Here’s something quiet but true:

Most men are emotionally underfed.

Not because they don’t care. Not because they lack feeling.

But because praise—the kind that names a person’s goodness without condition—is rare.

Ask the average man when he last heard something like:

• “You’re incredibly thoughtful.”

• “Your presence makes people feel safe.”

• “You have such a kind way of seeing the world.”

Many will say they can’t remember. Some will say never.

This isn’t accidental.

It’s social conditioning. It’s cultural machinery. It’s a centuries-old masculinity template that treats praise as performance payment—not a basic human need.

This post explores how we got here, what it’s doing to men, and how to repair the emotional ecosystem we’ve let collapse.

Where Are the Compliments?

You look amazing.
You’re such a good listener.
That idea you had? It stuck with me for days.

Now take a moment to remember the last time someone said that to you—unprompted, sincerely, without a performance agenda.

Hard to recall?

We are, as a culture, in the middle of a Compliment Crisis. Praise has become performative, awkward, ironic, or suspiciously entangled with flattery.

We issue "likes" but not warm language.

We compliment your post but not your soul. We’ve got a vocabulary for “slay queen” but not “you matter to me.”

This post explores how praise got weird, how its absence is harming our relationships and mental health, and how to reclaim the art of real compliments—even if it makes us feel weird at first.

What Happened to Compliments?

You’re not hallucinating. They never say sorry.

Not when they forget your birthday.

Not when they bring up your worst childhood insecurity in front of your in-laws.

Not even when they back into your car and say, “Well, you parked weird.”

They may offer a stiff pat on the shoulder. They may grunt and hand you a cookie.

But “I’m sorry”?

That phrase has apparently been redacted from their emotional vocabulary like it’s a CIA document.

So why do some people treat apologies like uranium—too dangerous to touch?

This post is for anyone who's ever sat across from a loved one waiting for an apology that never arrived, wondering, “Am I asking too much?”

Short answer: No. Long answer: Let’s dive in.

The Ghost Town in Your Pocket

Remember when your group chat was pure digital chaos? A bubbling stream of memes, existential spirals, inside jokes, and spontaneous plans no one followed through on?

Now it’s… silent. Someone drops a photo. One pity heart. Two people leave the chat. The rest lurk like ghosts in a haunted Slack channel.

What happened?

The group chat—a once-vibrant cultural ritual—has become a digital ghost town.

This post explores why the group chat is dying and what this slow collapse reveals about friendship, identity, neurodivergence, and our ability to communicate when the vibes are off.

It’s not just that we’re busy.

Revenge Is Older Than Law—and Smarter Than You Think

You’ve been wronged. You know the feeling: a hot surge in your chest, your jaw tightens, and a private, primal voice whispers: They deserve to pay.

What’s happening is not just emotional—it’s neurological. And it’s not unique to you.

The urge for revenge is older than civilization.

It’s coded into your nervous system. But it doesn’t live in the brain alone—it’s fed and shaped by the stories your culture tells about justice, power, and what it means to reclaim dignity.

What we call revenge is a collision between evolution’s wiring and culture’s programming. To understand it, you probably need both a brain scan and a history book.

You didn’t burn out from war or famine.

You burned out because your email had too many tabs.
Because the laundry needed folding before you could start your project.

Because you had to call your insurance company again.

And then… nothing. Your brain hit a wall, and suddenly brushing your teeth felt like climbing Everest.

Sound familiar? You’re not lazy. You’re not dramatic. You’re probably neurodivergent. And this? This is what functional collapse looks like.

This isn't about cold spouses or broken marriages. It's about a silent epidemic of relational over-functioning, often cloaked in praise:

“You’re so emotionally attuned.”
“You always know what I need.”
“I don’t know how I’d get through life without you.”

At first, it feels flattering. Then exhausting. Then invisible.

If you've ever felt like a therapist with benefits, this post is for you. And before we get into the cultural why, let’s begin with a little diagnostic quiz.

QUIZ: Are You the Emotional Support Spouse?

In today’s emotionally literate landscape, the perfect partner isn’t just attractive or kind—they’re fluent in trauma discourse, trigger-aware, and available for real-time co-regulation.

But somewhere between “hold space for me” and “you’re my safe person”, one partner often ends up doing the heavy lifting. Not emotionally distant. Not neglectful. Just… quietly depleted.

Welcome to the world of the Emotional Support Spouse—a term that began as a meme and is now looking more like a quiet epidemic of relational burnout.

“Delivered.” Read. Nothing.

If group chats were sitcoms, we’re in Season 5. Everyone’s still in it out of inertia, the spark is gone, and the only one laughing is someone reacting with the laugh emoji... three days later.

But something weirder is happening too: As group chats implode or fade into awkward digital purgatory, many of us are migrating to a quieter, stranger alternative…

We’re talking to ourselves.

In a thread.

That we named.

And pinned.

Welcome to the age of The One-Person Group Chat.

You’re the admin. You’re the audience. You’re the chaos.

And perhaps you’re the only one who actually listens.

You know the type. Maybe you are the type.

Break up. Make up. Cry. Cling. Cold silence. Hot sex. Another cryptic post on Instagram. Wash. Rinse. Self-destruct. Repeat.

Welcome to the land of the rupture addict—a rising meme and a real psychological dynamic that explains why so many couples can’t stop circling the drain of emotional chaos.

This post unpacks the science, history, and heartbreak of rupture addiction—and how to love someone stuck in the cycle without losing your sanity or your sense of self.

A massive new study published in Addictive Behaviors has charted fresh territory in how we understand gaming—not as a monolith of “good” or “bad” habits, but as a nuanced psychological landscape shaped by emotional regulation, mental health, and attachment styles.

With over 5,000 participants from 112 countries, the research identified four distinct psychological profiles of gamers: Avoidant, Engaged, Relational, and Dysregulated.

Each profile offers insight not only into how people play—but why.

Led by researchers from ISPA – Instituto Universitário and the APPsyCI Applied Psychology Research Center, this study takes an unusually inclusive and clinically grounded approach, aiming to give therapists and clinicians something far richer than screen-time limits or diagnostic labels.

“We wanted to understand not just problematic gaming,” said study authors Cátia Martins Castro and David Dias Neto, “but the full spectrum—including healthy, adaptive relationships with video games.”

One of you says “inner child activation.” The other says “Huh?”

Let’s say your partner just told you about a stressful day. You respond with genuine love: "Wow, that sucks. Want to order Thai and take a bath?" Instead of relaxing, they raise an eyebrow and ask, "Can we name the part of you that wants to avoid this rupture?"

You blink. Thai food is canceled.

Welcome to the Therapy Language Gap—where one partner speaks fluent IFS, somatic cueing, and attachment rupture, and the other speaks plain old human.

When Insight Becomes Its Own Dialect