I've sat across from so many people who keep choosing them, don’t you? The one who feels like a storm you can’t quite survive, but oh, the lightning is magnificent. The one who feels like a quiet harbor, so quiet you eventually realize you’re just docked next to an empty pier. The one who is a puzzle, a project, a locked room you are sure you can open if you just find the right key, contort yourself into the right shape, say the right prayer. You call it chemistry. You call it a deep connection. You call it a challenge. I call it your nervous system, screaming for what is familiar. And for most of us, what is familiar is not what is safe. It’s the wound, repeating itself, dressed up in a new body, whispering the same old lies. You think you are choosing a partner. You are not. You are choosing a nervous system state. You are choosing a frequency that matches the chaos, or the numbness, or the terror that you have learned to call home. This isn’t a flaw in your character. It’s not a sign that you are broken or unworthy of love. Stop that