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Dating, married, single, divorced, and more. Advice on the relationships you have in life. Dear, 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 HealingWe'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 UsSome 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 Moavia10 months 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 SuppressionThe 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 SelfWhat 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 Moavia10 months ago in Humans
Practical Magick: Applied metAlchemy
How wonderful it is that no one need wait one moment before starting to improve the world. -Anne Frank This simple, profound sentiment of personal responsibility and change underlies the second mantra of meta-alchemy. When energy is sufficient to facilitate it, grow and evolve as a person, as a professional, as a creator, and as a functional member of society. Take a class, go to therapy, work in your garden—evolution has myriad faces, determined only by the one you wish to see in the mirror. Just remember that you cannot take sustenance from stone; if you don't ensure sufficient energy to sustain your growth, it will fail to take root due to inhospitable conditions.
By Maia Gadwall the metAlchemist10 months 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? We are funny creatures, us humans. We need people but we've got this deep loneliness too. We come into the world with a cry, and even that is a call for connection. Being alone? It just makes us appreciate the voices around us more. It shows us we are never truly on our own. But sometimes, that loneliness gets heavy, like a huge empty space. Because looking for someone else is also looking for something in ourselves. We search in their eyes, their actions, their words, for bits of who we are, hoping to find ourselves in them. Human connections are beautiful but they are also super delicate. Sweet feelings can vanish and promises can just disappear over time. But that is the real truth of life — nothing lasts forever and that's exactly why every single moment is so special. A relationship isn't some fixed contract. It is more like an unpredictable dance where every move is made up on the spot, an invitation to really listen and try to get it. Love, friendship, just hanging out — they all come and go but their glow is the only solid proof we were ever here. What makes these connections so powerful is how they change us. They are not just chats or high-fives — they really test who we are. Through other people, we learn to be patient, generous and tough. And sometimes, we learn pain too. Because when a relationship isn't on the same page, it leaves this emptiness that makes us look deep inside ourselves and that can hurt. But it is bumping up against others, against what is different, that helps us grow. Disagreements can actually lead to understanding and love often grows out of our hopes that didn didn't quite work out. And still, life keeps going. The world keeps moving, like the seasons. Even though human connections are fragile, they are what help us get through everything. Every time we meet someone new, it is a chance to learn more, to open up. In someone else's eyes, we see things about ourselves we usually miss. Every word, every action, even just being quiet together — it is all like a gentle reminder that life, even if it is short, is incredibly rich. Ultimately, people are what life's all about. They don't totally define us but they show us who we are. They are like a mirror where we can see the invisible, understand what can't be put into words, and taste what life truly means. They are our biggest treasure, even though their beauty comes from how delicate and fleeting they are. And it is in sharing that vulnerability that humanity's real strength lies. Communication is more than just speaking — it is the unspoken moments that can tell us the most. Think of a silent moment between two people that feels comfortable, almost like you don’t need words to say what you are feeling. Sometimes, a glance or a simple gesture can communicate more than an entire conversation. It is through these small actions that we connect, sometimes without even realizing it.
By Baptiste Monnet10 months ago in Humans
Dating Red Flags in Women that Feel Normal At First
Modern dating—especially for Gen Z in the US—moves fast. Apps, social media, and shared online spaces foster emotional connection prior to testing real-world compatibility. In this setting, several dating red flags in women may not look poisonous at first glance. They frequently feel natural, exciting, or even flattering in the early phases. Over time, however, these actions can silently erode trust, emotional safety, and the potential for a long-term relationship.
By Relationship Guide10 months 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 khan10 months ago in Humans
Virgo Woman and Pisces Man Compatibility Score. AI-Generated.
The pairing of a Virgo woman and a Pisces man is often described as a classic opposites-attract relationship. Virgo is grounded, analytical, and practical, while Pisces is emotional, intuitive, and dreamy. Interestingly, these two zodiac signs sit directly opposite each other on the astrological wheel, which creates a strong magnetic pull. When balanced well, this connection can feel deeply meaningful and emotionally fulfilling. However, it also comes with challenges that require patience, understanding, and mutual respect.
By Inspire and Fun10 months ago in Humans
When Home Becomes a Memory: Learning to Let Go of the Person You Thought Was Forever
I still remember the exact moment I realized I had to let her go.We were sitting on opposite ends of the couch—the same couch where we'd spent countless nights talking until sunrise, dreaming about our future, planning adventures we'd never take. But that night, the silence between us felt heavier than any words we'd ever shared. The distance wasn't measured in inches. It was measured in all the things we'd stopped saying, all the dreams that had quietly died, all the versions of ourselves we'd outgrown.She still felt like home. That was the cruelest part.The Comfort That Becomes a CageThere's something uniquely painful about loving someone who feels like home but no longer helps you grow. For three years, she'd been my safe place—the person I ran to when the world felt too heavy, the voice that calmed my anxious thoughts, the presence that made everything feel right.But somewhere along the way, comfort had turned into complacency. We'd stopped challenging each other. We'd stopped dreaming together. We'd become so focused on preserving what we had that we forgot to ask ourselves if what we had was still what we needed.I'd read once that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. I'd always assumed she was my lifetime. The thought of her being just a season felt like a betrayal of everything we'd built together.Yet deep down, I knew. The person I was becoming couldn't live in the life we'd created. And the person she was becoming deserved someone who could show up fully, not someone staying out of fear and familiarity.The Questions That Changed EverythingThe turning point came during a solo trip I took to clear my head. Sitting on a beach thousands of miles away, watching the waves reshape the shoreline over and over, I finally asked myself the questions I'd been avoiding:Was I staying because I loved her, or because I was afraid of being alone?Was I holding on to who we were, or who we could actually be?If we met today, as the people we've become, would we still choose each other?The answers terrified me. Because they revealed a truth I'd spent months burying: sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes two people can care deeply for each other and still be wrong for each other. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is let someone go so you can both find the versions of yourselves you've been suppressing.
By Ameer Moavia10 months ago in Humans
January 2
January 2 Captain’s Log Star date: January 2, 2026 Another Christmas and New Year have gone by and I just watched my heart drive away, taking another tiny piece of me with him. This happens every time my son visits and then head home. He’s may only son, so, the ache feels painfully deep.
By Alexandra Grant10 months ago in Humans
Ways To Stay Hydrated Besides Drinking Water
Water is usually the first thing people turn to when they are thirsty. However, water is not the only thing that will quench your thirst and keep you hydrated. You can stay hydrated by drinking other liquids and eating certain foods. With so many options, it is very easy to choose something to drink or eat to stay hydrated.
By Margaret Minnicks10 months ago in Humans
Emotional Timing Is Everything
We are often told that love is a matter of chemistry, shared values, and perhaps a bit of luck. We’re taught to look for "The One" as if they are a destination on a map. But after years of navigating the highs and lows of modern dating, I’ve realized that love isn’t just about who you meet—it’s about when you meet them.
By Jhon smith10 months ago in Humans
