucially—no shared risk.

Everything feels provisional.
Nothing becomes binding.

This is not confusion.
It is architecture.

Most therapists are trained—explicitly or implicitly—to treat gratitude as an unalloyed good.

Say thank you. Mean it. Feel it. Express it. Build the bond.

Regulate the nervous system. Everyone leaves warmer.

This study suggests something far more uncomfortable.

Gratitude does not just lubricate relationships.
It rearranges the hierarchy inside them.

And once you see that, you just can’t unsee it.

For a long time, dating rewarded illegibility.

You were supposed to imply without stating.
Care without committing.
Desire without consequence.

Opacity was framed as sophistication. Ambiguity passed for depth.

Clear-coding ends that arrangement.

Clear-coding is the refusal to participate in relational guesswork. It is the emerging norm that says:

if someone has to decode your behavior to understand your intentions, the system is already broken.

What’s changing is not how people feel.
It’s what they are willing to tolerate.

Decentering men is not a meme, even if memes are how many people first encounter it.

At its core, decentering men refers to removing male romantic attention as the primary organizing force of a woman’s emotional, temporal, and psychological life—without rejecting intimacy itself.

What looks like humor online is often the public language for a private reckoning.

Many women are no longer structuring their choices, schedules, nervous systems, or sense of self around being chosen.

Romance becomes optional rather than foundational. Partnership becomes a choice rather than a proof of adulthood.

This is not a rejection of love.
It is a reordering of meaning.

This is not a technology blog. It is a relationship blog that keeps encountering the same disturbance under different names.

Couples come in describing a thinning of friction. Less arguing. Less rupture. Less repair. Less need.

What sounds like maturity at first eventually reveals itself as something else: relational offloading.

At first, this offloading hides inside work schedules. Or parenting logistics. Or endless scrolling framed as rest.

More recently, it has begun to appear as companionship without consequence.

Which is why artificial intelligence—specifically affectionate, emotionally responsive AI—keeps surfacing here, even though this site has no interest in software qua software.

What matters is not the machine.

What matters is what we are asking it to carry for us.

There are many theories about what makes sex good.

Chemistry. Safety. Timing. Trauma. Attachment.
Lighting purchased during a brief but meaningful phase of adulthood.

But according to a new study, we may have been overlooking the most basic variable of all:

Knowing what things are called.

Not metaphorically.
Not poetically.

Literally.

Words. Nouns. Anatomy.

Researchers asked young adults to do something radical:
Look at a diagram and name the parts.

No Google.
No euphemisms.
No vague gesturing toward the lower hemisphere of the body like a Victorian relative has just entered the room.

Just: What is this?

What followed was not erotic.
But it was revealing.