Once upon a time—not in the age of myth but in the year of our Lord 2024—a collection of very important men in the Boston metro area filled out what was, in essence, a VIP application form to buy sex.

These were not your average men.

They had PhDs, MDs, MBAs, and campaign donors on speed dial.

They were executives, public servants, thought leaders—men with titles that once earned them access to green rooms, not arraignment hearings.

They handed over their driver’s licenses, their work badges, and in some cases, their smiling selfies.

They even listed references. It was all very thorough, very secure, very high-end. What could possibly go wrong?

Somewhere between EMDR, inner child work, breathwork, and gentle parenting, someone whispered, "You’re the cycle breaker." And you believed them.

So you showed up.

You journaled, reparented, practiced nonviolent communication, and read The Body Keeps the Score twice.

You stopped yelling, stopped hitting, stopped hiding. You learned to sit in silence, to hold space, to breathe through the triggers.

And now?

You’re exhausted. The dishwasher is full again. The toddler just poured oat milk on the dog.

And despite your best efforts, you heard yourself say, "Why do you always do this?" in the exact tone your father used.

Welcome to Cycle Breaker Fatigue. You’re not failing. You’re just human.

There’s a particular kind of silence that only comes after applause. It’s not peace—it’s confusion. And for the Golden Child, it’s often the first taste of reality.

They did everything right. They smiled when it hurt. They achieved more than anyone asked for. They anticipated needs, suppressed complaints, and metabolized stress on behalf of an entire family system.

And now they live in a studio apartment with one spoon, a yoga mat, and the quiet terror of not knowing what they want.

This is not a trend. This is a reckoning.

Once upon a time, in a dimly lit room in Spain, a group of researchers invited undergrads to stare at human faces—angry, happy, scared, and blank.

As any introvert will tell you, this sounds like a worst-case party scenario. But this wasn’t hazing. This was science.

And what they found may help us understand why some people can watch your face twist in fear and feel absolutely... nothing.

In the grand tradition of things that feel spiritual but are mostly about dust, Marie Kondo taught us that clutter is a kind of existential despair in IKEA form.

But now, in the post-pandemic world of couples trapped together with their Amazon Prime regrets and unspoken grudges, a new idea is quietly emerging: Emotional Clutter.

It’s sorta the love child of trauma psychology and home organization.

It's the emotional echo of that junk drawer you keep meaning to clean but haven't, because it contains both a dead battery and a painful memory.

And it might be one of the most honest metaphors we have for what long-term relationships feel like after two or three fiscal years of silent sulking.

What Is Emotional Clutter?

You love each other. You really do.

You both even go to therapy. You read The Body Keeps the Score together (well, she did the book, he watched the YouTube summary with dramatic voiceover).

You say things like “regulation” and “somatic” with alarming fluency.

And still—you keep tripping over each other like two people trying to dance in different time zones.

Welcome to the world of trauma mismatch, where your early wounds don’t just coexist in your relationship—they collide, with sparks, sobs, and occasional ghosting.

What Is Trauma Mismatch?

“My partner needs me to praise them just right before they can stop sulking.”

Welcome to the most emotionally exhausting duet in modern love.

This isn’t just interpersonal dysfunction—it’s a cultural artifact, a relational survival tactic born in the pressure cooker of American narcissism.

It’s called narcissistic co-regulation, and it may be the defining emotional dance of our time.

What Is Narcissistic Co-Regulation?

In the eternal battle between good and evil—or at least between honesty and the little fibs we tell to keep our reputations polished—science may have found an unexpected ally: narcissists themselves.

Yup, you read that right.

A recent study published in Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin suggests that people high in narcissism, long believed to be ethical lost causes, can in fact be nudged toward honesty.

The secret?

A psychological “vaccine” that doesn’t come in a syringe but in the form of cleverly crafted messages. Instead of poking the arm, it pokes the ego.

What happens when dominance meets detachment? Inside the minds of men who mistake victory for permission.

Imagine you’re a 21-year-old college guy. You just crushed another dude in a competitive task. You're flying high on the fumes of dominance. Then someone asks, "Want to share a video with this woman you don’t know—one who’s clearly said she dislikes sexual content?"

Now pause. Your answer, according to new research, might say a lot about who you are—and whether your idea of “winning” is less about success and more about control.

A recent experimental study in Aggressive Behavior (Hoffmann, Verona, & Hruza, 2024) reveals something disconcerting: heterosexual men with high levels of interpersonal-affective psychopathic traits—marked by emotional coldness, dominance, and a lack of empathy—were significantly more likely to engage in sexually aggressive behavior after winning a competition against another man.

That’s right. It wasn’t losing.

It wasn’t bruised ego or revenge. It was victory—sweet, power-drunk victory—that lit the fuse.

By now, most of us have encountered at least one human being who, when given a social moment that wasn't about them, simply withered like a houseplant in a closet.

If you haven't, you may want to gently peer into a mirror and ask yourself if your coworkers are truly laughing with you.

Enter narcissism—the spicy human flavor that’s somewhere between charming confidence and grandiose theater.

Narcissists, according to the DSM and your cousin Kevin, tend to believe they are God’s gift to dinner parties.

They yearn for admiration the way cats yearn for warm laptops. But recent research has added a physiological twist to this familiar plot: they don’t just like talking about themselves—they practically light up.

For anyone who’s ever tried to take the edge off with a little weed, only to end up googling “Can you die from a too-fast heartbeat?” at 2:00 a.m.—you’re not alone.

The relationship between cannabis and anxiety is, well… complicated.

While some people swear by medical marijuana as a natural anxiety remedy, others find that it does the exact opposite: increases heart rate, magnifies worry, and launches them into existential dread about whether the barista actually did judge them for their oat milk order.

So which is it?

Can cannabis help with anxiety—or does it just help some people feel better while making others more anxious?

And what does the science say about medical marijuana for anxiety disorders?

Let’s take a deep breath (no toking required yet), and explore.

As a couples therapist, I often tell clients that gossip is the social glue we love to hate. It feels icky when it’s about us, but strangely bonding when we’re doing it about others.

So when new research out of Self & Identity revealed that some folks actually enjoy being gossiped about—especially when the gossip is negative—I had to dig deeper.

It turns out, narcissistic men may not just tolerate gossip—they prefer it over being ignored.

That’s right.

According to five studies conducted by Andrew H. Hales, Meltem Yucel, and Selma C. Rudert, most people still dislike being the subject of gossip.