Fucking butterflies in the stomach. What idiot invented that? How do you feel? Butterflies in my stomach. What kind of answer is that? And what if you feel it in your chest? Butterflies in my chest? To me, it does feel nothing like butterflies.
Since I asked what idiot invented it, I may as well invest effort in answering that. If you don’t know Googles Ngram Viewer yet, I highly advise you to check it out. The app developers have created an enormous archive of books, or rather, words contained in books. These books go back as far as the 17th century, maybe further. This allows you to display a graph of the relative amount of occurrences of words and phrases in books over the course of time. Take a look at the graph of the phrase butterflies in my stomach. As with butterflies in his stomach, there is a steep ascend around 1940. It seems that the use of the phrase has been steadily growing until today.
Apparently, though, it goes as far back as 1908, originally being written in the singular form: butterfly in his stomach. And in fact, this seems more plausible to me. A gigantic butterfly, an insect that has his wings wrapped around my intestines, trying to escape. That is really scary, if you think about it, and it is far closer to the feeling the phrase is supposed to describe.
It being scary is actually quite fitting.
You may usually hear it in the context of being in love, but even then, it has nothing to do with endorphins derives from endogenous morphine – morphine from inside the body. Morphine is an opioid analgesic drug, a painkiller with high addiction potential. Think of heroine. It actually calms you down, makes you feel comfortable. . It releases endorphins. You are a fucking addict.. This is Wikipedia knowledge, but it should suffice: The name
I prefer the more usually stated answer that it has to do with the :
Adrenaline causes rapid heart rate, increased blood pressure and improved circulation in your muscles. All of those effects are designed to help you fight the lion or run away. […]
At the same time that blood is flowing to your lungs and muscles, less of it is reaching other organs including your stomach. This and other hormonal changes may cause nausea. Even though man is unlikely to encounter a lion, a milder version of the same process kicks in in less stressful situations. That’s “butterflies” in your stomach.
– Howard Bennett in this article about butterflies in your stomach
Feeling nauseous in front of the lewd nurse at the doctors? Of course you do.
She stood naked, waiting, feeling the space between them like a pressure against her stomach, knowing that it was torture for him also and that it was as they both wanted it.
– The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
It’s also consistent with what great article about Last Minute Resistance:from The Rational Male has to say in his
This was long before I realized that sex was about urgency, anxiety and tension, not comfort, familiarity or rapport […]
Now we know what it is. But we still need a name for it. Butterflies simply aren’t satisfactory. I want a substantive, an adjective and a verb. Like, painful and hurt.
Before having butterflies in ones stomach became popular, how did people call the feeling? I cannot imagine that such a profound and important feeling would go without name. Maybe the name was, before it became somewhat stigmatized and lost the wonderful meaning. Anyway.
According to the wiktionary, collywobble is also a synonym. I like it more, but it’s use is still inelegant. How do you feel? Collywobbly.
From my perception, it is a very distinct feeling, much like pain. But I have found no existing name for it. Tingle doesn’t describe it. Fluttery doesn’t describe it since nothing is really moving. It feels a bit as if a. And it can occur in the stomach as well as in the chest and in between.
I tried to find a name by feeling it and letting my stomach and lungs speak for themselves. Out came something like muera. That’s not really English-y, so I made it more concise: mor. Mor means sea, plague, moor, death and various other things in different languages. It gives me the right feeling.
Like the feeling itself, the sound of the word is at the same time stump, as opposed to sharp, and aggressive/discomforting, as opposed to mild/comforting. It is challenging as opposed to easily controlled.
Since I am against theand fear, I like the word to be a challenge rather than a gift. So here are the sentences on how it is going to be used:
I feel mor in my stomach.
My chest feels mory.
My ribcage mores.
Yeah, it’s similar to “more”. Who cares. The context will solve it. But I’m open for suggestions.