In an age where therapy has become as customizable as a Starbucks order—"I’ll take a half-caf attachment repair with a sprinkle of somatic reprocessing"—it was only a matter of time before someone came up with Cultural Family Therapy (CFT).

This, dear reader, is what happens when family therapy meets anthropology at a cocktail party and decides to birth an intellectual lovechild over too many glasses of decolonized wine.

CFT purports to integrate transcultural psychiatry, which is a dignified way of saying: "Your problems aren’t just yours; they belong to your ancestors, your nation, and possibly the entire geopolitical history of your ethnicity" (Kirmayer, 2012).

While acknowledging cultural influences in therapy is important, CFT externalizes problems to such a degree that it risks undermining personal agency (Bourdieu, 1977).

The modern couple, be they married, cohabitating, or entangled in a situationship, eventually faces one inescapable fact: one of them wants sex more than the other.

It’s a universal constant, like entropy or the fact that socks vanish in the dryer. If you are in a relationship where this is not true, congratulations, you are either newly in love or one of you is lying.

For centuries, humans have insisted that love is chemistry—a cocktail of hormones, pheromones, and unconscious signals that tell us, "This person is The One."

But recent neuroscience suggests that it’s not just about chemistry—it’s about synchrony.

Brain-imaging studies show that couples in strong relationships literally synchronize their brainwaves during deep conversations (Pérez et al., 2019).

When two people are emotionally attuned, their neurons fire in harmony, creating a kind of neurological duet.

For centuries, poets, philosophers, and marketing executives have sold us the idea that love is a mystical force—an invisible connection between two souls, transcending time and space.

Science, as usual, has a much less poetic but more useful explanation: Love is built, quite literally, through effort.

A groundbreaking study by Norton, Mochon, and Ariely (2012) found that people place more value on things they helped create—a phenomenon known as the IKEA Effect.

Originally tested with poorly assembled furniture and lumpy origami, this principle applies just as powerfully to romantic relationships.

Monogamy, for all its virtues, comes with a wildly misleading premise: If you’re happy, you won’t cheat.

This assumption has fueled self-help books, therapy sessions, and late-night tearful conversations over lukewarm coffee. It’s also completely wrong.

A massive study by Selterman et al. (2021) found that plenty of people in satisfying, loving relationships still cheat.

Not because their partner is failing them, but because they’re chasing novelty, self-exploration, or the fleeting thrill of being desired by someone new.

In other words, monogamy isn’t about happiness. It’s about values, impulse control, and how many chances you get to betray your partner without being caught.

Couples therapy has a timing problem.

Older American couples tend to treat it like a Hail Mary, something to try when the relationship is already circling the drain.

But research shows that therapy is only effective if couples go before their problems reach a point of no return (Gottman & Silver, 1999).

By the time many couples actually book an appointment, they’ve already spent years stockpiling resentment, emotionally disengaging, or outright fantasizing about life without each other.

The biggest relationship killer isn’t conflict, boredom, or even infidelity.

It’s waiting too long to fix what’s broken.

When people imagine the secret to lasting love, they tend to think big. Grand romantic gestures. Passionate declarations.

The kind of sweeping moments that make it into movies—the airport chase, the surprise engagement, the violin-accompanied apology scene.

But John Gottman’s research tells a very different story.

According to his Love Lab studies, what actually predicts whether a couple will last isn’t how often they declare their love, but how often they turn toward each other in the smallest, most mundane moments (Gottman, 1999).

What does that mean?

It means that the way you respond to something as trivial as “Hey, look at that bird” has a bigger impact on your relationship than a dozen candlelit anniversaries.

For decades, relationship researchers focused on how couples fight—their conflict patterns, escalation cycles, and the dreaded Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

But recent research suggests that it’s not the fights themselves that predict divorce—it’s how each partner is wired to experience connection, safety, and emotional intimacy (Simpson & Rholes, 2017).

In other words, it’s not just the fire of conflict that burns relationships down—it’s whether the couple knows how to put the fire out before it consumes everything.

Somewhere in the dim corridors of evolutionary psychology, a grand bargain was struck: men would hunt, women would gather, and marriage would make sure both parties stayed well-fed.

Fast-forward to modern Poland, and the evidence suggests the deal might have gotten out of hand. According to a recent study, married men are over three times as likely to be obese as their unmarried counterparts (Cicha-Mikolajczyk et al., 2024).

This, of course, begs the question: Does matrimony come with an invisible side of weight gain, or are we merely witnessing the gravitational pull of domesticity?

Recent longitudinal research suggests that women with higher levels of self-acceptance are less likely to develop problematic pornography use.

Additionally, frequent pornography consumption among women is linked to difficulties in engaging in goal-directed behaviors. These findings, published in Computers in Human Behavior, shed light on the psychological mechanisms behind pornography use among women—a topic historically studied with a strong focus on men.

The neurodiversity umbrella refers to the broad spectrum of neurological differences that exist within the human population.

It encompasses a wide range of conditions and cognitive variations, recognizing them as part of natural human diversity rather than as disorders that need to be fixed or cured.

The term neurodiversity itself, coined by sociologist Judy Singer in the 1990s, suggests that neurological differences should be acknowledged and respected like any other form of human variation.

John Gottman’s research on marriage is unsettling because it forces us to abandon romanticized ideas of love and acknowledge something far less poetic: relationships are governed by observable, measurable behaviors.

In his Love Lab, where he and his team analyzed thousands of couples, he identified four distinct behaviors that reliably predict the collapse of relationships with over 90% accuracy (Gottman & Levenson, 1992).

He called them The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Criticism, Contempt, Defensiveness, and Stonewalling. They do not announce themselves with dramatic breakups or passionate betrayals. They whisper, erode, and rot relationships from the inside out.

What makes them particularly insidious is that they often masquerade as normal—many couples engage in them for years without realizing they are cultivating resentment.

This research is provocative not just because it is predictive, but because it challenges the myth of catharsis—the idea that fights clear the air, that venting relieves pressure, that explosive arguments cleanse a relationship.

The truth is far less comforting: it is not the big fights that end relationships. It is the mundane accumulation of small, negative interactions over time.