“We did the work. We cried. We repaired. Now what?”

For many couples, therapy ends not in collapse or triumph—but in a strange, quiet plateau.

They leave the therapist’s office with a set of tools, a few shared phrases (“is this a protest behavior?”), and maybe even a laminated communication card.

But in the months that follow, the intimacy starts to dull like a kitchen knife used without sharpening. The rituals fade. The conflict patterns sneak back like raccoons through a back fence.

Welcome to the post-therapy plateau.

This under-discussed stretch of time—after therapy ends but before change is fully lived-in—is becoming a serious topic of inquiry among relationship researchers and clinicians.

And the best minds in the field are starting to ask: How do couples keep growing when the therapist isn’t in the room anymore?

If you’re depressed and skipping breakfast, science has something tepid and interesting to say: they might be related.

But not in the way your grandmother insisted when she told you, “No toast, no future.”

A new study out of Hong Kong (Wong et al., 2024) suggests there’s a statistically significant—though clinically modest—link between skipping breakfast and depressive symptoms in young people.

The mechanism? Impaired attentional control, which might be the scientific equivalent of staring into space while someone tells you your GPA is tanking.

But before we panic and declare war on empty stomachs, let’s consider what this research really tells us—and what it doesn’t.

We will explore this from two angles: with compassion for the human condition and suspicion for our overeager interpretations of weak correlations.

Once upon a Tuesday, a woman stabbed her husband with a kitchen knife—not out of rage, or revenge, or some carefully cataloged betrayal, but because she believed he had seduced her younger sister.

He hadn’t. But her brain told her otherwise.

This wasn’t a Shakespearean tragedy, though the name it now carries—Othello syndrome—tips its hat to the Bard.

This was a clinical case report out of Morocco (Hjiej et al., 2024), published in Neurocase, where a seemingly ordinary stroke turned into a portal for psychotic jealousy.

Welcome to the strange land where blood clots spark betrayal, thalami go rogue, and love, quite literally, loses its mind.

Falling for someone new can feel exhilarating.

The long texts, the spontaneous gifts, the breathless compliments—it all adds up to a heady cocktail of romance.

But sometimes, what seems like a dream come true is actually the opening act of manipulation.

Let’s revisit love bombing—a tactic often used by those with narcissistic or controlling traits to gain rapid influence over a partner through overwhelming affection and attention (Stines, 2017).

Unlike healthy romantic excitement, love bombing often feels too intense too fast, and leaves you emotionally dizzy.

Below are 7 subtle signs that may indicate you're not being adored—you’re being targeted.

Somewhere in the middle of the second champagne toast, just after Cousin Brian quoted Friends in his speech for no reason, and just before the band started in on “Don’t Stop Believin’,” you realized:

This wedding is not about love.

It’s about keeping the family from combusting long enough to get through a group photo.

There you are, dabbing at your sweat, trying to pretend this isn’t the first time your divorced parents have been in the same room in a decade.

Meanwhile, your sister is floating through the day in a Vera Wang dress, surrounded by florals and metaphors.

Everyone is smiling, including the ghosts.

Once upon a time, a kind Southern Baptist marriage counselor gave us a miracle. It had 5 parts, it came with a quiz, and it fit on a fridge magnet.

We called it The Five Love Languages.

You know the types.

• Words of affirmation.

• Acts of service.

• Receiving gifts.

• Quality time.

• Physical touch.

Chapman’s premise was simple: if we can just speak each other’s “language,” we’ll finally feel loved.

And like many simple ideas, it went absolutely feral in the wild.

From Owensboro barns packed with unridden bicycles to cloud drives overflowing with decades of “someday” emails, Kentuckians are skilled at holding on—both to things and to feelings.

On good days, that instinct is an art form: it protects heirloom quilts, handwritten recipes, and the emotional echoes of tent revivals and front-porch stories.

But on harder days, it slips into something heavier: hoarding.

Not just of physical objects, but of grief, regret, unfinished conversations, and the past itself.

The American Psychiatric Association now defines hoarding disorder as more than just clutter.

It becomes a clinical issue when the thought of letting go—of anything—triggers distress, panic, or even despair (American Psychiatric Association, 2023).

Whether it’s stacks of yellowing newspapers or unspoken resentments filed away in the mind, the struggle is real.

And often, emotional hoarding hides beneath the surface long before a family realizes what they’re up against.

If you’ve ever sat in a circle of adults who’ve lost a spouse, packed up their childhood home, survived their parents, or outlived their regrets—you know what emotional hoarding looks like.

It’s not about being broken. It’s about being full. Too full.

And like a suitcase with a busted zipper, it just doesn’t close right anymore.

That’s where the Eye of the Needle Ritual comes in.

Inspired by that famous Gospel mic-drop—"It’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God"—this group exercise invites people to imagine themselves as spiritual millionaires.

Not in gold or crypto, but in emotional inheritance.

Some of it earned, much of it imposed, and nearly all of it overdue for sorting.

Here’s how to run it like a pro therapist—or at least like a well-meaning soul with a clipboard and a knack for asking hard questions gently.

Let’s not sugarcoat this: Parenting in 2025 is already hard.

Now try parenting while your partner is cycling through depression, or struggling with panic attacks, or sobbing quietly in the bathroom while your kid finishes their math homework at the kitchen table.

You love your children. You love your partner.

But when the weight of mental illness seeps into your daily life like a fog that doesn't lift, you start asking yourself impossible questions:

“Should I tell them?”
“What if I say the wrong thing?”
“Are they already scared?”
“Am I failing them?”

Here’s the good news, friend: You are not failing.

You’re just in the thick of a very human story—one in which truth, care, and gentle honesty can do a lot more good than silence ever could.

By 2023, half of America was flying solo. And not just metaphorically.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, 46.4% of American adults were single.

A record-breaking number—32% of women and 37% of men—had never married. That’s not just a blip. It’s a demographic moonwalk away from the altar.

So who are these long-term solo dwellers?

Are they independent spirits with excellent taste in throw pillows? Or is there something—psychologically speaking—that separates the coupled from the contentedly (or not-so-contentedly) uncoupled?

Turns out, personality may be part of the story.

The Moment Before the Kiss (Or Why Intimacy Isn’t What You Think)

Most intimacy theories feel like they were written by well-adjusted people in soft lighting.

You’ve got your Bowlby (1988), your Hazan & Shaver (1987), your Gottman ratios, your Perelian erotic mysteries. The usual suspects.

And to be fair, they’ve given us a solid foundation. Attachment theory tells us why we reach out—or run. Gottman gives us conflict blueprints.

Perel reminds us not to become our partner’s HR department.

But something’s still missing.

Not just in theory. In practice. In the actual counseling room.

In the couple sitting across from me—still technically married, still doing the dishes, still “working on communication,” and yet somehow lonelier than ever.

And what’s missing is this:

Most intimacy models assume people want closeness. But they forget how much effort goes into not drowning in it.

Which brings me to a theory I’ve started sketching in the margins of my session notes. Let’s jump in.

He Left the Milk Out. Again.

You’re furious. He’s stonewalling.

The fight escalates over toast crumbs, but what you're really arguing about is everything and nothing.

Welcome to the world of the neurotic love spiral—where small slights hit like betrayals, and reactions seem to come with surround sound.

A recent study in Sexual and Relationship Therapy suggests that people high in neuroticism aren’t doomed to unhappy relationships—but they are more likely to sabotage them with poor conflict habits (Lange et al., 2024).

And the fix isn’t fewer feelings. It’s fewer blowups.