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You’re Not My Ex, But You’re Acting Like Their Sequel
“You’ve entered your villain origin story arc, and it’s looking familiar.”
This meme is half-joke, half-body flashback.
It captures the unsettling moment when your new partner triggers the exact wound you swore you’d healed—and you’re suddenly transported, not logically but somatically, back to a past relationship.
You know they’re not your ex. But your nervous system didn’t get the memo.
We tend to think of romantic relationships as discrete stories with clean endings. But attachment science and trauma theory beg to differ.
According to Bowlby (1969), our early relational experiences shape internal working models that we carry from one connection to the next.
When a new partner hits an old nerve, it’s not coincidence—it’s continuity.
The Gospel According to Germs: Rita Swan, Christian Science, and the Holy War for Children’s Lives
There are martyrs, and then there are whistleblowers.
And then, in rare tragic convergence, there’s Rita Swan—who started as a devout Christian Scientist and ended up public enemy number one in the First Church of Christ, Scientist.
Her sin? Believing that her child’s life mattered more than doctrine. A radical idea in some circles.
This is the story of what happens when faith meets fever and refuses to blink.
What is Sedation? Or: How Comfort Became a Conspiracy, and Dopamine Became the Drug of Choice for the Spiritually Homeless
Let’s begin, as all modern tragedies do, with a man alone on a couch.
He’s got high-speed Wi-Fi, Uber Eats on the way, porn in one tab, and TikTok in another. He’s not in pain exactly—but something’s off. And he doesn’t know why.
In the Red Pill worldview, we have a word for this state. Not “depression.” Not “anhedonia.” Not “ Limbic Capitalist malaise.”
They call it… sedation.
But don’t mistake it for rest.
This isn’t a nap.
It’s a cultural coma.
The Hidden Traits of Those Who Suffered Too Much: A Deep Dive into Trauma Psychology and Survival Personality
This isn’t just another listicle. It’s an excavation.
These aren’t flaws—they're encoded survival strategies.
Beneath every trait is a story of someone who had to adapt to stay alive.
People who suffered too much are often mislabeled: dramatic, intense, overly sensitive, avoidant, clingy, distant, or just plain exhausting.
But the truth is, these traits often represent intelligent biological and psychological strategies, forged under pressure.
This post attempts to dig more deeply into those traits.
Each is expanded with clinical research, examples from therapy, and contrasting findings from the literature.
Derry Girls: A Neurodivergent Reading of Chaotic Catholic Girlhood
Let’s begin with a confession appropriate to the setting. The recent British historical sitcom: Derry Girls is not about autism.
At least, not overtly.
It’s about Catholic girlhood in 1990s Northern Ireland, the final bloody chapters of the Troubles, and the universal humiliation of adolescence rendered in a dialect so quick and poetic it deserves subtitles even if you speak English.
But like all great shows about misfits, outsiders, and the socially erratic, it is absolutely haunted by autistic tropes—whether it knows it or not.
The Burned-Out Therapist’s Supplement Stack: What to Take When Holding Space Feels Like Holding Fire
Let me be blunt: therapists are the emotional sanitation workers of late-stage capitalism.
You hold other people’s pain all day while trying to remember your password for the EHR system, drink enough water, and somehow keep your own frontal lobe from melting into compassion fatigue.
The clients cry, the insurance claims glitch, the Zoom lags, and you start asking your cat reflective questions.
But what if you didn’t have to run on cold brew and unresolved idealism?
Here’s a science-backed, sincerity-soaked, slightly reverent supplement stack for therapists who want to feel less like a burnt offering to the trauma gods and more like a grounded, well-resourced human with a working vagus nerve.
This isn’t medical advice. This is nervous system harm reduction. It’s how I get through my days in the clinic and my afternoons and occasional evenings of private practice.
UMZU vs. the Field: How It Stacks Up Against Ancestral Supplements, Thorne, and the Wellness Arms Race
If UMZU is the slightly rebellious honors student of the natural supplement world — smart, independent, wearing a hoodie with Latin phrases on it — then Ancestral Supplements is the primal kid who eats raw liver and refuses to wear shoes, and Thorne is the kid who took AP Bio and interns at a genomics startup.
All three brands traffic in the same basic dream: that with the right nutrients, you can feel more like yourself, only better.
But they have very different strategies for getting there. And for those of us trying to find a supplement routine that doesn't feel like cosplay, this matters.
Here’s a breakdown of how UMZU compares to two of its most philosophically interesting competitors — Ancestral Supplements and Thorne — along with a deeper look at how science, branding, and purpose intersect.
UMZU and the Science of Natural Optimization: A Sincere Fan's Deep Dive
Some supplement companies pitch themselves like snake oil salesmen with better branding.
Others hide behind vague wellness buzzwords and stock photography of people doing yoga in cornfields.
But UMZU? UMZU takes a different tack.
They want you to believe in science — and not just the cold, clinical kind, but the kind that’s been lived, tested, and passionately defended by a man who rewired his own hormones with nothing but broccoli, research papers, and stubbornness.
Founded by Christopher Walker — a neuroscience student who turned a pituitary tumor diagnosis into a lifelong mission — UMZU is a company devoted to natural, evidence-informed supplements designed to optimize hormone health, brain function, and digestive resilience.
Yes, there’s boldness in the branding. But once you dig into the ingredients and research, the surprising thing is… a lot of it holds up.
This is not a parody. This is not a paid endorsement. This is a love letter. I’ve Been trying supplements like UMZU for most of my adult life. I’ve found UMZU to be among the very best.
Therapist Handout: Rebuilding Connection in the Age of Screens
A Weekly Practice Guide for Families Who Want to Look Up Again
Because every parent says they want more connection.
Because every kid is quietly starving for attention, not entertainment.
Because every therapist has watched a client get an “urgent” Slack ping in the middle of a breakthrough.
Because healing doesn’t need to be perfect—it just needs to be practiced.
Parents on Phones, Kids on iPads: The Disconnected Family in the Age of Screens
Let’s begin with a now-familiar domestic scene:
Dad scrolling Reddit in the kitchen while muttering about the economy.
Mom toggling between work Slack and Pinterest recipes while standing next to the fridge.
The toddler, luminous-eyed, watching Baby Shark on repeat while instinctively flinging cereal to the floor like it’s part of a ritual.
And no one—no one—is making eye contact.
We are now, collectively, living inside an eerie remake of The Stepford Wives, except the robots are us and the glowing rectangles are our gods.
When They Don’t Want to Heal: The Quiet Crisis of Uneven Growth in Families
It’s a Tuesday night.
Your therapist has just helped you reframe a lifelong shame spiral.
You’re proud.
You’ve learned the difference between a boundary and a punishment.
You understand how your nervous system works. You can name your triggers without blaming anyone. You’re... dare we say it... evolving.
Then your phone buzzes.
It’s your sibling in the family group chat, forwarding a meme about how therapy ruins people.
Your mother follows up with a reminder to “just let things go already,” and your uncle weighs in with anunsolicited opinion about how “you kids just need thicker skin.”
And just like that, your healing becomes the most threatening thing in the room.
No, I’m Not Asking you to do a Favor for Me, or for One of My Clients…
Dear clients, former clients, and anyone who’s ever thought, “Wow, therapy with Daniel is cheaper than a nervous breakdown,”—
Let me interrupt your regularly scheduled existential dread to clear up a little nonsense: I did not ask you for money via a sketchy hushmail.com address.
I did not go off-grid, fake my own death, and start a new life as a low-budget Nigerian prince. I’m still here. And still me.
The offending address was:
danieldashnew@hushmail.com
I know. It sounds like me after a few glasses of Malbec and a rebrand.
But it is not me. It’s some imposter bot in a basement somewhere, trying to make a quick buck off the trust you and I built over months of crying in chairs.