When the sun goes down and the blue light filters are on, it turns out your body may have its own secret sleep hack—and no, it’s not warm milk or a meditation podcast narrated by a sleepy otter.

A new pilot study published in Sleep Health suggests that sex—whether partnered or solo—isn't just fun and occasionally complicated, but also objectively good for your sleep.

That’s right. Not just “I feel like I slept better” good, but measurably better. As in: less time staring at the ceiling, more time in deliciously uninterrupted sleep.

Let’s break down the pillow talk.

In the digital age, a curious spiritual renaissance has unfolded not in pews but on TikTok and Instagram.

Two distinct aesthetic movements—Catholiccore and Orthodoxcore—have emerged as memetic subcultures steeped in sacred longing.

They offer not only beauty and nostalgia but also ideological counterweights to postmodern fragmentation. These are not just trends but visual theologies, each animated by the hunger for form, ritual, and transcendence.

They are acts of digital devotion, remixed through filters and longing.

Between Incense and Iron

He kneels during the Agnus Dei, a tear slipping past his cheekbone as incense curls upward through the cathedral rafters. After Mass, he’ll lift weights, pray the Rosary, and read from The Imitation of Christ. This is not a performance. This is a return.

The figure at the center of today’s emerging Catholic meme culture is the Trad Man—a young man, often Gen Z or late millennial, whose identity is increasingly formed not by the secular metrics of masculinity, but by ritual, hierarchy, reverence, and self-restraint.

He is shaped not by trends but by the liturgy—and that liturgy is often in Latin.

Far from being a fringe phenomenon, this movement now commands significant presence in Catholic digital spaces and beyond.

But beneath the memes, aesthetics, and cultural critiques lies a deeper truth: liturgical masculinity represents a profound hunger for meaning, order, and sacred identity in a fractured age.

He opens the door for her. He pays for dinner. He quotes Summa Theologica in casual conversation. She thinks: chivalry? Maybe. Patriarchy? Possibly. Internet Catholicism? Almost definitely.

Welcome to the meme-laced world of the Trad Man, where masculinity is rigid, reverent, and rigorously Latin-rite.

You may have met him online—or in person at the only coffee shop within walking distance of a Tridentine Mass.

But beneath the incense and Instagram filters, we find a real question worth asking:

Is this revival of traditional masculinity spiritual leadership… or emotional control dressed up in cassock cosplay?

What Is the Trad Man Meme?

Let’s say your marriage is a ship.

Solid, seaworthy—except sometimes one of you keeps staring longingly at the lifeboats.

That’s what researchers mean when they talk about an infidelity tendency: not necessarily an affair, but a repeated emotional leaning toward the escape hatch.

Now add another layer—divorce anxiety—that creeping fear that your relationship might be headed for the rocks, emotionally or legally.

According to a new study published in Psychological Reports, the surprising answer to this anxious, unstable dynamic might be mindfulness.

Yes, mindfulness—the same thing you associate with wellness influencers and overpriced journals—may actually reduce the anxiety some spouses feel about divorce, even when they’re secretly (or not so secretly) scanning the horizon for alternative partners.

The finding? Modest, complicated, and deeply human. In other words: just like marriage.

Imagine being born into a world where the sun always shines, but you’ve never felt warm.

That’s what it’s like to be Gen Z in 2025: surrounded by connection, yet starving for intimacy.

They are the most connected generation in history—and also the loneliest. The most therapized—and still unbearably raw.

So it shouldn’t surprise us that nearly half of them say they wish they’d grown up without the internet.

It sounds like rebellion. It’s actually grief.

Deep, quiet grief for what was never offered: stillness, presence, coherence, containment.

In Serbia, a land rich in folklore and family traditions, researchers have stumbled upon a modern myth-in-the-making: narcissists aren’t having kids.

A new study in Evolutionary Psychological Science reports that folks scoring high in both grandiose and vulnerable narcissism tend to have fewer biological children.

The culprits? Fragile egos, fear of intimacy, and a distinct lack of enthusiasm for sticky fingers and midnight feedings.

Grandiose narcissists—bold, charming, and exhausting—seem too busy performing to parent.

Vulnerable narcissists—anxious, resentful, quietly seething—are no more inclined to cradle a child than to risk being seen without emotional armor.

Both camps report stronger “negative childbearing motivations,” a clinical way of saying “Thanks, but I’d rather not.”

In family therapy, few dynamics prove as quietly corrosive as inconsistent and angry parenting. It’s not just the yelling. It’s the unpredictability.

One moment, a parent is laughing, offering ice cream and praise. The next, that same parent is seething because a dish was left in the sink.

What children internalize is not just fear—it’s chaos. And chaos, when chronic and emotionally charged, does more than fray nerves.

It becomes a blueprint for relationships, self-worth, and how the child eventually attaches to others.

Let’s walk through what we know from the research, and what we may be culturally reluctant to admit.

Once upon a time—and not so long ago, really—the discovery of an affair ended the conversation. Or more precisely, it shifted the conversation into a one-note dirge about betrayal, shame, and possibly lawyer retainers.

The affair was a bomb that leveled the house. Most therapists didn’t talk about rebuilding. They helped couples decide who got to keep the furniture.

But something has shifted in the past decade.

Not just in therapy, but in the broader American imagination.

The old narrative—infidelity as moral failing, recovery as reluctant forgiveness—no longer fits the emotional, erotic, or existential complexity many couples bring into the room.

Now? The best therapists aren’t patching cracks. They’re rebuilding cities.

They are treating the affair not as a terminal diagnosis, but as an earthquake.

And while some couples still decide to move out of the rubble for good, an increasing number are asking: What could we build here that’s better than what we had before?

Two new studies—one in Papua, one in the U.S.—suggest we all might be working from the same subconscious breast rubric.

And now we ask: what do women think about all this?

Breasts: somehow both breakfast and scandal. Depending on where you live and what decade you're in, they are revered, restricted, blurred, boosted, or burned.

Western culture has long believed that their erotic pull comes from taboo—the fact that they’re hidden makes them hot.

Think modesty norms, religious shame, and the tragic underwire.

But what if that’s not quite true?

Why Go Non-Stimulant?

Let’s start here: stimulant medications like Adderall and Ritalin work. For many people with ADHD, they turn static into signal. Tasks get done. Interruptions decrease. That “blender-in-the-brain” feeling quiets down.

But they don’t work for everyone.

Roughly 25% of people with ADHD don’t respond well to stimulant medications (Faraone et al., 2021).

Others experience unpleasant side effects—insomnia, appetite loss, irritability—or worry about dependence or misuse.

Some have a personal or family history of substance use and want to avoid controlled substances entirely.

And for many women, neurodivergent adults, and people with co-occurring conditions (like anxiety or trauma), stimulant meds are either overkill or off-target.

Amlodipine for ADHD? The Pill That Nobody Invited to the Party

Imagine your medicine cabinet throwing a reunion, and a humble blood pressure pill crashes the event wearing a nametag that says, “Hi, I treat ADHD now.”

That’s essentially what just happened with amlodipine.

A new study in Neuropsychopharmacology suggests this calcium channel blocker—previously best known for preventing strokes in suburban dads—might also help quiet the minds of people with ADHD.

And it didn’t just show up uninvited. It brought behavioral data from rats, zebrafish, and humans—and asked, very politely, to be taken seriously.