Welcome back! If you didn’t join us for the first blog in this 3-part series, go read it now! (Or, you know, don’t—I’m not the boss of you.) As we saw last time, attraction is a surprisingly complex thing and informs our relationships in countless ways. I promised that this time, we’d take a look at some of the groups and orientations in our alphabet soup. Today, we’ll hit on L, G, B, Q, and A (lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer, and asexual), among others, introducing terms and concepts I bet you’ve never heard of or considered. It’s a lot, I know, but from speaking with other people, a lot of this stuff was new information and gave them a lot to think about. I hope it does the same for you.

Welcome to the first blog of a unique 3-part series on LGBTQIA+ people: who exactly they are, how they experience themselves, and how they interact with the world. Maybe you’re a friend, parent, or ally of a queer person, or maybe you’re just curious to learn more than the basics.

Today, we’ll take a quick dive into what makes people gravitate toward one another, romantically or otherwise. Why do I say “LGBTQIA+” you ask? Seems long. Good question! People often talk about the “LGBTQ community,” but lesbians, bi men, trans women, demisexual people, and those with Klinefelter syndrome, let’s say, have wildly different experiences and challenges—which is why I personally prefer “communities” over “community,” FWIW. The added letters just stand for a couple of significant groups that don’t always get a seat at the table. We’ll meet them later. (These are just the terms I like to use. Continue to use whatever you’re used to or comfortable with!)

Do you ever walk away from conversations with your partner and feel completely misunderstood? Like no matter what you say, you cannot make them hear you?

Maybe this happens in all your conversations, whether you are discussing chores, plans, schedules, insecurities, hurt, or needs. You do not know whether to fight harder or to shut down and give up. You both end up feeling hurt, disconnected, or emotionally exhausted.

Boundaries are an interesting concept. They are invisible, subject to change, and are present in practically all of our friendships, relationships, and other social connections. But what exactly are boundaries, and why do they change as we move through life?

Self-care is a term that we all know and love. But what is self-care really? Despite how often the term is mentioned on social media or in wellness articles, self-care is one of the most misunderstood concepts in mental health. When some hear the term, lavish spa days, vacations, or elaborate routines are quick to come to mind, while others may associate the term with being just another item to add to an already long list of to-dos.

Physical touch with a partner is one of the simplest ways to remind your nervous system: “You’re safe. You’re not alone.” These are not grand romantic gestures. They are just small, steady moments of reaching for one another.

To be clear, I’m not talking about big romantic movie moments here. This isn’t The Notebook or When Harry Met Sally. I mean the small, everyday ways we reach toward each other in passing.

When we talk about performance—whether in sports, music, theater, public speaking, or competitive events—we tend to focus first on the physical side: skills, strength, conditioning, repetition, rehearsal. We measure effort by how many hours were spent training and how much sweat was poured into preparation.

Hello, beautiful humans…

Something’s been on my mind lately — a quiet ache I think many of us are feeling. In a world lit by screens, we are constantly connected yet profoundly alone. Faces glow under artificial light, fingers scroll, voices ping, but our nervous systems feel a quiet emptiness. We are surrounded by information, advice, and digital “community,” yet our limbic systems — the emotional centers of our brains — hunger for something far more ancient: true human presence. Feel familiar? This is limbic resonance — the subtle attunement of one nervous system to another, the wordless synchrony that reminds us we are not alone.