Latest news with #emotionalintensity
The Guardian
06-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
To Rest Our Minds and Bodies by Harriet Armstrong review – a singular new voice
The heart is a peculiar organ. It wants what it wants, as Emily Dickinson wrote. Especially when you're young and have no previous experience of love and desire, or the deleterious effects of time on both. This is the core subject of 24-year-old Harriet Armstrong's debut novel, To Rest Our Minds and Bodies, published by the consistently adventurous independent press Les Fugitives. When the unnamed narrator, a third-year psychology student, meets fellow student Luke in their campus kitchen, she falls hard. They begin sharing meals and confidences in her room, which bears a 'suicide beam' running the length of the ceiling. This memento mori is archly juxtaposed with the narrator's breathless infatuation, which feels as if 'some great transition was occurring inside me, something was aligning, I could actually feel it'. She finds herself 'wide open and completely soft like a small trembling animal held in two hands, two hands which could crush it completely but which would not'. Armstrong expertly adumbrates the emotional intensity and vulnerability of first love, with every page bearing a startling observation or wry aside. The world is made anew: 'I had never seen a winter which was so yellow … before Luke I had never really felt gendered … Luke and I were inventing ourselves.' Of course, her loved one is filtered through her perceptions, and while he is intelligent and attractive, we can also see that he's a self-involved, self-pitying young man, with all that entails. He leaves her dangling and fails to reciprocate her abundant, overflowing emotions. Unlike us, she can't see him objectively. Nor can she see herself fully. While she's aware that her self-conscious awkwardness is the result of her neurodivergence, she's yet to gain the self-knowledge that might deter her from withholding men such as Luke. And so we fear for her future the deeper she falls. What's compelling is that unlike, say, Esther in The Bell Jar, the narrator has no perspective through which to filter her descent. At times the novel is unbearably intense, like experiencing the essence of obsession as it's lived in every moment – which is not to say that it isn't also very funny. Armstrong astutely atomises the gen Z world of online living and flat sharing: 'I didn't want to get up to go and make breakfast and be faced with some shirtless boy cooking ramen'. The passage where the narrator Googles vaginal dilators will, for a number of reasons, bring tears to the eyes. Armstrong's voice is by turns jejune, candid and ludic, but always aware of its effects and its commitment to emotional truth. The Cartesian split alluded to in the title is crucial. While cerebral and obsessively analytical, the narrator is equally fervent about engaging with the messily somatic: 'Perhaps sex was a necessary component of the life that I wanted, perhaps some things really couldn't be accessed at all except through sex.' Luke is ambivalent about her joining Tinder. And so she embarks on a series of tragic dates, losing her virginity with a thirtysomething comedian in a sex scene of almost surreal awkwardness, but written with such dark humour and insight that it ends up feeling triumphant. Almost inevitably, Luke eventually turns away from her. Memories of their time together pour back 'like some biblical flood or plague'. Eventually, it becomes 'impossible to even breathe without thinking of Luke'. At the book's close, she is invited to his 24th birthday party, aware that he's moved on but unable to process the fact, leading to a searing denouement. The final scene is as deft and devastating as the conclusion to a Cheever story. While ostensibly belonging to the subgenre of novels about young women negotiating 21st-century relationships, To Rest Our Minds and Bodies is a world away from the derogatory label 'sad girl lit'. It announces Armstrong as a bright and singular voice in literary fiction. To Rest Our Minds and Bodies by Harriet Armstrong is published by Les Fugitives (£14.99). To support the Guardian order your copy at Delivery charges may apply.
The Guardian
05-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
To Rest Our Minds and Bodies by Harriet Armstrong review – a singular new voice
The heart is a peculiar organ. It wants what it wants, as Emily Dickinson wrote. Especially when you're young and have no previous experience of love and desire, or the deleterious effects of time on both. This is the core subject of 24-year-old Harriet Armstrong's debut novel, To Rest Our Minds and Bodies, published by the consistently adventurous independent press Les Fugitives. When the unnamed narrator, a third-year psychology student, meets fellow student Luke in their campus kitchen, she falls hard. They begin sharing meals and confidences in her room, which bears a 'suicide beam' running the length of the ceiling. This memento mori is archly juxtaposed with the narrator's breathless infatuation, which feels as if 'some great transition was occurring inside me, something was aligning, I could actually feel it'. She finds herself 'wide open and completely soft like a small trembling animal held in two hands, two hands which could crush it completely but which would not'. Armstrong expertly adumbrates the emotional intensity and vulnerability of first love, with every page bearing a startling observation or wry aside. The world is made anew: 'I had never seen a winter which was so yellow … before Luke I had never really felt gendered … Luke and I were inventing ourselves.' Of course, her loved one is filtered through her perceptions, and while he is intelligent and attractive, we can also see that he's a self-involved, self-pitying young man, with all that entails. He leaves her dangling and fails to reciprocate her abundant, overflowing emotions. Unlike us, she can't see him objectively. Nor can she see herself fully. While she's aware that her self-conscious awkwardness is the result of her neurodivergence, she's yet to gain the self-knowledge that might deter her from withholding men such as Luke. And so we fear for her future the deeper she falls. What's compelling is that unlike, say, Esther in The Bell Jar, the narrator has no perspective through which to filter her descent. At times the novel is unbearably intense, like experiencing the essence of obsession as it's lived in every moment – which is not to say that it isn't also very funny. Armstrong astutely atomises the gen Z world of online living and flat sharing: 'I didn't want to get up to go and make breakfast and be faced with some shirtless boy cooking ramen'. The passage where the narrator Googles vaginal dilators will, for a number of reasons, bring tears to the eyes. Armstrong's voice is by turns jejune, candid and ludic, but always aware of its effects and its commitment to emotional truth. The Cartesian split alluded to in the title is crucial. While cerebral and obsessively analytical, the narrator is equally fervent about engaging with the messily somatic: 'Perhaps sex was a necessary component of the life that I wanted, perhaps some things really couldn't be accessed at all except through sex.' Luke is ambivalent about her joining Tinder. And so she embarks on a series of tragic dates, losing her virginity with a thirtysomething comedian in a sex scene of almost surreal awkwardness, but written with such dark humour and insight that it ends up feeling triumphant. Almost inevitably, Luke eventually turns away from her. Memories of their time together pour back 'like some biblical flood or plague'. Eventually, it becomes 'impossible to even breathe without thinking of Luke'. At the book's close, she is invited to his 24th birthday party, aware that he's moved on but unable to process the fact, leading to a searing denouement. The final scene is as deft and devastating as the conclusion to a Cheever story. While ostensibly belonging to the subgenre of novels about young women negotiating 21st-century relationships, To Rest Our Minds and Bodies is a world away from the derogatory label 'sad girl lit'. It announces Armstrong as a bright and singular voice in literary fiction. To Rest Our Minds and Bodies by Harriet Armstrong is published by Les Fugitives (£14.99). To support the Guardian order your copy at Delivery charges may apply.
Forbes
02-07-2025
- General
- Forbes
3 Red Flags You Are Romanticizing As Love, By A Psychologist
These three red flags might look like love, but in reality, they're clear signs that someone isn't ... More right for you. Here's how to learn the difference. When a relationship ends despite your best efforts to make it work, you might think 'I just wanted to be loved.' Perhaps you even convince yourself that you're not meant for the love you're seeking. You may even start to feel that relationships never work out for you, and no matter how much you pour into them, you always come out empty-handed. If this pattern holds true for most of your relationships, it doesn't mean you don't deserve healthy love. Instead, you may be replaying certain relational patterns that land you the same outcome each time. More often than not, we mistake familiar pain for love. This is often a childhood dynamic that follows you into adult relationships. With each cycle of seeking love and failing to get it in your life, you might notice that what you've been drawn to isn't a form of love after all. Here are three red flags we tend to misinterpret and romanticize as love, and how to identify them. 1. You Mistake Emotional Intensity For Passion Emotional intensity in dysfunctional relationships manifests as extreme lows followed by extreme highs. You may experience intense feelings and a preoccupation with your partner that borders on obsession, or may be drawn to partners who feel this way about you. In such a dynamic, every fight threatens to break your relationship, shake your foundation and make you question your self-worth, but every make-up comes with the certainty of forever — a mindset where you believe love will win it all no matter how hard it gets. In such relationships, it's hard to find your footing or make space for what matters because you're always on damage control. You forget that true love offers safety without unrealistic expectations, acceptance without conditions and validation without needing to earn it. Individuals with an anxious attachment style are especially prone to this dynamic, as emotional inconsistency can magnify their longing. This is where people often mistake unpredictability for love. A 2018 study published in Interpersona investigated the link between emotional intensity and romantic feelings in 80 young adults. It found that moderate stress in romantic relationships can heighten romantic feelings, creating a cycle where instability feels more compelling than peace. In contrast, feelings decreased under both low and high levels of stress. The next time you are ruminating about your relationship, ask yourself, 'Is this really pushing me toward connection or am I just addicted to intensity?' 2. You Are Chasing Validation, Not Love When you're stuck in a romanticizing pattern, you often chase validation instead of love. What drives you — often unconsciously — is the belief that, 'If I can finally get this person to love me, then I'll be worthy.' You seek their validation because, deep down, you may believe, 'I am not enough' — a belief that likely formed in childhood when your needs were dismissed or you were seen as too demanding. This internalized shame shows up in relationships as striving for approval, blaming yourself when things go wrong and surrendering your agency to avoid rejection. You don't look for someone who gets you — you look for someone to save you from addressing the aspects of yourself that you are too embarrassed to look at. A 2019 study published in the International Journal of Psychophysiology concluded that emotional neglect was associated with reduced oxytocin levels and insecure attachment patterns which collectively predicted higher social fear and avoidance. That is, when your need for safety is not met, it can impact you at both physiological and psychological levels, fueling the need to gain validation, avoid confrontation and re-establish a sense of safety. So, in relationships, whenever you catch yourself overdoing it — trying too hard to show your worth or overperforming for others — it's not love you may be seeking, but validation. Ask yourself, 'Do I really want this person to love me or do I just need them to see me — so I can finally feel worthy of loving myself?' 3. You Are Mistaking Control For Security When people think of security in love, they think of someone they can rely on in times of need. Someone who can take the wheel from them when they are too tired to drive, take over household responsibilities while they rest or support them through a difficult time. Emotionally, it's the equivalent of them drawing a blanket over you as you sleep. You know with certainty that they're there for you. That's what security looks like for most — the sense that no matter what life throws at them, they won't be facing it alone. That's often not the case when you end up romanticizing control as security. These dynamics look subtle. It could be your partner: You may mistakenly start to believe that such signs of manipulation are care. A 2016 study published in Sex Roles investigated how certain romantic beliefs — such as idealizing love at all costs, viewing jealousy as a sign of commitment or believing that romantic relationships should be intensely emotional — are related to the tendency to romanticize controlling behaviors. The researchers surveyed 275 heterosexual women aged 18 to 50 and found that women who endorsed these beliefs were significantly more likely to view controlling behaviors (such as jealousy, possessiveness or making decisions for the partner) as romantic. This romanticization, in turn, was related to higher reported rates of both psychological and physical intimate partner violence. Instead of acknowledging these red flags, people may interpret them as signs of love. What feels like security may, in fact, be the normalization of control. When you're torn between love and what's right, ask yourself, 'If my closest friend were going through this, would I still think it's okay?' When you recognize that you may have been romanticizing red flags all along, you can finally begin to choose a connection that feels safe, steady and real. Want to know if control dynamics are shaping your relationship? Take this science-backed test to find out: Relationship Control Scale
Forbes
24-05-2025
- General
- Forbes
3 Signs You're Mistaking Intensity For Love, By A Psychologist
'I was broken. I felt like a shell of a woman. Lonely and desperate.' These words come from a participant of a 2023 study published in Personal Relationships, which conducted in-depth qualitative interviews with 65 individuals who had survived emotionally manipulative romantic relationships marked by gaslighting. The study found that what often begins as intense emotional intimacy, through early love bombing, excessive validation and shared vulnerability, can gradually distort a person's sense of self. The most common consequence wasn't heartbreak. It was psychological disorientation, identity erosion and what researchers called a 'diminished sense of self.' 'I barely felt like a person anymore,' one participant explained. Intensity in relationships involves seeking out acute, high-stimulation feelings that often stem from fear, anxiety or a desire to escape emotional numbness, not from genuine connection. Here are three signs you are mistaking emotional intensity for passion and how to escape this damaging relationship pattern: Individuals in high-intensity relationships often report a persistent sense of emotional urgency, marked by constant preoccupation with their partner's moods, reactions or availability. This can include heightened anxiety during periods of distance, disproportionate relief during reunions and chronic self-monitoring during conversations. While these patterns are frequently misinterpreted as deep romantic investment, they may more accurately reflect emotional dependency. Survivors of emotional manipulation commonly describe becoming 'hooked' on their partner's approval, to the point where their sense of self becomes conditional on that validation. 'The start of the relationship was intense in terms of emotional intimacy. We shared many details of our emotions and traumas very early, some even on the first date,' shared one participant from the 2023 study. Another noted, 'At the beginning of the relationship, both parties were 'bending-over-backward' for each other.' Despite this emotional fixation, individuals in such dynamics often report not feeling emotionally understood. They may spend considerable time overanalyzing conversations, anticipating needs and trying to avoid missteps — yet still feel unseen or mischaracterized. The disconnect between their emotional effort and their partner's responsiveness frequently leads to confusion, self-blame and an intensified drive to repair or prove their worth. This cycle can reinforce dependency rather than connection. When emotional safety is inconsistent, we may learn to equate tension with passion. However, true intimacy cannot exist without consistency, safety and mutual vulnerability. In emotionally intense relationships, connection often seems strongest immediately after conflict. The dynamic may be marked by frequent ruptures, including arguments, silent treatment or emotional withdrawal, followed by sudden closeness, reconciliation or affection. The 'best' moments are often right after the worst ones, when the pain lifts and relief sets in. As one participant of the 2023 study explained, 'Arguments started for no reason, switching rapidly to being extremely affectionate and sexual.' In such dynamics, peace and stability may feel boring, wrong even. Over time, this cycle can create the illusion that conflict is the gateway to intimacy. Couples may mistakenly believe, 'This must be real, because it hurts this much.' Recent research supports this pattern. A 2025 study published in Frontiers in Psychology found that individuals with high levels of love addiction, defined as compulsive emotional dependence on a partner, showed a significantly higher tolerance for gaslighting, particularly when two mediating factors were present: a strong sense of giving and diminished relationship power. Participants often rationalized emotional volatility as devotion and, over time, came to equate sacrifice with love. As their sense of agency declined, their acceptance of manipulation increased. In these relationships, emotional rupture becomes not just a byproduct of conflict, but the mechanism by which closeness is repeatedly reestablished. As a result, relational calm may trigger anxiety, and intensity may become the only recognizable marker of love. In emotionally intense relationships, demeaning behavior is often reframed as emotional honesty. Criticism is interpreted as truth-telling. Withdrawal is seen as a response to being 'hurt too deeply.' Over time, these patterns can create the illusion that volatility reflects depth — that if someone reacts strongly, they must care deeply. This confusion is common in emotionally abusive dynamics. A 2013 study published in Violence and Victims found that degradation — including humiliation, belittlement and personal attacks — was the most commonly reported form of severe emotional abuse. Researchers identified patterns of ridicule, emotional withdrawal and isolation, often co-occurring and reinforcing each other. These behaviors can be misread by victims as intensity or emotional complexity rather than as abuse. When relational safety is inconsistent, individuals may begin to mold themselves to avoid conflict, earn back affection or prevent further rupture. Over time, cruelty is no longer seen as harmful but as a signal that the relationship matters — that there is something meaningful worth chasing, especially when the relationship has been positioned as unique or transcendent by the other person. But relational depth is not defined by how deeply someone can wound you. It's defined by how they respond to your vulnerability, and whether they protect it or exploit it. Genuine emotional depth requires safety, mutuality and accountability. Cruelty masked as insight or framed as undeniable truth—is not a marker of connection. It is a distortion of it. If intensity is your default, it may be a trauma response — especially if you grew up associating pain, unpredictability or adrenaline with closeness. Intensity is not proof of real love; it's a cue to pause and examine our relational patterns. Breaking these patterns requires redefining what love actually feels like. Here are a few questions worth reflecting on: If you're already losing parts of yourself early in a relationship, it may be time to pause. Intensity is not passion when it's rooted in fear. Love, care, trust and respect don't require suffering to feel real. When self-trust is shaky, emotional extremes can become the only signals we know how to follow. Rebuilding that trust helps you stop chasing love that feels unstable, and start recognizing love that feels safe. Have you found yourself holding on to love, even when the cost is too high? Take this science-backed test to learn more about your relationship patterns: Love Addiction Inventory
