Let’s say life throws a flaming bag of sh*t at your doorstep. As I see it, gentle reader, you have three options:

1. Cry.

2. Meditate and hope for inner peace.

3. Quietly, methodically, open your Notes app and write a three-phase mitigation plan with color-coded contingencies.

If you chose Option 3, congratulations: you might be a strategic bastard.

And you might also be better equipped to handle depression.

What Is Coping Flexibility, Really?

Coping flexibility isn’t about being stoic or zen. It’s about having a diversified psychological portfolio.

It means knowing that soothing yourself with peppermint tea is lovely—but sometimes, what you really need is to build a strategic pivot table for your life.

Some people meditate.

Some people cope by rage-texting their ex.

And some, apparently, quietly Machiavelli their way through depression while the rest of us mainline chamomile tea and CBT workbooks.

That’s not just snark. It’s science.

New research is pointing to a deeply uncomfortable truth for therapists and saints alike: certain personality traits we’ve spent decades labeling as "dark" might actually help people survive psychological distress.

You know, the ones you warn your daughter about on dating apps: Machiavellianism, narcissism, and psychopathy.

Collectively known as the Dark Triad, these traits are the Mean Girls of personality psychology. They manipulate, self-promote, and ghost without blinking.

But like every good anti-hero, they might just have one hidden virtue: resilience.

A new study finds that narcissists are more likely to feel underappreciated and unfairly treated—because they overestimate their own contributions. Let’s explore how entitlement skews their perception of equity.

Everyone wants to feel valued at work.

But some people consistently believe they’re giving more than they’re getting—even when their output doesn’t match the self-praise.

According to a new study in the International Journal of Organizational Analysis, people with pronounced narcissistic traits often feel shortchanged in professional settings—not because they are, but because they overestimate their contributions.

Researchers Abdelbaset Queiri and Hussain Alhejji (2025) surveyed 150 employees across Oman’s health, education, IT, retail, and finance sectors. Their findings point to a key insight:

Narcissists feel cheated because they think they deserve more than everyone else.

Let’s start with the bad news: if you’re struggling with pornography use in a way that feels out of control, chances are... you still will be six months from now.

And a year after that.

At least according to a massive new longitudinal study published in Addictive Behaviors.

The good news? You’re not alone.

And there may be more emotional logic to your behavior than the moral panic machine gives you credit for.

You love someone who can’t seem to love themselves.

They’re tender one moment, distant the next. They say you’re the only one who understands them—and then disappear when things get too real. You’re walking on eggshells, but the shell belongs to them.

You’re likely in a relationship with someone high in vulnerable narcissism—not the brash charmer at the party, but the wounded, anxious soul who hides behind defensiveness, sulks in silence, and lives on a steady diet of fragile self-worth.

You see their pain. You want to help. But in the process, your own needs are starting to vanish.

Let’s talk about how to stay sane—and sovereign—in this confusing relational terrain.

These days, you can’t scroll a feed without tripping over someone’s “toxic ex,” a workplace narcissist, or a pop-psychologist post warning you to run from anyone who sets a boundary too fast.

Narcissism has become a kind of cultural Rorschach blot—projected onto anyone we find difficult, confusing, or a little too pleased with themselves.

But under all this noise lies a quieter question: What actually makes a narcissist?

Not the loud, preening kind. But the fragile one. The one who collapses after praise fades.

The one who disappears after intimacy. The one who is—paradoxically—hypersensitive and unreachable all at once.

This is vulnerable narcissism. And to understand it, you need to look not at the ego, but at the injuries beneath it. You need to look at childhood attachment.

Once again, psychology has put on its lab coat and peered into the bedrooms of the statistically inclined.

A recent study in Sexual and Relationship Therapy examined which personality traits best predict openness to casual sex.

Psychopathy took home the gold. Narcissism and Machiavellianism sulked off the podium.

And the so-called “Light Triad”—traits like compassion and faith in humanity—barely showed up at the race.

It’s the kind of finding that makes headlines and Tinder profiles, but don’t pour the champagne just yet. There’s a lot to admire in this research—and just as much to question.

You know the look. You’ve heard the tone.

“Do what you want.”
“It’s fine.”

Welcome to the realm of the invisible ultimatum—where permission is given with a dagger hidden in its folds.

Where two of the most deceptively polite phrases in relationship history—"Do what you want" and "It’s fine"—operate as code for "I'm deeply upset, and you’d better figure out why before I emotionally disappear."

In the world of couples therapy, these aren’t just offhand remarks.

They’re emotional Rorschach tests, and most couples fail them. Not because they’re malicious—but because these phrases are the lovechild of fear and ambiguity.

Weaponized incompetence isn’t a new problem. It’s a refined performance—a form of “tactical passivity” that allows someone to disengage from domestic, emotional, or logistical labor while still appearing agreeable.

They’re not refusing to help. They’re just... not good at it.

This is how systems of unequal labor survive in relationships.

They’re not enforced through dominance. They’re sustained through ineptitude.

And here’s the rub: it works best when it’s believable.

Here’s something quiet but true:

Most men are emotionally underfed.

Not because they don’t care. Not because they lack feeling.

But because praise—the kind that names a person’s goodness without condition—is rare.

Ask the average man when he last heard something like:

• “You’re incredibly thoughtful.”

• “Your presence makes people feel safe.”

• “You have such a kind way of seeing the world.”

Many will say they can’t remember. Some will say never.

This isn’t accidental.

It’s social conditioning. It’s cultural machinery. It’s a centuries-old masculinity template that treats praise as performance payment—not a basic human need.

This post explores how we got here, what it’s doing to men, and how to repair the emotional ecosystem we’ve let collapse.

Where Are the Compliments?

You look amazing.
You’re such a good listener.
That idea you had? It stuck with me for days.

Now take a moment to remember the last time someone said that to you—unprompted, sincerely, without a performance agenda.

Hard to recall?

We are, as a culture, in the middle of a Compliment Crisis. Praise has become performative, awkward, ironic, or suspiciously entangled with flattery.

We issue "likes" but not warm language.

We compliment your post but not your soul. We’ve got a vocabulary for “slay queen” but not “you matter to me.”

This post explores how praise got weird, how its absence is harming our relationships and mental health, and how to reclaim the art of real compliments—even if it makes us feel weird at first.

What Happened to Compliments?

You’re not hallucinating. They never say sorry.

Not when they forget your birthday.

Not when they bring up your worst childhood insecurity in front of your in-laws.

Not even when they back into your car and say, “Well, you parked weird.”

They may offer a stiff pat on the shoulder. They may grunt and hand you a cookie.

But “I’m sorry”?

That phrase has apparently been redacted from their emotional vocabulary like it’s a CIA document.

So why do some people treat apologies like uranium—too dangerous to touch?

This post is for anyone who's ever sat across from a loved one waiting for an apology that never arrived, wondering, “Am I asking too much?”

Short answer: No. Long answer: Let’s dive in.