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We unconsciously choose relationships—friends, partners, even colleagues—that protect our patterns rather than challenge them.

What set me on this path I’m on wasn’t wisdom.

It was partly the messiness of my own relationships.

It took a lot of untangling.

Lately, I’ve been talking to people about their relationships, people who are struggling to “find the right one.”

It reminded me how much of what we call attraction is really just familiarity in disguise — how easily we repeat the same patterns without realizing it, 

And how the people around us often help keep those patterns in place.

That’s what I want to explore with you today.

A big part of our partner-selection process isn’t logical—it’s nervous system-based.

And the nervous system doesn’t want freedom.

It wants familiarity.

Which means we run the same partner selection patterns over and over.

And the wild part is, it’s not even conscious.

Think about it: we can only expand into love to the extent of our own limitations.

Here’s what I mean—

Through childhood experiences, we quietly built an internal scorecard:

How worthy am I?

How lovable?

How safe?

The unspoken answers to those questions became the internal beliefs we hold about ourselves

—the walls of our capacity to love and be loved; the very limitations I’m talking about.

We rarely see it clearly, but that internal rating system dictates how we see ourselves, and it quietly matches us to the people who reflect what we believe we deserve.

Also known as self-confirmation bias.

And if we’re honest, those beliefs we have of ourselves aren’t usually very kind.

But we find safety in what we know—safety in holding onto these limiting beliefs about ourselves.

We say we want someone who’ll help us blossom, someone who will help us step more fully into the life we want—but what we really want is to stay emotionally comfortable.

So we become “attracted” to the familiar, to what’s safe.

I knew someone who desperately wanted to find a partner.

She was sensitive and kind, but her nervous system carried the imprint of early separation—an old memory that connection wasn’t always safe.

—making her feel more at ease with people she didn’t have to truly bond with.

If a man showed up who could love her deeply—someone grounded, steady, who would help her shape her life in a new way—it didn’t even register.

Her body dismissed him before her mind even had a chance.

Instead she would select someone who matched her old patterns—someone who wouldn’t disturb her internal state or the hidden beliefs she still held about herself—”he just felt right.”

It felt like home.

It even felt like “love”

We think chemistry is attraction. 

But chemistry is just the nervous system recognizing what it already knows.

Biology plays a role, sure—protection, reproduction, pheromones—but mostly, what we call love is emotional familiarity.

We say we want to grow.

To evolve.

To love better.

To stop repeating the same old patterns.

Then someone comes along who’s caring, grounded, kind…and we feel nothing.

No spark.

So often, real love—real growth—might not feel exciting at first.

It might not tingle us the same way.

Sometimes it’s quiet.

Sometimes it’s unsettling.

Sometimes it pushes us to step out of our comfort zone.

It doesn’t feed your drama. It doesn’t need to.

So instead of being drawn to people who elevate us, we gravitate toward those who help us maintain our emotional homeostasis—even if that means staying stuck in our old pain.

Our energy looks for matches—not what will burst our hearts open.

It’s the same with friendship.

If I’ve built a habit of complaining, I’ll find someone who has the same complaints about life as me.

And we’ll call it connection.

We’ll bond over how much everything sucks, how misunderstood we are, how other people just don’t get it.

That’s not healing—that’s matching frequencies.

We find the puzzle piece that fits our neurosis perfectly—and call it chemistry.

But chemistry isn’t always connection.

Mostly it’s two nervous systems agreeing to stay the same.

We’re attracted to what regulates us—even if that means lack of progress, shared anxiety, gossip, or chaos.

Stop basing your choices on chemistry—on how you happen to feel inside.

Feelings were never meant to be fixed.

They’re tides: shifting, swelling, washing through you—always changing.

We want our partners to be responsible for our emotions—to preserve the spark. 

Feelings that were never meant to stay still.

“You don’t make me feel the same way anymore; it must not be love.”

That’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it, when chemistry is designed to change?

So here’s the catch: you’ll keep finding versions of the same person until you become someone different.

That’s the real work.

To notice when “attraction” is just familiarity, safety in disguise.

To stop chasing sparks that burn you.

To be open.

To be curious.

And to start choosing the people who might not light you up in that familiar way—but slowly, steadily, help you unfold.

Familiarity keeps us safe.

Consciousness sets us free.

 —Paul

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