u/Specialist-Top-406

I’m always so fascinated with what people who are in long term therapy seem to work through and stay with. I have always wanted my therapist to have a session with a few close friends of mine to get an objective perspective of people who know and love me, but could maybe point to things I can’t see.

Not in a sense of a delegation of responsibility, I just think people close to you can often identify certain things in us we can’t always see. I would be so interested in what might change if my therapist could hear from others about me.

I’m always so fascinated with what people who are in long term therapy seem to work through and stay with. I have always wanted my therapist to have a session with a few close friends of mine to get an objective perspective of people who know and love me, but could maybe point to things I can’t see.

Not in a sense of a delegation of responsibility, I just think people close to you can often identify certain things in us we can’t always see. I would be so interested in what might change if my therapist could hear from others about me.

I’m always so fascinated with what people who are in long term therapy seem to work through and stay with. I have always wanted my therapist to have a session with a few close friends of mine to get an objective perspective of people who know and love me, but could maybe point to things I can’t see.

Not in a sense of a delegation of responsibility, I just think people close to you can often identify certain things in us we can’t always see. I would be so interested in what might change if my therapist could hear from others about me.

I’m always so fascinated with what people who are in long term therapy seem to work through and stay with. I have always wanted my therapist to have a session with a few close friends of mine to get an objective perspective of people who know and love me, but could maybe point to things I can’t see.

Not in a sense of a delegation of responsibility, I just think people close to you can often identify certain things in us we can’t always see. I would be so interested in what might change if my therapist could hear from others about me.

I think horror is becoming the most interesting genre for me.

Not because of the gore or the jump scares. I actually don’t care that much about that side of horror. What interests me is being surprised.

One of the reasons Obsession was so fantastic to me is that it felt like it was made for people who would actually care about it. It wasn’t trying to be palatable and it wasn’t trying to appeal to everyone. It felt like it trusted that the audience who would appreciate it would find it.

I feel like a lot of films now are made with marketability in mind first. They follow familiar structures, familiar character arcs, familiar everything. Sometimes it genuinely feels like films are being made for people to scroll while watching them. Obsession felt like the complete opposite of that.

It’s an original idea, it doesn’t rely on huge stars, and it’s packed with nuance. I genuinely feel like I could write a thousand think pieces about different parts of it because there’s so much there. Every time I think about it, I find something else interesting. It feels incredibly relevant to now without feeling like it’s trying to beat you over the head with a message.

What I love most is that it feels like it was made by a person. A young creative person with a vision, working with people around him, making the thing he wanted to make. It doesn’t feel like something that’s been passed around boardrooms until every interesting edge has been sanded off.

And I think the response to it proves something. I think people are far more interested in this kind of work than they’re often given credit for. People want films they can get lost in. People want films that trust them. People want films that leave them thinking afterwards.

That’s why horror is becoming so interesting to me. It feels like one of the few genres that’s still constantly evolving because it has to. The audience expects more from it, and that’s what horror seems to be offering.

A genuine ability to offer credit to their audience without dumbing anything down.

I’ve been thinking about something my therapist said to me, that I’m brave when it comes to the things most people are scared of. But those have never really been the things I find hard. I don’t have a fear of failure or being told off, and I think a lot of that comes from how I grew up.

What I do find hard is different.

It’s being seen when I’m not strong. Being vulnerable without performing it. Being perceived without trying to control how I’m understood. Just doing something because it matters to me and not explaining it or proving it.

And that’s why I keep coming back to Lena Dunham.

She feels completely committed to her own voice in a way that doesn’t try to be approved of. She knows some people will get it and some won’t, and she does it anyway. She lets people either feel seen or completely reject what they’re looking at.

I always think about Girls, especially the episode with Donald Glover.

It confronts that very specific type of white woman who sees herself as progressive, and completely unsettles that identity. It challenges the illusion of equality by showing how even trying to be good and aware can still centre yourself.

Because even being the one who understands still puts you in control. Still lets you define what it all means.

And what that episode does is take that away.

It forces you into a position where you can’t remove yourself from it. Where you have to sit with the fact that your perspective is limited, and maybe shaped by your own need to feel like a good person.

It holds a mirror up to that kind of ignorance in a way people don’t want to see. The ugly side of trying to be good.

And the reaction to it kind of proves that. People tore it apart instead of recognising themselves in it.

That’s what she does so well.

She doesn’t soften anything or guide you to the right conclusion. She just shows it, including herself in it, and lets you decide if you’re willing to see it.

And I think that’s the kind of bravery I actually find difficult.

Not the visible kind, not the kind that looks confident or resilient, but the kind where you let go of control completely.

Where you don’t try to be understood. You don’t try to be right. You don’t even try to be liked.

Which is exactly what she does.

She shows the thing anyway.

And lets you decide what you see in it.

I am so fascinated by this whole looksmaxing fad and I genuinely see it as part of a much bigger shift in how relationships and value work in society.

In my opinion, gender dynamics are slowly moving towards something more equal, even if we are not fully there yet, and at the same time life has become so expensive and unstable that traditional relationship structures based on dependency are becoming harder to maintain. It feels like fewer people can realistically rely on someone else to provide for them in the way that used to be more common or expected.

I think historically relationships were often shaped by imbalance, especially financial imbalance. Women’s value was so often tied to desirability because, very practically, being chosen by a man could be tied to survival. It is not even that long ago that women could not have their own bank accounts, let alone be expected to fully support themselves. So there was always this underlying trade, even if it was not always spoken about in those terms.

From my perspective, that system does not really function in the same way anymore. Not because we have achieved full equality, because we clearly have not, but because economic reality has changed so much that independence is no longer optional for most people. Everyone has to provide in some way, and that changes the foundation relationships used to sit on.

What I find really interesting about looksmaxing is how it seems to emerge in that gap. When older forms of leverage like financial dependence or clearly defined gender roles start to lose their power, people seem to fall back on what is still immediately visible and socially recognised, which is physical attractiveness.

To me though, there is something quite vulnerable about that. I see the focus on maximising appearance and desirability as less about confidence and more about external validation becoming the only thing that still feels accessible or controllable. It feels like people are trying to anchor their worth in something that can still be measured and responded to quickly by others.

I also think it reflects how difficult it is for people to adjust when the rules change. People are still trying to use old ideas of attractiveness as a form of power or advantage, but those ideas do not really carry the same weight they once did. So instead of creating real security, it often just exposes insecurity more clearly.

In my opinion we are in a kind of transition period where old structures around value and relationships are breaking down, but new ones have not fully formed yet. In that space, looks and desirability can start to feel like one of the only remaining currencies that people can rely on, even though it is actually quite fragile.

What I find a bit sad about it is that it can turn into a way of outsourcing self worth. The more emphasis there is on being seen as attractive, the more it can feel like a request for external validation rather than something grounded internally. And I think that is why it feels so exposed, because it is essentially asking others to confirm your value in a world where so many other certainties have already shifted.

I am so fascinated by this whole looksmaxing fad and I genuinely see it as part of a much bigger shift in how relationships and value work in society.

In my opinion, gender dynamics are slowly moving towards something more equal, even if we are not fully there yet, and at the same time life has become so expensive and unstable that traditional relationship structures based on dependency are becoming harder to maintain. It feels like fewer people can realistically rely on someone else to provide for them in the way that used to be more common or expected.

I think historically relationships were often shaped by imbalance, especially financial imbalance. Women’s value was so often tied to desirability because, very practically, being chosen by a man could be tied to survival. It is not even that long ago that women could not have their own bank accounts, let alone be expected to fully support themselves. So there was always this underlying trade, even if it was not always spoken about in those terms.

From my perspective, that system does not really function in the same way anymore. Not because we have achieved full equality, because we clearly have not, but because economic reality has changed so much that independence is no longer optional for most people. Everyone has to provide in some way, and that changes the foundation relationships used to sit on.

What I find really interesting about looksmaxing is how it seems to emerge in that gap. When older forms of leverage like financial dependence or clearly defined gender roles start to lose their power, people seem to fall back on what is still immediately visible and socially recognised, which is physical attractiveness.

To me though, there is something quite vulnerable about that. I see the focus on maximising appearance and desirability as less about confidence and more about external validation becoming the only thing that still feels accessible or controllable. It feels like people are trying to anchor their worth in something that can still be measured and responded to quickly by others.

I also think it reflects how difficult it is for people to adjust when the rules change. People are still trying to use old ideas of attractiveness as a form of power or advantage, but those ideas do not really carry the same weight they once did. So instead of creating real security, it often just exposes insecurity more clearly.

In my opinion we are in a kind of transition period where old structures around value and relationships are breaking down, but new ones have not fully formed yet. In that space, looks and desirability can start to feel like one of the only remaining currencies that people can rely on, even though it is actually quite fragile.

What I find a bit sad about it is that it can turn into a way of outsourcing self worth. The more emphasis there is on being seen as attractive, the more it can feel like a request for external validation rather than something grounded internally. And I think that is why it feels so exposed, because it is essentially asking others to confirm your value in a world where so many other certainties have already shifted.

Me for example, I do not have a clue what engineering is.

Listening to So Long London by Taylor Swift brought something into focus for me that I have been circling for a while but not fully naming. It was the line about how much sadness do you think I had in me that made me realise how much of my four year relationship had become about endurance rather than mutual care.

I do not see my ex as a villain. I do not think he is a bad person. I think we ended up in something where the structure of it allowed him to benefit from my lack of boundaries and where I slowly made his emotional world the centre of mine. In doing that I stopped really being present in my own life.

There was no dramatic explosion at the end. It was quieter than that. When it ended I expected the kind of grief I had always known after previous relationships, the kind that feels like being completely undone. Instead there was sadness, but also something I had not experienced before which was relief. Not relief at losing someone I did not care about, but relief at no longer being in something that required me to disappear in order to hold it together.

I do not feel jealousy about where he is now. I do not feel comparison with his new relationship. If anything I feel a strange distance from all of that. I can see she seems like a lovely person and I genuinely wish her well, but I also find myself hoping she does not end up in the same dynamic I was in.

What I am left with is the recognition that I learned how easily I can abandon myself when I am focused on someone else. His feelings and struggles became my whole world and somewhere along the way I stopped existing as a separate person in it.

If there is anything I am taking forward, it is that love cannot be the place where I hide from myself. I do not need to withstand that much to be worthy of connection. And I do not need to make someone else’s emotional life my responsibility in order to matter.

It is not bitterness. It is not blame. It is just clarity.

Listening to So Long London by Taylor Swift brought something into focus for me that I have been circling for a while but not fully naming. It was the line about, how much sadness do you think I had in me, that made me realise how much of my four year relationship had become about endurance rather than mutual care.

I do not see my ex as a villain. I do not think he is a bad person. I think we ended up in something where the structure of it allowed him to benefit from my lack of boundaries and where I slowly made his emotional world the centre of mine. In doing that I stopped really being present in my own life.

There was no dramatic explosion at the end. It was quieter than that. When it ended I expected the kind of grief I had always known after previous relationships, the kind that feels like being completely undone. Instead there was sadness, but also something I had not experienced before which was relief. Not relief at losing someone I did not care about, but relief at no longer being in something that required me to disappear in order to hold it together.

I do not feel jealousy about where he is now. I do not feel comparison with his new relationship. If anything I feel a strange distance from all of that. I can see she seems like a lovely person and I genuinely wish her well, but I also find myself hoping she does not end up in the same dynamic I was in.

What I am left with is the recognition that I learned how easily I can abandon myself when I am focused on someone else. His feelings and struggles became my whole world and somewhere along the way I stopped existing as a separate person in it.

If there is anything I am taking forward, it is that love cannot be the place where I hide from myself. I do not need to withstand that much to be worthy of connection. And I do not need to make someone else’s emotional life my responsibility in order to matter.

It is not bitterness. It is not blame. It is just clarity.

Listening to So Long London by Taylor Swift brought something into focus for me that I have been circling for a while but not fully naming. It was the line about how much sadness do you think I had in me that made me realise how much of my four year relationship had become about endurance rather than mutual care.

I do not see my ex as a villain. I do not think he is a bad person. I think we ended up in something where the structure of it allowed him to benefit from my lack of boundaries and where I slowly made his emotional world the centre of mine. In doing that I stopped really being present in my own life.

There was no dramatic explosion at the end. It was quieter than that. When it ended I expected the kind of grief I had always known after previous relationships, the kind that feels like being completely undone. Instead there was sadness, but also something I had not experienced before which was relief. Not relief at losing someone I did not care about, but relief at no longer being in something that required me to disappear in order to hold it together.

I do not feel jealousy about where he is now. I do not feel comparison with his new relationship. If anything I feel a strange distance from all of that. I can see she seems like a lovely person and I genuinely wish her well, but I also find myself hoping she does not end up in the same dynamic I was in.

What I am left with is the recognition that I learned how easily I can abandon myself when I am focused on someone else. His feelings and struggles became my whole world and somewhere along the way I stopped existing as a separate person in it.

If there is anything I am taking forward, it is that love cannot be the place where I hide from myself. I do not need to withstand that much to be worthy of connection. And I do not need to make someone else’s emotional life my responsibility in order to matter.

It is not bitterness. It is not blame. It is just clarity.

A close friend of mine recently lost a family member to suicide.

It’s not something I’m unfamiliar with, but every time it happens it brings the same realisation back around for me.

Say the thing.

Say it while you can.

And I mean that in the simplest way. If I like someone’s hair, I’ll tell them. If someone’s outfit stands out, or their laugh sticks with me, I’ll say it in the moment instead of keeping it in my head for later.

What’s surprised me this time is how many of my friends have been stuck on whether it’s “appropriate” to message someone after something like this. Whether it’s better to say something or just leave them alone.

And I get it. Nobody wants to say the wrong thing or make it worse. But it also feels like we overthink it to the point where we do nothing at all.

That hesitation, that need to not come across as awkward or too emotional or too earnest, I think it takes up way more space than it should. Like we’re more worried about how we’re perceived than just being present for someone.

And I don’t think it’s just about grief either. It’s the same thing in everyday life. We hold back compliments, we don’t check in, we don’t say what we mean because we’re slightly embarrassed to be that direct.

But honestly, most of the time people just remember that you said something at all.

I don’t really have a neat takeaway. It’s just been sitting with me.

But I do think I’d rather be the person who said it than the one who stayed quiet and overthought it.

There is a conversation around gender that keeps circling and never quite lands. And I think part of the problem is how quickly we reduce it to extremes instead of actually sitting in the nuance.

When a woman says she hates men, people react in very predictable ways. Some men hear it and confidently label her as a man hater. Some women hear it and understand it as shorthand for something deeper. Others immediately compare it to saying you hate women, as if those statements exist in the same context. But they do not.

Women are already navigating a world where they are more likely to be diminished, dismissed, or expected to be smaller. Men, broadly, are still positioned as more. Both are stereotypes. Both are limiting. But they are not equal in impact, particularly in western society.

For me, I do not hate men. I am tired of accommodating the same patterns and pretending they do not exist. I am tired of the gap between what we say society is and what it actually feels like day to day. At the same time, I do not believe in flattening people into labels.

I was reminded of that recently. I met a friend’s partner who had already been described to me as misogynistic. And when a woman says that, there is a reason people take it seriously. A lot of women have experienced enough to justify that instinct.

But then I met him. He was kind, engaged, and just honestly such a wonderful person.

The reason he had been written off was because he works for a company with limited maternity leave and when asked if he had challenged it, he said no. And that was enough to define him.

But that is not misogyny. That is someone existing within a structure most people do not actively challenge unless it directly affects them. I do not have children. I could not tell you what my own company policies are. Most people are not engaging with these issues at that level every day. This is where I think we are getting it wrong.

Women are not wrong to feel disappointed. A lot of that disappointment is built on repeated patterns, on emotional labour, on navigating spaces that still carry the weight of the patriarchy and the male gaze. That is real.

But not every man is consciously upholding that system. And not every failure to challenge it is an active endorsement of it.

Equally, men who respond with imagine if I said I hate women are missing the point entirely. Women are already judged and reduced in ways that are normalised. So the comparison does not hold the same weight.

And on the other side, women who completely write off men or turn that frustration into identity are also missing the point. Equality is not about rejection or superiority. It is about being able to see each other clearly.

The men I have in my life are a constant reminder of what this can look like when it works. They are not defensive. They do not feel the need to centre themselves in every conversation. They understand that acknowledging a system is not the same as accepting blame. And I think that is the shift.

This is not about hatred. It is about awareness. It is about being able to say something is not right without it immediately becoming personal. It is about recognising that most people are not the problem on their own, but the systems we exist in are still shaping behaviour in ways we do not always acknowledge.

We are not as far along as we think we are. I see that in everyday environments, especially at work. And I also see the opposite in my personal life, which is what makes it both frustrating and hopeful at the same time.

In my personal relationships, as someone in their early 30s, I do not really interact with combative people anymore. So it is rare that I have to explain myself or explain the patriarchy at all. But it is striking to me how often online, especially here, that defensiveness gets confused with inequality.

If you feel defensive about being incorrectly labelled or targeted, that usually means you are trying to be heard and understood. It means you feel dismissed. Which suggests the existing structure is not actually working for you either.

Trying to argue that through comparison is a dead end. Comparisons only work when the situations are equal, and this one is not.

So if you are a man who feels angry, dismissed, or even resentful, you are not actually benefiting from the system in the way you think you are. And that puts you closer to the experience you are pushing against than you might realise.

That is why this conversation needs less defensiveness and more honesty.