I love mayonnaise.

I love mayonnaise.

I used to put it on everything, sushi, pizza, tacos, bread. I even carried my own jar when I traveled. I’d whip it out at restaurants like it was liquid gold. Everything tasted better with it. Food felt bland without it. It was my secret ingredient.

There was just one problem… I’m allergic to mayonnaise. My body has a painful reaction every time I eat it.

But I kept eating it anyway. Because it made everything taste sooo good. And without it, food didn’t feel the same. I thought I needed it to enjoy what I loved.

It took me a long time to learn how to eat again without it. At first, everything tasted empty. It felt like something was missing. But slowly, I started to notice flavors I hadn’t tasted in years. Real flavors. Subtle ones. I began to enjoy the simplicity again.

It’s the same in relationships.

The “food” is love, connection, intimacy, attraction. But we all have our version of mayonnaise, the pattern we know is hurting us, but that we still crave because it makes everything feel intense and familiar.

For some, it’s chaos. The constant arguing, the emotional rollercoaster that feels like passion.

For others, it’s control, the need to fix, to manage, to prove your worth.

Or maybe it’s self-abandonment, giving too much, overextending, hoping love will finally feel safe if you just give a little more.

That pattern might make love taste stronger, spicier, more alive. But over time, it poisons you. It makes you sick in ways you don’t even see until your nervous system starts to collapse. Until the excitement you thought was connection turns into exhaustion.

And just like giving up mayonnaise, removing that pattern feels unbearable at first. You’ll think something’s missing. You’ll call it “boring.” You’ll crave the high. You’ll tell yourself that healthy love just doesn’t have that same spark. But it’s not the love that’s dull, it’s the absence of the toxin your system got addicted to.

The truth is, that pattern once served a purpose.

It helped you survive, helped you feel something when love felt unpredictable or unsafe. But now it’s killing your ability to experience love as nourishment.

You can’t keep the pattern and have peace.

Like I can’t keep the mayonnaise and stay healthy.

At some point, you have to decide:

Do I want intensity, or do I want intimacy?

Do I want the familiar high, or do I want real nourishment?

Because real love, the kind that lasts, doesn’t burn you up.

It feeds you slowly, quietly, consistently.

And once your system adjusts, you’ll realize it tastes better than anything you’ve ever had before.

Trust me, you don’t need mayonnaise.