divorce
Divorce isn't an end; it's a different beginning.
The Definitive Analysis: Who Should Lead,
Picture this: a boardroom full of sharp minds, but only half the talent gets a real shot at the top seat. For years, people have argued if men or women make better leaders. Think back to old tales of kings and warriors, where strength meant command. Times have changed. We now chase skills over old rules. This piece digs into facts, not just opinions. It looks at research on styles, past myths, and what works today. In the end, leadership boils down to who fits the job best, not their gender. We'll break it down step by step—starting with old ideas, then styles, contexts, and steps forward.
By LaMarion Zieglera day ago in Humans
Who Should Lead in Relationships
Have you ever wondered who should wear the pants in a relationship? It's a question that has sparked countless debates around dinner tables, in therapy sessions, and during late-night conversations with friends. The truth is, relationship leadership isn't as black and white as our grandparents might have thought. In today's world, the dynamics of who leads in a relationship have evolved dramatically, and the answer might surprise you.
By LaMarion Zieglera day ago in Humans
When True Love Never Questions Your Soul
“And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up, just so it can kick you in the stomach but getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.” — Sarah Kay’s Poem — If I Should Have a Daughter
By Chantal Christie Weiss4 days ago in Humans
Traditional Dating vs. Metaverse Romance
Traditional Dating vs. Metaverse Romance: Which Wins? You're standing at the crossroads of love in the digital age. While your parents met at coffee shops and movie theaters, you've got choices they never imagined. Traditional dating vs metaverse romance isn't just a tech trend—it's reshaping how you connect with potential partners.
By LaMarion Ziegler4 days ago in Humans
Why Some Wounds Never Fully Heal
My mother died on a Tuesday in March, three weeks after her diagnosis. Cancer moved through her body with terrifying speed, leaving no time for goodbyes, no space for preparation, no chance to say all the things I'd always assumed I'd have time to say. She was here, and then she wasn't. Everyone told me the same thing: "Time heals all wounds." They meant well. But they were wrong. Fifteen years later, I still reach for the phone to call her when something good happens. Fifteen years later, I still feel the absence like a phantom limb—a presence that's missing but somehow still aches. Fifteen years later, I'm still waiting for the day when thinking about her doesn't hurt. I've finally accepted that day isn't coming. And somehow, that acceptance has brought more peace than all the years of waiting for the pain to end. The Myth of Complete Healing We're sold a particular narrative about grief, about trauma, about loss: if you do the work, if you process it correctly, if you're strong enough, you'll heal completely. The wound will close. The pain will end. You'll be whole again. But some wounds are too deep for that kind of closure. Some losses are too profound to ever fully recover from. And pretending otherwise doesn't help—it just makes us feel like failures when we're still hurting years later. I spent the first five years after my mother's death trying to heal "correctly." I went to therapy. I joined support groups. I read books about grief. I talked about my feelings. I did everything I was supposed to do. And yet, the wound remained open. I'd have months where I felt okay, where I'd think, "Finally, I'm healing." Then something small—a song, a scent, Mother's Day—would rip everything open again, and I'd be back at square one, sobbing in parking lots and grocery stores, feeling like I'd failed at grief. "Why can't I get past this?" I asked my therapist during one particularly difficult session. "It's been five years. Shouldn't I be better by now?" She leaned forward, her eyes kind. "What if this isn't about getting past it? What if it's about learning to carry it?" The Wounds That Change Us Some experiences fundamentally alter who we are. They create a before and after in our lives so profound that we can never return to the person we were. Before my mother died, I believed the world was basically safe. I believed people I loved would be around for a long time. I believed I had control over my life in ways that made me feel secure. After she died, all those beliefs shattered. I learned that safety is an illusion. That people you need can vanish without warning. That control is a story we tell ourselves to feel less terrified of existence. These weren't lessons I could unlearn. This wasn't damage I could repair. My mother's death didn't just hurt me—it changed me at a cellular level. The wound wasn't something on me; it became part of me. I spent years trying to get back to who I was before. I'd look at old photos and barely recognize the carefree woman smiling back at me. Where had she gone? Could I ever find her again? The answer, I eventually realized, was no. And that wasn't a failure. It was just the truth.
By Ameer Moavia8 days ago in Humans
The Weight of Being "Too Much": How I Learned My Sensitivity Was Never the Problem
I was seven years old the first time someone told me I was too sensitive. I'd come home from school crying because my best friend said she didn't want to play with me anymore. My father looked up from his newspaper, irritation flickering across his face. "You're being too sensitive," he said, turning the page. "Kids say things. You need to toughen up." So I tried. I swallowed my hurt. I forced a smile. I pretended it didn't matter. That moment became a blueprint for the next three decades of my life. By the time I was thirty-seven, married with two kids and a successful career, I'd perfected the art of not feeling too much. I'd learned to laugh off insults, minimize my pain, and apologize for my emotions before anyone else could criticize them. But the cost of all that toughening up? I'd become a stranger to myself. The Education of Emotional Suppression The messages came from everywhere, each one teaching me that my natural way of being was somehow wrong. When I cried during a sad movie: "It's just a movie. Why are you so emotional?" When a friend's thoughtless comment hurt my feelings: "You're overreacting. I was just joking." When I needed time to process conflict: "You're being too dramatic. Just get over it." When I was moved to tears by beauty—a sunset, a piece of music, an act of kindness: "You cry at everything. What's wrong with you?" Each time, the same lesson: Your feelings are excessive. Your responses are inappropriate. You are too much. I learned to preface every emotional expression with an apology. "I know I'm being ridiculous, but..." "I'm probably overreacting, but..." "Sorry, I'm just too sensitive..." I became an expert at minimizing my own experience, at gaslight myself before anyone else could do it for me. The Slow Erosion of Self What happens when you spend decades being told your emotions are wrong? You start to believe it. I stopped trusting my own reactions. When something hurt me, my first thought wasn't "that was hurtful," but "I'm being too sensitive." When I felt uncomfortable in a situation, I'd override my instincts and force myself to stay, convinced my discomfort was a character flaw rather than valuable information. I became everyone's emotional support system while denying myself the same care. Friends would call me for hours when they were upset, and I'd listen with endless patience and compassion. But when I was hurting? I'd minimize it, laugh it off, handle it alone. In my marriage, I'd absorb my husband's bad moods without comment, adjust my behavior to keep the peace, and swallow my hurt when he was dismissive or short with me. "You're too sensitive" became his go-to response whenever I expressed that something bothered me. Eventually, I stopped expressing it at all. I taught my children to share their feelings, while simultaneously teaching them through my example that their mother's feelings didn't matter. I'd hide in the bathroom to cry, ashamed that I couldn't be stronger.
By Ameer Moavia8 days ago in Humans
To Know Others Is to Know Ourselves
Life's a crazy ride, right? It is like we are all just dancing around, trying to figure things out. And honestly, it is the people in our lives that really make it worth living. We are all connected, even if we can't always see it. Those short moments we share with others? That is when life feels real. We are always trying to understand each other, to feel connected. What even is a relationship, if not a plunge into the unknown with someone else, kind of like holding a mirror up to yourself?
By Baptiste Monnet8 days ago in Humans
The People Who Sit by the Window
Buildings blurred into one another, storefronts flickered past like unfinished thoughts, and the sunlight slipped through the windows at an angle that made everything feel temporary. Emma always sat by the window. Not because she loved the view, but because it gave her something to focus on when her thoughts became too loud.
By Yasir khan8 days ago in Humans
