It’s spring.

And suddenly the city changes.

People sit a little longer outside.
There’s more eye contact.
More accidental smiles.
More almost-conversations that could become something.

I love this time of year because of a kind of magical combo I have in my mind.
Being single and getting to meet so many interesting people.

There’s something about that state.
Open. Curious. Not locked into anything.
Just… available for what might happen.

And in that space, you start to notice things.

Patterns.
Feelings.
Reactions in your body.

Especially when it comes to love.

Why Butterflies Are Not What You Think

We’ve been taught a very specific story about love.

That it’s intense.
A little chaotic.
That your heart should race and your thoughts should spiral.

Butterflies enter the scene…

And if you don’t feel that… something must be missing.

Now, sorry for slightly ruining the romance here.
But stay with me.
I’ll give you something back.
Something that may be even better.

Because if you look at this through the lens of neuroscience, that story starts to fall apart.

What we often call chemistry is sometimes just a stressed nervous system.

Your body is not romantic.

It’s efficient.

It scans constantly.
People. Environments. Signals.

Asking one simple question:‍

Am I safe here?

And it answers that question fast.
Before your thoughts catch up.

If the answer is unclear, your system activates.

Heart rate goes up.
Attention sharpens.
Cortisol rises.

You feel alert. Engaged. Slightly obsessed...

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And because it’s intense, we’ve learned to call it attraction.

But biologically, it’s closer to uncertainty.

Your system is trying to figure something out.

When Love Feels Like Calm

Now compare that to a different kind of experience.

You meet someone.
And nothing spikes.

No overthinking.
No guessing games.
No emotional rollercoaster.

Just a quiet sense of ease.

You can sit back.
Breathe normally.
Be yourself without adjusting every sentence.

That’s regulation.

Your nervous system has stopped scanning.

And that’s a big deal.

Because when the body feels safe, it shifts state.

From survival to connection.

This is where love actually starts to make sense as a biological condition.

When we feel safe with someone, different systems come online.

Oxytocin increases, the hormone linked to bonding and trust.

Your heart rate stabilises.
Your breathing deepens.

The prefrontal cortex, the part of your brain responsible for presence and decision-making, stays online.

You’re not hijacked by emotion.
You’re in it.

Aware. Present. Connected.

This is what real connection feels like in the body.

Not loud.
But stable.

The problem is, many of us are more familiar with the opposite.

Uncertainty.
Inconsistency.
Emotional highs and lows.

So when calm shows up, it can feel unfamiliar.

Even boring.

Nothing is pulling you in.
Nothing is pushing you away.

Just… steadiness.

And if your system is used to activation, you might misread that, and you walk away from it.

And you go back to what feels like “spark”, even if that spark is your nervous system being dysregulated.

Let’s Wrap This Up

We’ve confused intensity with connection for a long time.

Butterflies can feel good.
But they are not always a sign of safety.

And without safety, the body stays on alert.

The kind of love that lasts doesn’t always arrive with a spark.

It often arrives as calm.

Your shoulders drop.
Your breathing slows.
You stop analysing every detail.

You’re not performing.
You’re not trying to win anything.

You’re just there.

And your nervous system recognises it before your mind does.

That this is different.

That this is safe.

And that maybe, for once, you don’t have to figure it out.

You can just stay.

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And just to be clear.

I’m a hopeless romantic.

I believe in love.
In meeting someone and feeling something shift.

I just don’t think it has to feel like chaos anymore.

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Lots of love,

Stina

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