Use a “we’re a team against the problem” approach, not a “you’re the problem” approach.
Sitting on the Same Side of the Table
When a problem arises, my old instinct was to sit across the table from my partner like we were in a tense negotiation. My unspoken attitude was, “You are the problem I need to solve.” It was adversarial and always ended in a stalemate. The game changed when we started physically and metaphorically moving to the same side of the table. The problem—the unpaid bill, the difficult decision—was now the thing on the other side. We weren’t opponents anymore; we were two teammates, looking at the problem together and collaborating on a winning strategy.
Stop blaming your partner for external problems. Do take responsibility for your part in the solution.
The Two Sailors in a Storm
When a huge, unexpected storm hits your boat at sea, it’s useless for the two sailors on board to start blaming each other for the bad weather. The storm is an external problem. Blaming your partner is a waste of precious time and energy that should be focused on survival. A true partner doesn’t point fingers about the cause of the storm; they grab a bucket and start bailing water. They take responsibility, not for the problem, but for their part in the shared, active solution.
Stop avoiding your problems and hoping they’ll go away. Do face them head-on as a united couple.
The Monster Under the Bed
An avoided problem in a relationship is like a monster under the bed. As long as you pretend it’s not there, it just gets bigger, scarier, and feeds on the darkness of your silence. You both know it’s there, and the fear of it poisons the entire room. Facing the problem head-on is like you and your partner agreeing to take a deep breath, grab a flashlight, and look under the bed together. The moment you shine a light on the monster, it almost always shrinks into something much smaller and more manageable than you had imagined.
The #1 secret for getting through a tough time together is to increase your positive interactions to outweigh the negative.
The Emotional Bank Account
A relationship is like an emotional bank account. During a tough time, you will be making a lot of necessary, stressful withdrawals. The arguments, the stress, the exhaustion—it all drains the account. If you’re not careful, you’ll go bankrupt. The secret is that during these hard times, you have to become hyper-vigilant about making small, positive deposits. A hug, a compliment, a shared laugh—these are the small deposits that keep your balance in the positive, ensuring you have the emotional capital you need to weather the storm.
I’m just going to say it: Your relationship will be tested by challenges, and that’s not a sign of failure, it’s a sign of life.
The Ship and the Sea
A ship is not built to stay in the calm, safe harbor forever. A ship is built to sail the vast, unpredictable, and sometimes stormy sea. A relationship that never faces a challenge is like a ship that never leaves the harbor. It might be safe, but it is not fulfilling its purpose. The storms of life—illness, job loss, grief—are not a sign that your ship is failing. They are an inevitable part of the voyage. The quality of your ship is not measured by the calmness of its waters, but by how well it navigates the storm.
The reason you’re struggling as a couple is because you’ve stopped being each other’s soft place to land.
The Safe Harbor
The world is a stormy and often harsh sea. A healthy relationship should be a safe harbor. It should be the one place in the world where you know, without a doubt, that you can sail your battered ship into a calm, protected bay to rest, refuel, and repair. When you start bringing the storm into the harbor—when you meet your partner’s stress with your own criticism and judgment—the harbor is no longer safe. You have taken away their one and only sanctuary from the storm.
If you’re still turning away from your partner in times of stress, you’re losing your greatest ally.
The Two Soldiers in the Foxhole
Going through a crisis is like being two soldiers, pinned down in a foxhole under heavy fire. In that moment, turning away from your partner is the most dangerous and illogical thing you could do. It is the equivalent of deciding to fight the battle alone. Turning towards your partner—sharing your fear, asking for their help, watching their back—is your single greatest strategic advantage. The stress is the enemy, not your partner. You will only survive the battle if you fight it together, back to back.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about relationships is that they are always happy; they are about support during the unhappy times.
The Sunny Day Friend
Anyone can be a good partner on a perfect, sunny day. It is easy to be happy and in love when there are no clouds in the sky. That is a “sunny day” partner. But a real, lasting partnership is not defined by the sunny days. It is forged in the storms. A true partner is the one who, when the hurricane of life hits, does not run for cover. They are the one who shows up with a flashlight and a blanket, and who holds your hand in the dark until the storm passes.
I wish I knew that the tough times were an opportunity to forge a deeper, more resilient bond when I was a newlywed.
The Blacksmith’s Forge
I used to think that the tough times in my marriage were a sign of a problem, like a crack in the metal of our bond. I wish I had known that the tough times are not the crack; they are the blacksmith’s forge. They are the intense, white-hot fire and the powerful hammer blows that, while painful in the moment, are actually the very things that are shaping, strengthening, and tempering the metal of your love. You do not enter the fire as a sign of weakness; you enter it to become stronger.
99% of couples make this one mistake when they are facing a crisis: they stop having sex and touching.
The Unplugged Lamp
Physical touch and intimacy are like the electrical cord that connects your relationship to a source of power. When a crisis hits, our instinct is often to unplug the lamp to conserve energy. We stop the small, affectionate touches and we definitely don’t have sex. But this is when you need the power the most. You are cutting off your own source of the oxytocin and the connection that are the very things that will give you the light and the warmth you need to find your way through the darkness.
This one small habit of a daily “stress-reducing conversation” will change how you weather storms together.
The Daily Decompression Chamber
Every day, we swim in the high-pressure ocean of our own individual stress. A stress-reducing conversation is the decompression chamber you enter together before you try to reconnect. It’s a protected, dedicated time where you each get to vent about the pressures of your own separate dives, without judgment or advice. This simple ritual allows you to leave the dangerous pressure of the outside world behind, so you can safely return to the normal, comfortable atmosphere of your shared life together.
Use a “we can get through this together” mentality, not a “me against the world” one.
The Lone Hiker vs. The Expedition Team
Facing a major life challenge with a “me against the world” mindset is like deciding to climb Mount Everest as a solo hiker. It is a lonely, terrifying, and incredibly dangerous journey. Adopting a “we can get through this together” mentality is like forming a skilled, well-supplied expedition team. You are now tied together with a safety rope, you are sharing the load of the supplies, and you are there to encourage each other when you want to give up. The summit is much more likely to be reached as a team.
Stop letting financial stress turn you into enemies. Do work together to create a budget and a plan.
The Two Arguing Accountants
When a company is losing money, the worst thing the two accountants can do is to just sit in an office and yell at each other, blaming each other for the losses. That does nothing to solve the problem. The only productive path forward is for the two accountants to stop yelling, to sit down at the same table, to look at the same numbers, and to work together, as a team, to create a new, logical, and collaborative budget that will save the company. Financial stress requires a business meeting, not a boxing match.
Stop making your partner’s job loss a reflection of your own security. Do offer them your unwavering belief in their abilities.
The Shaken Foundation
When your partner loses their job, it can feel like an earthquake has shaken the foundation of your shared financial house. It is scary. Your fear can easily turn into blame or pressure. But your partner is the one who is buried in the rubble. Your job is not to yell at them about the state of the foundation. Your job is to be the rescuer, the one who shows up with a flashlight and a bottle of water, who reminds them of how strong they are, and who believes, without a doubt, in their ability to rebuild.
The #1 hack for supporting a partner with a mental health issue is to get your own support.
The Flight Attendant’s Rule
The flight attendant’s rule is clear: you must put on your own oxygen mask before you can assist others. Supporting a partner with a mental health issue is like being on a plane that is experiencing a sudden loss of cabin pressure. Your instinct is to immediately focus all of your energy on your partner’s mask. But if you do not put on your own mask first—by getting your own therapy, by leaning on your own friends—you will run out of oxygen and you will be of no use to anyone.
I’m just going to say it: Your partner’s mental health is not your responsibility to “fix.”
The Lifeguard and the Swimming Coach
When your partner is struggling with their mental health, your job is to be the best damn lifeguard you can be. You are there to watch over them, to throw them a life preserver if they are drowning, and to help them get safely to the shore. But you are not their swimming coach. It is not your job to “fix” their technique or to teach them how to swim. That is the job of a professional. You are the loving, vigilant presence on the shore, not the expert in the water.
The reason you’re so resentful is because you’re carrying the weight of your family’s problems alone.
The One-Person Seesaw
Carrying all of your family’s emotional and logistical weight is like trying to play on a seesaw by yourself. You are just sitting on one end, stuck on the ground, with the full, heavy weight of the entire plank on your shoulders. It is an exhausting and joyless experience. Resentment is the natural result of this imbalance. A healthy partnership is a two-person seesaw. You will only find balance and joy when your partner gets on the other side and starts to share the load.
If you’re still not asking for help when you need it, you’re losing the strength of your partnership.
The Lone Weightlifter
Trying to handle all of your problems by yourself is like being a weightlifter who is trying to lift a massive, heavy barbell all alone. You might be strong, but there is a limit to what you can lift on your own. Asking your partner for help is not a sign of weakness; it is the smart, strategic act of asking your trusted spotter to come and stand behind you. Their presence doesn’t make you weaker; it makes you safer, and it gives you the confidence you need to lift a weight you could never have handled alone.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about a strong relationship is that it doesn’t have problems; it just has effective problem-solvers.
The Perfect Car
The myth of the problem-free relationship is like believing that there is a “perfect” car that never gets a flat tire, never needs an oil change, and never breaks down. That car does not exist. A strong relationship is not a magical car that is immune to problems. A strong relationship is two skilled and dedicated mechanics, who, when the car inevitably breaks down on the side of the road, know how to open the hood, to work together, and to fix the problem so they can get back on their journey.
I wish I knew that it was okay for us to not be okay when we were going through a hard time.
The Sunny Day Façade
I used to believe that a good marriage had to look happy and perfect all the time, like it was always a sunny day. When we were going through a hard time, I would feel a deep sense of shame, and I would try to maintain a “sunny day” façade. I wish I had known that a real, strong marriage is not a perpetual summer. It is a four-season relationship. It has glorious, sunny days, but it also has cold, dark winters. And it is okay to just huddle together by the fire and admit that it’s winter.
99% of people make this one mistake when their partner is grieving: they try to “fix” it or rush them through it.
The Broken Leg
Grief is a broken leg. When your partner is grieving, they are in a full-leg cast, and they are on crutches. Trying to “fix” their grief or to cheer them up is like telling the person with the broken leg to just “walk it off” or to “run a marathon.” It is invalidating and impossible. Your job is not to be their doctor. Your job is to be the compassionate friend who helps them carry their books, who has the patience to walk at their slow pace, and who just sits with them while their bone heals.
This one small action of just sitting with them in their sadness, without saying a word, will be the greatest support you can offer.
The Two People in the Rain
When your partner is sad, they are standing alone in a cold, miserable rainstorm. Your instinct might be to try and make the rain stop, but you can’t. The most powerful, loving thing you can do is to walk out into the storm, to stand next to them, and to simply get wet with them. You are not trying to fix the weather. You are just a quiet, solid, and loving presence that communicates, “You are not alone in this storm. I am right here with you.”
Use a support system of friends and family. Stop trying to be everything for each other.
The Single Pillar
Trying to be everything for your partner is like trying to be the one and only pillar that is holding up the entire roof of a massive building. It is an impossible and unsustainable task. Eventually, that single pillar will crack under the immense weight. A healthy, resilient relationship is a roof that is held up by many strong pillars. Your partnership is the central, most important pillar, but it is supported and strengthened by the other essential pillars of friends, family, and community.
Stop letting a chronic illness become the third person in your relationship. Do find new ways to connect outside of the illness.
The Uninvited Houseguest
A chronic illness can be like a loud, demanding, and permanent houseguest who you did not invite to live with you. This guest can end up dominating every conversation and every decision, and you can forget that there are other rooms in the house. You have to make a conscious effort to lock that guest in their room for a little while every day. You have to find ways to connect as a couple in the other rooms of your life, the rooms that have nothing to do with the illness, so you don’t forget the two people you were before this guest moved in.
Stop making your partner feel like a burden. Do remind them that you’re in this together, for better or for worse.
The Two Hikers
When a hiker on a two-person expedition sprains their ankle, a bad partner will make them feel like a heavy burden who is slowing them down. But a true partner sees the situation differently. They will say, “This is not your problem; this is our problem now. We are a team. I will carry your pack, you will lean on me, and we will get off this mountain together.” The “for better or for worse” vow is the promise that if one of you sprains your ankle, the other will not see it as a burden, but as a test of the team’s strength.
The #1 secret for a relationship that can survive infidelity is a genuine willingness from both partners to do the work.
The Two Bridge Builders
Infidelity is like a bomb that has completely destroyed the bridge that connects two islands. The bridge cannot be rebuilt by just one person. If the person who detonated the bomb is the only one who shows up with a hammer and some nails, there will be no bridge. And if the person on the other island is not willing to also pick up their tools and to participate in the difficult, long, and painful process of reconstruction, there will be no bridge. It requires two fully committed builders, or it is a hopeless project.
I’m just going to say it: It is 100% okay to leave a relationship after an affair.
The Burned-Down House
An affair can be like a fire that has burned your entire house down to the foundation. You have the option to try and rebuild. It will be a long, painful, and expensive process, and there is no guarantee that the new house will ever feel like home again. It is also 100% okay to look at that pile of ash and to make the brave, and perfectly valid, decision to say, “I am grateful for the home we had, but I do not have the desire or the energy to rebuild on this scorched earth. I am going to go find a new piece of land and start fresh.”
The reason you can’t move past the betrayal is because you haven’t allowed yourself to feel the full depth of the pain.
The Infected Wound
The pain of a betrayal is a deep, infected wound. Your instinct might be to just put a small bandage on it and to pretend it’s not that bad. But if you do not clean the wound, if you do not allow yourself to feel the searing, antiseptic sting of the true depth of your anger and your grief, the infection will just fester under the surface. You cannot heal a wound that you have not been brave enough to fully clean out first.
If you’re still bringing up the affair in every argument, you’re losing your chance to heal and move forward.
The Old Cannonball
If you have decided to forgive and to rebuild after an affair, you have to agree to bury the weapons of that war. Continuing to bring up the affair in new arguments is like keeping a rusty, old cannonball from that war in your living room, just so you can use it as ammunition in a future fight. It creates a constant, low-level state of war. True healing requires you to take that old, heavy cannonball and to bury it in the ground, as a sign that you are committed to a new and lasting peace.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about forgiveness after an affair is that it means you have to trust them again immediately.
The Broken Bone
Forgiveness and trust are two different things. Forgiveness is the spiritual or emotional act of letting go of your anger. It’s like deciding not to sue the person who broke your leg. But trust is the physical reality of the bone itself. Even if you have forgiven the person, your leg is still broken. Trust is the slow, painful, and lengthy process of the bone actually healing and being able to bear weight again. You can forgive in a moment, but the rebuilding of trust is a marathon.
I wish I knew that healing from infidelity was a marathon, not a sprint, when I was going through it.
The Marathon
In the aftermath of an affair, I wanted to heal immediately. I wanted it to be a 100-yard dash of forgiveness and recovery. I wish I had known that healing from that kind of wound is not a sprint; it is a grueling, 26.2-mile marathon. There will be moments of hope, but there will also be moments where you hit the wall, where you feel like you can’t go on. It is a long, slow, and often painful journey that requires immense endurance, and you have to be patient with your own pace.
99% of couples make this one mistake when dealing with infertility: they stop being lovers and become a science experiment.
The Factory Workers
The process of trying to conceive, especially with medical intervention, can turn your bedroom into a factory. You are no longer lovers; you are two factory workers, trying to manufacture a product. Your intimacy becomes about schedules, temperatures, and performance. It is a job. It is critical during this time to consciously clock out of the factory. You must schedule time to just be lovers again, to have intimate moments that have nothing to do with production, and that are just about the beautiful connection between two people.
This one small habit of reminding each other of your love outside of your fertility journey will change how you face it together.
The Two Gardeners
An infertility journey can be like two gardeners who are desperately trying to get a single, precious seed to sprout. It is easy to become so obsessed with that one seed that you forget that you are standing in an otherwise beautiful, thriving garden. You must make a daily habit of looking up from that one stubborn seed and of reminding each other of all the other beautiful flowers that are already blooming in the garden of your relationship—your friendship, your humor, your shared history.
Use a couples therapist to navigate major life transitions, not just trying to tough it out on your own.
The Sherpa
A major life transition—like having a baby or moving to a new city—is like deciding to climb a massive, unfamiliar mountain. You and your partner have never been on this terrain before. Trying to do it on your own is possible, but it is also dangerous. A couples therapist is an experienced Sherpa. They are a local guide who has helped hundreds of other couples navigate this exact mountain. They can show you the safest path, point out the potential dangers, and help you carry the load.
Stop letting the stress of raising a child with special needs destroy your marriage. Do schedule regular respite care.
The Two Lifeguards
Raising a child with special needs is like being two lifeguards who are responsible for a swimmer who needs constant, vigilant attention, 24 hours a day. If you never take a break, if you never allow a substitute guard to come and watch the water for a little while, you will both eventually fall asleep from exhaustion, and you will both drown. Respite care is not a luxury; it is the non-negotiable shift change that allows you to rest, so you can come back to the watch with the energy and focus that your child deserves.
Stop making your partner’s addiction about you. Do get support for yourself through groups like Al-Anon.
The Tornado
Your partner’s addiction is a tornado that is tearing through their life, and that is also tearing through yours. It is easy to think that if you just love them enough, you can somehow stand in the path of the tornado and make it stop. You cannot. The tornado is not about you. Your job is not to stop the tornado. Your job is to get yourself, and any other innocent people, to a safe storm shelter. Al-Anon is that storm shelter. It is a place where you can be safe, and where you can learn how to live your own life, even when the tornado is still raging.
The #1 hack for a relationship that can handle the pressures of a blended family is to prioritize the couple’s bond above all else.
The Foundation of the New House
A blended family is a brand new house that you are trying to build on the foundations of two older, demolished houses. It is a complex construction project. The single most important part of that new house is the strong, solid, concrete foundation of the couple’s relationship. If that foundation is weak, if it is cracked, if it is not given the time and the resources it needs to cure, then no matter how beautiful the walls and the windows are, the entire structure you are trying to build will be unstable and will likely collapse.
I’m just going to say it: Your ex is still having a negative impact on your current relationship because you haven’t set firm boundaries.
The Ghost at the Dinner Table
Allowing your ex to have a constant, boundary-less presence in your new life is like setting an extra place at the dinner table every single night for a ghost. This ghost will insert itself into your conversations, it will create tension, and it will make your new partner feel like they are in a relationship with two people. You have to have the courage to say, “This is a table for two now.” Firm, clear boundaries are the act of lovingly, but definitively, telling the ghost that it is no longer invited for dinner.
The reason you’re fighting about your step-kids is because you haven’t established the stepparent’s role clearly.
The Substitute Teacher
Being a stepparent can be like being a substitute teacher who walks into a new classroom with no lesson plan and no clear authority. The students (the kids) will be confused, they will test the boundaries, and the full-time teacher (your partner) will be frustrated. You and your partner must have a private meeting before the class begins. You have to create a clear, shared, and explicit lesson plan that defines the substitute teacher’s exact role, responsibilities, and level of authority.
If you’re still trying to be a “savior” to your partner’s kids, you’re losing their respect.
The Friendly Neighbor
When you are a stepparent, you are not the new sheriff in town who has come to save the day. The kids already have sheriffs (their parents). Trying to be a savior will only be met with resistance. A better role is that of the cool, friendly, and supportive neighbor. You are not their parent. You are a safe, fun, and respectful adult in their life who is there to be a friend, a mentor, and a bonus member of their team. They don’t need a savior; they need an ally.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about blended families is that they should instantly feel like a “normal” family.
The Crock-Pot
Expecting a new blended family to feel like a “normal” family right away is like throwing a bunch of raw, uncooked ingredients into a Crock-Pot and expecting it to instantly be a delicious, fully-cooked stew. It does not work that way. A beautiful, blended stew takes a very long time to cook on a low, slow heat. The flavors need time to meld together. It is a slow, patient process that can take years, not months.
I wish I knew that building a strong step-family could take years, not months, when I became a stepparent.
The Slow-Growing Tree
I thought that my new step-family would be like a fast-growing weed that would just shoot up and be fully formed in one season. I wish I had known that it is actually a slow-growing oak tree. The first few years, it might feel like nothing is happening on the surface. But what you can’t see is the slow, deep, and complex process of the different root systems learning to grow around each other and to draw from the same soil. It is a process that requires a gardener’s patience, and the results are not visible for a very long time.
99% of couples make this one mistake when they are long-distance: they don’t have a plan for how and when it will end.
The Tunnel with No Light
A long-distance relationship with no end date is a long, dark, and seemingly endless tunnel. You can hold hands and walk together for a while, but if there is no light at the end, you will eventually be overcome by the hopelessness and the darkness, and you will give up. A plan for when the distance will end is that small, beautiful pinprick of light at the far end of the tunnel. Even if it is miles away, just knowing that it is there is the thing that gives you the hope and the energy to keep walking.
This one small habit of having a regularly scheduled “virtual date night” will change your long-distance relationship.
The Shared Campfire
When you are in a long-distance relationship, it can feel like you are camping in two separate, dark, and lonely forests. A scheduled virtual date night is the act of agreeing to build your two separate campfires at the exact same time, and to point your cameras at them. You are not physically together, but you are sharing a synchronous experience of light and warmth. It is a ritual that creates a powerful sense of connection and reminds you that you are both sleeping under the same stars.
Use a clear communication plan for your long-distance relationship. Stop relying on sporadic texts.
The Two Separate Ships
A long-distance relationship without a communication plan is like two ships that are trying to meet in the middle of a vast ocean with no radio and no agreed-upon course. You are just hoping to randomly bump into each other. A clear plan—”we talk on the phone every night at 9 pm”—is the radio frequency and the shared navigational chart. It ensures that you will be able to find each other in the vast, lonely ocean of your separation.
Stop letting the physical distance create emotional distance. Do find creative ways to be present in each other’s lives.
The Ghost in the Machine
Being creative in a long-distance relationship is about finding ways to be a friendly ghost in the machine of your partner’s daily life. You can send a surprise food delivery to their office. You can hide small notes for them to find. You can curate a surprise playlist for their morning commute. These small, unexpected hauntings are a powerful way to bridge the physical distance. They are a constant, playful reminder that even though you are not there in body, you are always there in spirit.
Stop making your partner’s family problems your own. Do be supportive, but don’t get in the middle.
The Friendly Neighbor
When your partner is having a conflict with their family, you are the friendly, supportive neighbor. Their family drama is a house fire next door. Your job is to stand on your own lawn, to offer your neighbor a bottle of water, a shoulder to cry on, and your phone to call for help. Your job is not to run into their burning house and to start fighting the fire for them. That is their fire, in their house, and you will only get burned if you get in the middle of it.
The #1 secret for dealing with a difficult mother-in-law is for your partner to handle the communication with her.
The Ambassador
Your partner is the official, native-speaking ambassador to the foreign country of their own family. They understand the strange customs, they speak the nuanced language, and they are a citizen of that land. You are a foreign dignitary. It is the ambassador’s job to handle all the sensitive, diplomatic negotiations on your behalf. If you try to negotiate on your own, you will not understand the culture, you will cause an international incident, and you will likely start a war. Let the ambassador do their job.
I’m just going to say it: You must have your partner’s back when it comes to conflicts with your own family.
The Two Nations
When you get married, you and your partner secede from your families of origin and you form your own, new, sovereign nation of two people. Your primary allegiance is now to your new nation. When your family of origin declares a border dispute with your partner, you cannot be a neutral party. You are the leader of your new nation, and you must stand shoulder-to-shoulder with your co-leader, protecting the borders of the country you have sworn to protect. To do anything else is an act of treason.
The reason your in-laws are causing so much conflict is because your partner hasn’t “left and cleaved.”
The Two Boats
The ancient vow to “leave and cleave” is about two boats. You must first untie the rope that has been keeping your boat securely tied to the dock of your childhood family. You must “leave.” Then, you must take your boat and securely tie it to your partner’s boat, so that you are now two vessels, navigating the open sea together. You “cleave.” If your partner has not yet untied the rope to their original dock, you will never be able to sail freely with them. You will just be stuck, pulled in two different directions.
If you’re still complaining about your in-laws to your partner, you’re losing by putting them in an impossible position.
The Tug of War
Complaining about your in-laws to your partner is like handing them one end of a rope, handing the other end to their parents, and then yelling “pull!” You are putting them in the middle of a brutal, unwinnable tug-of-war between the family they came from and the family they have chosen. They will be torn apart. The only way to win is to refuse to play the game. You must take your complaints to a neutral third party, like a friend or a therapist, and present a united front with your partner.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about family is that you have to tolerate toxic behavior just because you’re related.
The Poisonous Plant
Family can be like a beautiful garden. But sometimes, a plant in that garden is poisonous. Just because that plant shares the same soil as you does not mean you are obligated to let it touch you. It does not mean you have to let it poison you. You have the right to build a small, protective fence around that plant, or in some cases, to pull it out of your garden altogether. Your primary responsibility is to protect the health of your own garden, not to be a martyr to a plant that is actively harming you.
I wish I knew that it was okay to create boundaries with toxic family members when I was a young married woman.
The Fence Around Your House
I used to think that having an “open door policy” with my family was a sign of love. I thought I had to let them wander into my house at any time, rearrange the furniture, and criticize my decor. I wish I had known that my marriage was my own, new, private house. And it is not only okay, but it is necessary, to build a strong fence around your own house, with a gate that you and your partner control. You get to decide who you let in, and when.
99% of couples make this one mistake when they are facing a job loss: they let fear drive their decisions.
The Scared Driver
Fear is a terrible driver. When fear is behind the wheel of your life, it will be jerky, it will be reactive, and it will be focused only on avoiding the immediate perceived threat, with no thought for the long-term destination. It will almost certainly crash the car. When you are in a crisis like a job loss, you must have the courage to tell fear to get in the back seat. You must let your calm, long-term values be the one with their hands on the wheel.
This one small action of reminding your partner of their past successes will change their confidence during a job search.
The Hall of Fame
A job loss can give a person a powerful and painful case of amnesia. They can completely forget that they have ever been competent or successful. Your job, as their partner, is to be the curator of their own personal Hall of Fame. You must be the one who walks them through the gallery of their past accomplishments, who points to the trophies on the shelf, and who reminds them of the champion they have been, and the champion they still are.
Use a shared sense of humor to get through the tough times, not just being serious and stressed all the time.
The Pressure Valve
A crisis is a pressure cooker. The stress, the fear, and the uncertainty are constantly building up steam inside the pot of your relationship. If you do not have a way to let that steam out, you will eventually explode. A shared sense of humor, the ability to find a moment of levity even in the darkest of times, is the pressure release valve. A good, hearty laugh together is the fastest way to vent the steam, which keeps you both from boiling over.
Stop letting stress turn you against each other. Do use it as a reason to come together as a team.
The Two Soldiers in the Foxhole
Stress is the enemy army that is firing on your position. It is easy, in the chaos of the battle, to start to see your partner, who is in the foxhole with you, as the enemy. But they are not the source of the gunfire. They are your only ally. The stress is the common enemy. You must consciously turn your fire away from each other and toward the real threat. You must remember that you are on the same team, and that your survival depends on you fighting together, back to back.
Stop keeping your worries to yourself to “protect” your partner. Do share them and face them together.
The Lone Watchman
Trying to carry all of your worries alone to “protect” your partner is like being the lone watchman on the wall of a castle, seeing an approaching army, and deciding not to sound the alarm. You might think you are protecting the inhabitants from fear, but you are actually leaving them unprepared and vulnerable. Sharing your worries is not a sign of weakness; it is the responsible act of sounding the alarm, so that your partner can join you on the wall, and you can face the approaching threat together, as a prepared and unified force.
The #1 hack for a relationship that is resilient in the face of adversity is to celebrate small victories along the way.
The Basecamps on Mount Everest
Getting through a major life crisis is like climbing Mount Everest. It is a long, grueling, and dangerous ascent. If you only focus on the distant, and seemingly impossible, summit, you will lose your motivation. The key is to celebrate the successful arrival at each basecamp along the way. These small celebrations—of a good doctor’s appointment, of a successful job interview—are the essential moments of rest and encouragement that give you the fuel you need to continue the long, arduous climb to the top.
I’m just going to say it: How you handle a crisis together is the ultimate test of your relationship.
The Two Sailors in the Hurricane
Any two sailors can have a great time on a calm, sunny day. But the true test of their partnership is not the sunny days; it is the hurricane. When the waves are crashing, when the wind is howling, when the boat is taking on water, how do you work together? Do you blame each other and descend into chaos? Or do you communicate clearly, trust each other implicitly, and work as a single, unified force to navigate the storm? The storm will reveal the true quality of your seamanship.
The reason you’re not getting through this is because you’re not asking for and accepting help from others.
The Stranded Motorist
Trying to get through a major crisis alone as a couple is like being a stranded motorist, with a broken-down car, in the middle of a blizzard, and refusing to accept a ride from any of the friendly people who stop to help. Your pride, or your desire to be self-sufficient, is going to cause you to freeze to death. Your support network—your friends, your family, your community—are the warm cars that are stopping to offer you a ride. You have to be willing to get in.
If you’re still playing the blame game during a crisis, you’re losing precious energy that could be used for solutions.
The Two Leaky Buckets
A crisis is like a fire that you need to put out. Blaming your partner for the fire is like using your one, precious bucket of water to dump it on your partner’s head instead of on the flames. It is a complete waste of your most valuable resource. All of your energy should be focused on the shared problem. Every ounce of energy you spend on blaming each other is an ounce of energy that you are not spending on finding a new source of water and on actually putting out the fire.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about strength is that it means not needing anyone; true strength is knowing when to lean on others.
The Mighty Oak Tree
We are taught that strength is like a mighty oak tree, standing tall and alone, weathering the storm by itself. But a real oak tree’s strength does not just come from its trunk; it comes from its deep, interconnected root system that is supported by the entire forest. True strength is not about standing alone. It is about having the wisdom and the humility to cultivate a deep and supportive root system of people you can lean on, so that when the big storm comes, you do not have to face it alone.
I wish I knew that it was a sign of strength, not weakness, to let my partner see me cry when I was struggling.
The Armor
I used to believe that strength meant being a stoic, unflappable warrior, clad in a full suit of armor at all times. I thought that crying was a sign of a crack in that armor, a weakness. I wish I had known that the bravest and strongest thing a warrior can do is to have the courage to take off their helmet in front of their trusted ally, to show them their exhaustion and their fear, and to allow them to help tend to their wounds. True strength is in the vulnerability, not the armor.
99% of people make this one mistake when their partner is sick: they forget to take care of themselves and burn out.
The Flight Attendant’s Rule
When you are a caregiver, the flight attendant’s rule is the first and most important law: you must put on your own oxygen mask before you can assist your partner. If you spend all of your time and energy focusing on their mask, you will eventually run out of oxygen and you will pass out. You will then be of no use to anyone. Taking care of your own needs—your sleep, your health, your own support system—is not selfish; it is the essential prerequisite for being a sustainable and effective caregiver.
This one small habit of asking “What is one thing I can do to make today 1% better for you?” will change how you support a sick partner.
The Giant Mountain
When a partner is sick, it can feel like they are at the bottom of a giant, unclimbable mountain of suffering. Asking “What can I do?” can feel overwhelming to them. They don’t know what to ask for. Asking, “What is one thing I can do to make today just 1% better?” breaks the mountain down into a single, manageable step. It is a small, concrete, and achievable request that you can actually fulfill. And the cumulative effect of making things 1% better, every day, is what will eventually get them up the mountain.
Use a professional counselor to help you cope with the stress of caregiving. Stop trying to do it all on your own.
The Co-Pilot
Being a caregiver is like being the solo pilot of a small airplane, flying through a perpetual storm. It is an exhausting, isolating, and terrifying job. You have to be the navigator, the mechanic, and the pilot, all at the same time. Going to a counselor is like finally allowing an experienced, calm, and supportive co-pilot into the cockpit with you. They can’t fly the plane for you, but they can help you read the maps, they can watch the gauges, and they can be a reassuring presence in the storm.
Stop letting your partner’s chronic pain dictate your entire life. Do find ways to adapt and still have a fulfilling life together.
The Wheelchair
A chronic illness can feel like a wheelchair that has confined your entire relationship to a small, boring room. But a wheelchair is not a prison; it is a tool of adaptation. It is what allows you to find new, accessible paths to adventure. Yes, you may not be able to climb the old, familiar staircase anymore. But with a little creativity and a lot of teamwork, you can build a ramp. You can find new, beautiful, and accessible gardens to explore, together. The goal is adaptation, not amputation.
Stop making your partner feel guilty for their illness. Do offer compassion and understanding.
The Rainstorm
Your partner’s illness is a rainstorm that they did not ask for and that they cannot control. Making them feel guilty for how their illness is affecting you is like yelling at them for getting you wet. It is not their fault that it is raining. A compassionate partner does not blame the person who is stuck in the storm. A compassionate partner gets a big umbrella, walks out into the rain, and says, “This is a miserable storm. I am here with you, and we will wait for the sun to come out, together.”
The #1 secret for a relationship that can survive the loss of a child is to allow each other to grieve in different ways.
The Two Rivers
Grief is a powerful river. After a shared tragedy, you and your partner will each be on your own, separate river of grief. One river might be a raging, chaotic rapid, while the other is a slow, deep, and silent current. The secret to survival is to not expect that you will both navigate your rivers in the same way, or at the same speed. You must stand on the banks of your own river and respect the unique and different journey of the river next to you, trusting that eventually, your two rivers will meet again in a calm sea.
I’m just going to say it: You and your partner will grieve differently and on different timelines, and you must respect that.
The Two Spiral Staircases
Grief is not a straight line; it is a spiral staircase. You and your partner are on two separate, but parallel, staircases. You will both be constantly circling back to the same themes of sadness and anger, but each time, from a slightly different perspective. You must not get angry at your partner because they are on a different step than you are. You must simply hold hands through the banisters, and respect that you are both on your own, unique, and non-linear journey down the same set of stairs.
The reason you’re growing apart after a tragedy is because you’re not communicating your individual needs for support.
The Two Silent Patients
After a tragedy, a couple can be like two patients in the same hospital room, both in a great deal of pain, but who are both silently and stoically trying to be strong for the other. Because you are not communicating your own specific needs, neither of you are getting the medicine you require. You are growing apart because you are both suffering in silence. You have to have the courage to turn to the person in the bed next to you and say, “This is what hurts, and this is what I need from you right now.”
If you’re still not talking about the person you lost, you’re losing the chance to heal together.
The Elephant in the Room
The person you have lost is not gone. They are a giant, and often beautiful, elephant that is now living in the room of your relationship. Not talking about them is an exhausting and futile attempt to pretend that the elephant is not there. You are constantly having to contort yourselves to walk around it. Healing together only begins when you both have the courage to turn to the elephant, to acknowledge its presence, to talk about how much you loved it, and to learn how to live your life alongside it, together.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about grief is that it’s a linear process with five stages; it’s a messy, unpredictable wave.
The Five Stages vs. The Ocean
The idea of the “five stages of grief” is like being told that grief is a neat, orderly, five-step staircase that you will calmly walk down. But grief is not a staircase; it is the ocean. Some days, the water will be calm and you will be able to float. Other days, a massive, unexpected wave of sadness will come out of nowhere and pull you under. You do not conquer the ocean; you simply learn, over a very long time, how to swim.
I wish I knew that it was okay to laugh and find moments of joy even while we were grieving.
The Cracks in the Sidewalk
Grief can feel like a heavy, concrete sidewalk has been poured over your entire life, making everything gray and hard. I wish I had known that it is okay, and it is necessary, to notice the small, beautiful wildflowers of joy that will inevitably start to grow through the cracks in that concrete. To laugh at a silly joke, to enjoy a beautiful sunset—these are not betrayals of your grief. They are the tenacious, life-affirming wildflowers that will eventually break the concrete apart.
99% of couples make this one mistake when they are empty nesters: they realize they don’t know each other anymore outside of their roles as parents.
The Two Co-Workers
For twenty years, you and your partner have been the dedicated, hard-working co-CEOs of a very demanding start-up company called “Our Kids, Inc.” Your entire relationship has been about the business. The day the last child leaves for college is the day you sell the company. You are now two co-founders, sitting in an empty office, looking at each other and realizing that you have not had a non-business-related conversation in two decades. You have forgotten the two people you were before you started the company.
This one small action of “dating” each other again will change the next chapter of your lives together forever.
The Two Strangers on a First Date
When you are empty nesters, you have to have the courage to treat your partner like a fascinating stranger that you are taking on a first date. You have to ask them the kind of curious, open-ended questions you would ask someone you just met: “What are you excited about right now? What is a dream you have for the next ten years?” You have to be willing to get to know this new, evolved version of the person you have been living with, and to let them get to know the new you.
Use this new phase of life as an opportunity to reinvent your relationship, not as an ending.
The Second Act
The “empty nest” is not the sad, final scene of your play. It is the end of the first act. The curtain has come down on the busy, chaotic, and beautiful act of raising your children. You now have the incredible, and slightly terrifying, opportunity to write a brand new, exciting, and completely different second act. This is not an ending; it is an intermission. It is the time to start dreaming up the next great adventure you will star in, together.
Stop letting retirement be a source of conflict. Do plan for it together and find shared hobbies.
The Long Road Trip with No Map
Retirement is a long, thirty-year road trip that you and your partner are about to take together. If you just get in the car with no map, no plan, and no discussion about where you want to go, you will be fighting about which way to turn by the end of the first day. You have to sit down together before you get in the car. You have to look at the map of your future, you have to talk about the destinations you both want to see, and you have to pack the car with the shared hobbies you will enjoy along the way.
Stop driving each other crazy now that you’re together 24/7. Do create a new routine that includes structured time apart.
The Two New Roommates
When you retire, you are suddenly two new roommates who have just moved into a small apartment and who are now together 24/7. Without a clear structure and some boundaries, you will drive each other insane. You have to have a “roommate meeting.” You have to consciously design a new daily routine that includes not just shared activities, but also designated “quiet hours” and structured time in your own, separate rooms, pursuing your own interests.
The #1 hack for a happy retirement as a couple is to have individual purposes as well as shared ones.
The Two Pillars of the Arch
A happy retired couple is like a beautiful Roman arch. The arch is held up by two strong, independent pillars. Each pillar has its own solid foundation and its own purpose (their individual hobbies and passions). The beautiful, shared space that they create between them (their shared life) is strong because, and only because, each pillar is strong and purposeful on its own. If one of the pillars has no purpose and starts to crumble, the entire arch will collapse.
I’m just going to say it: You probably have very different and unspoken expectations for what retirement will look like.
The Two Different Vacation Brochures
You and your partner have each been secretly, and separately, collecting vacation brochures for your retirement for the last forty years. Your brochure might be for a quiet, peaceful life of reading in a cabin in the woods. Their brochure might be for a non-stop, adventurous life of traveling the world. If you don’t sit down and put your two brochures on the table together, you are going to be in for a massive shock on the first day of your permanent vacation. You have to design a new, shared brochure, together.
The reason you’re not enjoying your retirement together is because you haven’t talked about your expectations.
The Invisible Rulebook
You and your partner have each written a secret, invisible rulebook in your mind for how retirement is “supposed” to be. You are constantly getting angry at your partner for breaking a rule they did not even know existed. You will not enjoy your retirement together until you both agree to make your invisible rulebooks visible. You have to have the courageous conversation where you put your two separate books on the table and work together to create one, single, shared rulebook that you can both happily live by.
If you’re still not finding new things to learn together, you’re losing the spark of discovery.
The Stagnant Pond
A relationship without new learning is a stagnant pond. It might be comfortable and familiar, but without any fresh water flowing in, it will eventually become covered in green algae and all the life will die. Learning new things together—a new language, a new instrument, a new game—is the fresh, clean, and oxygenated water that keeps your relationship pond vibrant, clear, and full of life. It is the essential ingredient that prevents stagnation.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about retirement is that it’s a permanent vacation; it’s a new life stage that requires adjustment.
The Permanent Vacation vs. The New Country
Retirement is not a permanent vacation. A vacation is a short, temporary escape from your real life. Retirement is a permanent move to a brand new, foreign country called “The Rest of Your Life.” This new country has different customs, a different language, and a different daily rhythm. It will require a long and sometimes challenging period of adjustment. It is not an escape from your life; it is the beginning of a brand new one.
I wish I knew that retirement was a chance to have a second honeymoon phase when my husband retired.
The Second Honeymoon
I used to dread my husband’s retirement, seeing it as the end of our productive lives. I wish I had known that it was actually the beginning of a second, and in many ways, better, honeymoon. With the kids grown and the pressures of work gone, we were suddenly two young lovers again, with a whole new world of time and freedom to explore. It was not an ending; it was the unexpected, beautiful, and deeply connecting gift of a second, and more profound, beginning.
99% of couples make this one mistake when they are facing a major life change: they try to maintain the status quo.
The River and the Rock
A major life change is a powerful river that is suddenly flowing through the landscape of your life. Trying to maintain the status quo is like trying to be a giant, immovable rock in the middle of that river. You will not stop the river. The river will just erode you, wear you down, and eventually, it will just flow around you. The only way to navigate a major life change is to be a flexible, buoyant raft, not a rigid rock. You have to be willing to let go of the shore and to flow with the new current, together.
This one small habit of embracing change as a team will change your ability to navigate anything that comes your way.
The Two Surfers
Change is an endless series of waves in the ocean of life. You can either stand in the shallow water and let the waves knock you over, again and again. Or, you can be two skilled surfers who see the coming wave not as a threat, but as an opportunity. Embracing change as a team is the act of paddling out together, of helping each other onto the board, and of riding the powerful, and sometimes scary, wave of change with skill, joy, and a sense of shared adventure.
Use your shared history as a source of strength, not as a weapon in current arguments.
The Anchor
Your shared history is the heavy, powerful anchor of your relationship. In a storm, you can use that anchor to keep your ship steady and secure, by reminding yourselves of all the storms you have weathered together in the past. Or, you can use that same anchor as a destructive weapon. You can lift it out of the water and swing it at your partner, using their past mistakes to damage them in a current fight. The choice is yours: will your history be a source of stability, or a weapon of destruction?
Stop letting the past define your future. Do create a new vision for your life together.
Driving with Your Eyes in the Rearview Mirror
If you are constantly focused on the past—the old fights, the old hurts—you are trying to drive your car forward while staring intently into the rearview mirror. You are not looking at the beautiful, open road in front of you. You will inevitably crash. You have to have the courage to take your eyes out of the mirror, to put them on the windshield, and to start creating a new, exciting, and shared vision for the beautiful, unwritten road that lies ahead.
Stop being afraid of the unknown. Do face it together with courage and hope.
The Two Explorers
The future is an uncharted, and sometimes scary, continent. Being afraid of it is like two explorers who are too terrified to get off their ship and to explore the new land. They are missing out on the adventure. You must be two brave explorers. You must be willing to hold hands, to step off the ship, and to walk into the jungle of the unknown together, with a shared sense of courage, curiosity, and a faith that whatever you find in there, you will be able to handle it, as a team.
The #1 secret for a relationship that not only survives, but thrives, in difficult times is to maintain a sense of shared meaning.
The North Star
A shared meaning is the North Star for your relationship. When you are sailing on a calm, sunny day, you don’t really need the North Star. But when you are in the middle of a dark, stormy, and disorienting sea, with no land in sight, that shared, unchangeable point of light in the sky is the only thing that will keep you from getting hopelessly lost. It is the one, single thing you can both look up at to remember which way you are going, together.
I’m just going to say it: Your relationship is probably far more resilient than you think it is.
The Old Tree
A long-term relationship is like an old, gnarled tree. From a distance, you might just see the crooked branches, the peeling bark, and the scars from past storms. It is easy to focus on the imperfections. But what you are not seeing is the deep, powerful, and incredibly resilient root system that has been growing underground for years. Your relationship has survived droughts and hurricanes that you have forgotten about. It is a tough, beautiful, and magnificent old tree.
The reason you’ve gotten through so much is because you have a solid foundation of love and respect.
The Foundation of the House
Your relationship is a house that has been through many earthquakes. The reason it is still standing is not because the earthquakes were not strong. It is because, long ago, you and your partner did the hard, and often unseen, work of digging deep and pouring a solid, steel-reinforced foundation of mutual love and respect. The walls may have cracked and the windows may have rattled, but the reason you have survived is because the foundation of your house is solid.
If you’re still not acknowledging your resilience as a couple, you’re losing a source of strength.
The Old War Stories
A couple that has been through a lot together is like two old, veteran soldiers. Acknowledging your resilience is the act of sitting together by the fire and telling your old war stories—”Remember that time we thought we wouldn’t make it, but we did?” These stories are not about dwelling on the past pain; they are about reminding yourselves that you are a battle-tested, victorious team. This shared history of triumph is a powerful source of strength and confidence that you can draw on in your next battle.
The biggest lie you’ve been told about difficult times is that they will break you; they can also break you open to a new level of connection.
The Geode
A difficult time can feel like a hard, ugly, and unremarkable rock has been placed in your life. You think it is just there to break you. But sometimes, if you are willing to go through the difficult process of breaking that rock open, you will discover that on the inside, it is a magnificent, sparkling, and beautiful geode. The difficult times are often the very things that break you open to a level of depth, beauty, and connection that you never would have been able to access if you had just stayed as a simple, unbroken rock.
I wish I knew that we could handle anything as long as we had each other when we were facing our biggest challenge.
The Two Ropes
When we were facing the biggest crisis of our life, I felt like I was holding onto a single, thin rope, trying not to fall into a deep canyon. I was terrified that the rope would break. I wish I had known that my partner was also holding a rope, and that our strength was not in our individual ropes. Our true strength was in the fact that we could braid our two, thin ropes together to create a single, thick, and unbreakable cord that could withstand any amount of weight.
99% of couples make this one mistake when they’ve been through a lot: they forget how to have fun and be lighthearted.
The Two Old Soldiers
A couple that has been through a lot of trauma can be like two old soldiers who have forgotten how to do anything but be on high alert. They have become so good at scanning for threats and at surviving that they have forgotten how to laugh and to play. They have forgotten what it feels like to be at peace. You must make a conscious effort to demobilize. You must intentionally schedule “peacetime” activities, to remind yourselves that the war is over, and that it is safe to have fun again.
This one small habit of finding moments of levity and joy, even in the darkest of times, will change your ability to cope forever.
The Stars in the Night Sky
Going through a dark time can feel like you are lost in a deep, starless night. It is easy to be overwhelmed by the oppressive darkness. But even on the darkest night, if you look closely enough, you can always find a few, small, beautiful stars. Finding a moment of levity—a silly joke, a fond memory—is the act of looking up and pointing out a star. It does not make the night any less dark, but it is a powerful, hopeful reminder that the light has not gone out completely.
Use your challenges as the story of your triumph, not as the story of your suffering.
The Scar
A challenge in your life will leave a scar. You have a choice about what story you will tell about that scar. You can tell a story of suffering—a story of the terrible wound, of the pain, of what was lost. Or, you can tell a story of triumph. You can tell the story of the battle you fought, of the courage you showed, and of the incredible strength you had to not just survive, but to heal. The scar is the same; the story you choose to tell about it is everything.