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Grief is More Than Five Neat Stages

As lights go up and holiday music follows us into every store, grief has a way of slipping into the season uninvited.

Someone mentioned to me recently that the “five stages of grief” have been debunked.

I knew exactly what they meant. For years, those stages (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) have floated around like a script we’re all supposed to follow. Movies use them. TV shows use them. Friends whisper them in church hallways and at hospital bedsides: “She’s still in denial,” or “At least he’s reached acceptance.”

So when my friend said that, I started thinking about all the people I’ve sat with after a loss who quietly ask, “Is it bad that I’m not angry?” or “It’s been a year and I still cry all the time. Am I behind?” Underneath the question is the real fear: Am I grieving wrong?

That sent me digging into what the research actually says. Is the “stages idea” truly outdated? And if so, what do we know now about how people move through loss?

First, a little context. The five stages came from psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross back in 1969. She was studying people who were dying from terminal illnesses, not people grieving a loved one who had died. Her work was groundbreaking in its time because it gave language to the emotional world of people facing their own mortality. But as her ideas seeped into popular culture, the stages started getting applied to just about any loss: divorce, job changes, breakups, bereavement.

Even Kübler-Ross later admitted people were misunderstanding her. The stages were never meant to be a rigid, one-size-fits-all roadmap. Real people don’t move neatly from Denial to Anger to Bargaining like kids going through an inflatable obstacle course.

But that’s how we started to talk about grief, as if we could check off emotional boxes and eventually graduate to “acceptance.”

Over the last few decades, grief researchers have been gently, and sometimes not so gently, pushing back on that idea. When they actually follow people over time, they don’t see one tidy sequence. They see a lot of variation. Some people have intense, overwhelming grief that slowly eases. Some struggle for a long time. And some, maybe more than we’d expect, show what psychologists call resilience: they are deeply affected by the loss, but they’re still able to function, experience moments of joy, and keep living their lives even in the shadow of that grief.

That doesn’t mean they didn’t love the person enough. It means human beings are surprisingly capable of holding pain and everyday life in the same pair of hands.

Researchers have also found that while feelings like disbelief, yearning, anger, sadness, and acceptance do tend to appear at different points after a loss, they don’t line up in neat, universal stages. You might feel mostly numb at first and break down later. You might cry constantly in the early months and find yourself laughing with friends sooner than you expected. You might feel “mostly okay” 90 percent of the time, and then suddenly get hit with a wave of sorrow at the grocery store because you passed your loved one’s favorite cereal.

So has the “stages idea” been “debunked”? In a sense, yes. What’s been tossed out is the notion that there’s one correct emotional sequence everyone should follow on a predictable timetable. The emotions themselves, sadness, anger, bargaining, acceptance, are very real. Lots of people recognize themselves in one or more of those experiences. The problem comes when we treat them as rules instead of possibilities.

Newer grief science paints a picture that’s less linear, more flexible, and honestly, more comforting.

One of the most helpful models I’ve come across describes grief as a kind of back-and-forth motion rather than a straight line. Instead of “step 1: denial, step 2: anger,” it suggests that healthy grieving means moving between two different modes.

In one mode, you’re “loss-focused.” You feel the ache. You talk about the person. You cry, remember, tell stories, look through photos, or sit in that empty chair at the table and let yourself feel how wrong it all is.

In the other mode, you’re “restoration-focused.” You pay the bills, answer emails, bathe the kids, and figure out how to mow the lawn even though your spouse always did that. You learn how to live in a world where this person isn’t here in the same way anymore.

And here’s the key: you don’t pick one. You oscillate between the two. Some days you’re right in the center of the pain; other days you’re mostly focused on everyday life. That back-and-forth isn’t avoidance; it’s how your brain and body pace themselves so you don’t drown.

It also means you’re not failing if you find yourself laughing at a silly video one minute and sobbing in the car the next. You’re not “in denial” because you went to a football game and actually enjoyed yourself. You’re not “stuck in depression” because your eyes still fill with tears when you smell your grandfather’s aftershave. You’re doing what grieving people do: feeling your loss, and also slowly learning how to live inside a changed story.

Another shift in the grief world has to do with what it means to “move on.” For a long time, the goal was described as severing your emotional ties with the person who died so you could “detach” and invest in new relationships. Now, many experts argue that’s neither realistic nor desirable. Instead, they talk about “continuing bonds” and finding ways to stay meaningfully connected to the person who died, even as you move forward.

That might look like cooking your mother’s recipes on holidays, talking to your spouse or your child when you drive by a place they loved, keeping their photo on the fridge and telling your kids stories about them, setting a chair at the table during special occasions, or donating to a cause they cared about.

For many people, those ongoing connections are comforting, not pathological. It’s not that you never accept their death; it’s that love doesn’t evaporate just because a heartbeat stops. It reshapes itself.

Grief researchers also talk more and more about meaning. When someone we love dies, the world we thought we knew can feel shattered. Grieving isn’t just about learning how not to cry in the produce aisle; it’s about slowly piecing together a world that makes sense again. That might involve spiritual questions and identity questions such as: “Who am I now that I’m no longer their spouse, or their caregiver?” It may involve choices about how to live in a way that honors what that person valued.

That’s why grief counseling today often looks less like a therapist trying to drag you through stages, and more like someone walking beside you as you ask, and eventually answer, some of those hard questions.

Of course, not all grief eases with time. A small percentage of people experience what’s now called Prolonged Grief Disorder, which is grief that remains intense and overwhelming for a year or more, to the point that it severely disrupts daily life. If you feel frozen, unable to function, stuck in guilt or yearning or hopelessness long after everyone else seems to think you “should” be better, that’s not a character flaw. It’s a sign you deserve more support. There are therapists and grief specialists who can help anyone in that place find a way forward.

But for most of us, grief looks less like climbing a staircase and more like learning to live with an ache that changes over time. It might be a roaring wave at first, knocking you flat. Then, months or years later, it might show up as a soft tug at your heart when your child graduates, or when you hear a song on the radio, or when you meet someone new and think, “I wish you could have known them.”

So if you’re grieving and worried that you’re not doing it right because you skipped a stage, or circled back, or never felt the thing you were “supposed” to feel, here’s the good news: there is no universal checklist. There is only your love, your story, and your way through.

You’re allowed to have days when you function just fine and days when you can’t stop crying. You’re allowed to keep their sweatshirt in your closet or talk to their photo, or bake their favorite cookies every year on their birthday. You’re allowed to laugh. You’re allowed to feel joy. You’re allowed to fall in love again. None of that erases what you had; it just means your heart is big enough to hold more than one thing at once.

Maybe the most merciful thing modern grief research tells us is this: you’re not behind. You’re not broken because you don’t fit into five tidy stages. You are a human being who loved someone and still loves them. You’re finding your own path forward, one breath, one memory, one day at a time.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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The Invisible Load: Why Moms Are Mentally Maxed Out (and What We Can Do About It)

As a 34-year-old mom of two (a Lego-obsessed 6-year-old and a toddler who thinks sleep is optional), wife of 12 years, and CEO of a nonprofit dedicated to strengthening families, I often find myself juggling more than just the usual daily tasks. It’s the mental load—the invisible, relentless stream of responsibilities—that truly weighs me down.

The “mental load” has been a hot topic of conversation, research and investigation since the COVID-19 pandemic, especially in regards to how it affects mothers. To better define the phrase, the mental load refers to the cognitive labor involved in managing a household and family life. It’s the constant planning, organizing, and remembering that keeps everything running smoothly.

Research published by the Journal of Marriage and Family indicates that mothers shoulder up to 71% of the mental load in family life. 

This disproportionate burden has tangible effects.

A study found in the Psychology of Women Quarterly reveals working mothers, whether full-time or part-time, specifically carry a combination of cognitive, physical, and emotional labor that leads to significant stress and burnout. Moreover, the mental load has been linked to postpartum depression, with an increase in the past decade from 9.4% to nearly 19% of new mothers affected, according to the National Health Institute.

Beyond personal well-being, the mental load impacts family dynamics.

When mothers are overwhelmed, it can affect their relationships with their significant others and their children. Understanding the weight of the mental load is not just about valuing fairness; it’s about the health and harmony of the entire family unit.

What can we do to lessen the mental load for Moms?

  1. Open Communication: Discuss the mental load openly. Make an effort to truly understand the weight each mom carries and be intentional about providing support. Setup a regular check in time to share what feels heavy or overwhelming.
  2. Delegate Tasks: Make a list of all the tasks mom has to accomplish, then delegate the tasks throughout the family. You can also give children age-appropriate chores. This not only lightens Mom’s load, it teaches them responsibility .
  3. Setting Realistic Expectations and Boundaries: This comes more easily for some Moms than others, but it’s important to say no or not right now from time to time. And, it’s important for others to be okay with a Mom’s decision in setting boundaries or saying no.
  4. Taking Time for Herself: Give Mom space to regularly engage in activities that rejuvenate her, whether it’s reading a book, listening to her favorite podcast or going on walks alone. If you notice a mom in your life who doesn’t have the capacity to take time for herself, offer to watch the kids or run to the store for her so she can. Even short breaks can make a difference in a Mom’s mental capacity.

Acknowledging and addressing the mental load is crucial for the well-being of mothers and their families. By supporting each mom’s mental capacity, we can work towards a more balanced and healthy family life.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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Why Gen Z is Saying “No” to Romance and What it Means for Us All

My son had his sixth birthday recently. He came home from school with a dozen notes and cards in his backpack, all of which were covered in hearts, glitter and the endearing best wishes of his closest female classmates.  

While I would say this slightly concerned me, I also know that this behavior is pretty normal in kindergarten. Children at this age often imitate what they see at home or in the media. They also develop a sense of feelings towards others, although child development professionals clarify these feelings are much more about companionship and friendship than romance.

In the middle of processing this, I stumbled across several recent surveys that shocked me. According to Pew Research Center, approximately 56% of Gen Z individuals (ages 18-29) reported being single, significantly more than previous generations at their age. An American Perspectives Survey found similar results:

Gen Z is the least likely of all current generations to seek or form romantic partnerships. 

After reading this, I couldn’t help but wonder if Gen Z students shared sweet little “love notes” in kindergarten. Did something change? What keeps them from seeking companionship and connection?

Experts suggest several possibilities. Dr. Jean Twenge, psychologist and author of “iGen,” points to the increased reliance on smartphones and social media, making face-to-face interactions daunting or even unnecessary for many. Digital interaction offers a safer, controlled environment, shielding young adults from the vulnerability inherent in traditional romance.

Economics plays a significant role, too.

Dr. Helen Fisher, anthropologist and Chief Scientific Advisor at Match.com, highlights financial instability as a deterrent. Faced with student debt and uncertain job markets, Gen Z individuals prioritize financial and personal stability before venturing into relationships. Fisher calls this the “slow love” trend, where careful planning precedes commitment.

There’s also a shifting cultural landscape. Dr. Alexandra Solomon, a psychologist at Northwestern University, notes that Gen Z has grown up with heightened awareness around emotional health, consent, and individual identity. Young adults today are more inclined to invest energy in personal growth, mental health, and friendships before adding romance to the equation.

But what does this mean for the future?

While some view this as merely delayed milestones, others worry about long-term effects. Fewer relationships could result in lower marriage and birth rates, already concerns in countries facing population decline. Moreover, researchers like Eli Finkel from Northwestern University caution that prolonged loneliness and isolation might exacerbate mental health challenges already prevalent among Gen Z.

Yet, there’s hope. Experts stress adaptability and encourage intergenerational conversations.

Solomon suggests families and communities proactively teach relationship skills, emotional intelligence, and resilience. Offering safe spaces for honest dialogue about romance and relationships might empower young adults to navigate intimacy confidently and healthily.

As a parent and advocate for healthy relationships, I’m hopeful. Yes, romance might look different in the digital age, but our fundamental human need for connection and love remains unchanged. Perhaps Gen Z’s cautious, thoughtful approach will yield stronger, more intentional relationships—relationships built on solid emotional foundations. 

So, rather than despair, let’s commit to supporting the next generation in defining what healthy, committed romantic relationships look like and understanding why they matter. Maybe the future of “romance” can transition away from the fatigue of swiping left or right and move towards pausing, reflecting, and ultimately, choosing wisely.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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New Year’s Resolutions Verses Lifelong Habits

Ah, the New Year—a season of glittering confetti, fresh planners, and lofty ambitions. For many, it’s a time to hit the reset button, vowing to become better versions of ourselves. As the clock strikes midnight, millions resolve to get healthier, save more, or finally read that stack of books collecting dust on the nightstand.

But let me share a not-so-secret secret: most New Year’s resolutions fizzle out faster than my one-year-old loses interest in peas.

Research from the University of Scranton suggests that only 9% of people actually stick to their resolutions long-term. Why? Because resolutions are often grand declarations made in the holiday afterglow, unaccompanied by a solid plan or sustainable habits.

A resolution is a decision to change. It’s aspirational and often focused on the outcome: “I want to lose 20 pounds” or “I’ll finally get organized.”

A habit, on the other hand, is a routine behavior repeated consistently over time. Habits focus on the process rather than the outcome, which is why they’re more effective. James Clear, author of Atomic Habits, explains it this way: “You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.” In other words, success comes from small, consistent actions rather than sweeping declarations.

Instead of resolving to “get in shape,” for example, focus on one healthy habit: walking for 20 minutes each day. Instead of declaring, “I’ll stop procrastinating,” commit to working on a daunting task for just five minutes. Research shows that small, manageable changes are more likely to stick.

My own foray into habit-building recently included trying to drink more water—a challenge that, oddly enough, felt harder than managing my son’s kindergarten paperwork. Instead of telling myself to “drink more water” (a resolution), I started keeping a water bottle on my desk and sipping whenever I checked emails. That small shift? Game-changer.

When you’re ready to build new habits, start small. BJ Fogg, founder of Stanford’s Behavior Design Lab, emphasizes starting with “tiny habits.” Want to exercise regularly? Begin with one movement a day you weren’t doing before; stretching before bed, parking farther away from work so you can walk more, doing 5 jumping jacks shortly after you wake up. Over time, those tiny actions snowball into meaningful change.

It’s also more effective to pair a new habit with an existing one.

Known as “habit stacking,” this technique helps anchor new behaviors to established routines. For instance, if you want to journal more, try jotting down three things you’re grateful for right after brushing your teeth.

Plus, if you really want to establish a lifelong habit, it’s important to focus on creating a system rather than reaching a goal. If you want to read more, don’t aim to finish 50 books this year. Instead, create a habit of reading one page before bed each night. The system—regular reading—will lead to your goal naturally.

As always, remember to embrace the imperfections of life. Stuff happens. Kids get sick, work piles up, and the dog eats your to-do list. Missing a day doesn’t mean you’ve failed. Research by psychologist Wendy Wood shows that habits are built through repetition, not perfection.

While many habits revolve around personal achievement, don’t forget habits that nourish your relationships.

This year, I’m working on a habit of connection: setting aside 15 minutes of uninterrupted playtime with my kids each evening. (No phones, no multitasking—just pure focus.) My husband and I are also trying a weekly “check-in” where we chat about our goals, schedules, and, occasionally, who’s responsible for the socks perpetually under the couch.

As we step into 2025, I hope you’ll trade the pressure of lofty resolutions for the peace of steady habits. Remember, growth is less about overnight transformation and more about daily commitment.

So, what’s one small habit you can start today? Maybe it’s drinking a glass of water before your morning coffee or calling a loved one every Sunday. Whatever it is, let it be a gift to yourself—a gentle, enduring step toward the person you want to become.

Happy New Year, friends. Let’s make it a good one, one habit at a time.

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How Shame Harms Everything in Our Relationships 

Shame. It’s a small word, but it carries the weight of a wrecking ball. Unlike guilt, which says, I did something bad, shame whispers something far more sinister: I am bad. Left unchecked, shame can quietly sabotage our most precious relationships and leave us feeling trapped, isolated, and misunderstood, even around the holiday season.

As a mother of two and someone deeply immersed in the world of healthy relationships, I’ve seen how shame shows up in families, friendships, and romantic partnerships. It’s sneaky, often hiding in the shadows of perfectionism, defensiveness, or avoidance. But make no mistake: shame isn’t a passive passenger. It actively distorts how we view ourselves and how we connect with others.

Psychologist Brené Brown, a leading researcher on shame, defines it as “the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.”

Shame differs from guilt in one key way: guilt focuses on behavior, while shame targets identity. It’s not “I made a mistake.” It’s “I am a mistake.”

It often starts early, rooted in our childhood experiences.

A critical parent, a humiliating moment at school, or even a well-intentioned but hurtful comment can plant the seeds. Over time, those seeds grow, shaping how we see ourselves and interact with others.

Unchecked shame doesn’t stay contained. It spills over, impacting how we love, argue, and show up in relationships. Studies show that it is closely linked to issues like low self-esteem, anxiety, and depression—all of which can erode connection and intimacy.

When we carry shame, we often develop unhealthy coping mechanisms to protect ourselves.

For some, this looks like withdrawing emotionally, creating a wall to avoid vulnerability. For others, it manifests as perfectionism, trying to earn love and acceptance by being flawless.

One study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that people who carry a high level of shame are more likely to engage in destructive relationship behaviors, such as criticism, blame, or avoidance. Why? Because shame convinces us that we’re unlovable, and we act out of fear of rejection.

The good news? Shame isn’t a life sentence.

With awareness and intentional effort, we can break free and cultivate healthier, more fulfilling relationships.

1. Name it to tame it.  

Brené Brown says shame thrives in secrecy. The first step to overcoming it is acknowledging it. Share your feelings with someone you trust—a friend, partner, therapist, or support group. Saying, “I feel ashamed about this,” robs shame of its power.

2. Challenge the narrative.

Ask yourself: Whose voice am I hearing when I feel this way? Often, shame stems from someone else’s expectations or criticisms, not our own truth. Replace those negative scripts with self-compassion.

3. Focus on connection.

Shame isolates, but vulnerability connects. Being open about your struggles can deepen relationships. For example, instead of lashing out when you feel insecure, try saying, “I’m feeling a little unsure right now. Can we talk about it?”

4. Seek professional help.

If shame feels too big to tackle alone, therapy can be transformative. Approaches like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) have been shown to help people heal from deep-seated shame.

As a mom, I’ve thought a lot about the kind of emotional legacy I want to leave for my kids. I know they’ll make mistakes—just like I do. But I never want them to confuse their missteps with their worth. So, when my 5-year-old son spills his milk or struggles with a new task, I remind him: “It’s okay to make mistakes. You’re still learning, and I’m proud of you for trying.”

We all deserve that kind of grace, no matter our age.

Shame is a heavy burden, but it doesn’t have to define us. By addressing it head-on, we can create relationships built on authenticity, empathy, and mutual respect. Imagine a world where we feel safe to say, “I messed up, but I’m still worthy of love.” That’s the kind of world I want for my kids—and for all of us.

So, let’s start today. Let’s name the shame, rewrite the story, and reclaim the connection we all deserve.

Your turn: What’s one small step you can take this week to silence shame’s voice? Whether it’s sharing your feelings with someone you trust or simply being kinder to yourself, remember: you’re worth it. Always.

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The Art of Telling and Hearing Tough Stuff 

A friend came to me recently seeking clarity and understanding on a topic that concerned them. They graciously asked me to share the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

“A friend doesn’t just have the right to tell me something, they should feel obligated to share hard truths,” they said, opening the door big and wide into a potentially difficult conversation.

I shared my perspective, cleared up some misconceptions, asked questions, and spoke the truth as clearly as possible. We thanked each other for the conversation, joked about how I’d probably write about the experience in a column, hugged, and departed.

I loved this moment.

While it may have been a little uncomfortable for both of us, it was also grounding for us as individuals and for our friendship overall.

Let’s face it: friendships aren’t just shared meals, text chains full of emojis, and consistently sharing relatable reels on social media. They’re built on a foundation of honesty, trust, and—sometimes—those dreaded “we need to talk” moments. As much as we all wish friendships could sidestep the discomfort of hard conversations, the reality is that when we truly care about someone, speaking up about difficult truths can be a profound act of love. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Why is it so hard to share tough truths with friends? Research by Dr. Jeffrey Hall, a communication professor and friendship expert, shows that fear of conflict, hurting someone’s feelings, or even facing rejection can make us hesitant to deliver challenging messages. These barriers are common, but they’re also the exact walls we need to climb if we’re serious about maintaining deep, genuine connections.

If you’re on the side that needs to deliver difficult information, tread thoughtfully.

Here are a few research-backed tips on making these conversations as gentle yet honest as possible:

1. Pause and Plan: Reflect on your motivations before diving in. Relationship experts suggest asking yourself: “Why do I feel compelled to share this? Is it truly for their benefit?” Avoid “tough love” if it’s rooted more in venting frustrations than helping.

2. Choose the Right Time: Timing can be everything. According to Dr. Erin Leonard, a psychotherapist specializing in conflict resolution, picking the right moment allows your friend to feel supported and grounded. Avoid moments when either of you might be overly stressed or distracted. Create a safe, neutral environment.

3. Lead with Empathy and Soft Language: Start by acknowledging the difficulty of the conversation and how much you value the friendship. Statements like “I’ve been struggling with how to bring this up because I care about you,” or “I know this might be hard to hear, but I’m saying this because I believe it matters,” can help soften the blow and show respect.

4. Stick to Facts, Not Judgments: Frame your concerns around specific actions or behaviors, not personality traits. Dr. Leonard recommends focusing on what you’ve observed rather than labeling or interpreting it: instead of “You’re irresponsible,” say, “I noticed you forgot your work deadline twice this month, and I’m worried it might be affecting your career.”

5. Be Ready to Listen, Too: When you’ve said what you need to say, make room for their response—even if it stings. A true friend should welcome the dialogue. They may need time to process or even disagree with you, but their response can often add depth to the relationship.

On the other hand, hearing uncomfortable truths about ourselves might be even harder than sharing them.

Our instinct is often to get defensive, explain ourselves, or dismiss the feedback. Embracing these moments as a chance for growth is where real resilience comes in.

Here are a few ways to do just that:

  1. Listen Without Interrupting: It can be tough, but resist the urge to interject with justifications or denials. In her book Dare to Lead, Brené Brown talks about “rumbling with vulnerability”—taking a breath and letting someone else’s perspective settle before you react. This “pause” allows us to hear what’s being said without immediately filtering it through our own defenses.
  2. Assume Positive Intent: Remind yourself that a real friend wouldn’t share this unless they believed it was important. Studies show that we often respond more calmly when we view the feedback as a product of care rather than critique. Try to interpret the feedback as their way of helping, not hurting.
  3. Ask Questions, Not for Justification but for Clarity: If something’s unclear, calmly ask questions to gain a clearer picture. This helps clarify the message and keeps the conversation constructive. Questions like “Can you give me an example of when I did this?” or “How did my actions impact you?” can bring context without getting defensive.
  4. Express Appreciation (Even if It’s Hard): A simple “Thank you for caring enough to bring this up” can transform the conversation. Not only does it help the friend sharing the hard truth feel valued, but it also signals your openness to growth. Research from the Journal of Positive Psychology shows that expressing gratitude in tense conversations often strengthens bonds rather than weakening them.
  5. Reflect and Decide What to Take Away: Not all feedback will feel fair or accurate, but if you reflect on it later with an open mind, you might find something useful. Sometimes feedback is exaggerated by emotion or based on one person’s unique experience, so take what resonates and leave the rest.

Ultimately, the ability to have these hard conversations and remain close friends afterward is a powerful indicator of the friendship’s depth. Dr. Hall’s research finds that friendships marked by frequent, open communication and vulnerability tend to last longer and be more fulfilling. 

When I look at the friendships I treasure most, they’re the ones where I’ve been on both sides of this equation.

It’s not always the friends that I see or talk to every day, but they care enough to call me out when I need it. I’ve also felt the pain of sharing something that was difficult to say.

So next time you’re in the position of telling or hearing tough stuff, remember that these moments are like the deep, grounding roots that hold a friendship steady through any storm. Embrace them as an opportunity to grow—and remind your friend that your bond is strong enough to hold both the easy and the hard truths.

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What Families Fight About (And Why It Matters More Than We Think)

As a mom of two little ones, I’m no stranger to a toddler meltdown over the wrong color of water cup or the clashing of the wills at bedtime. I’ve seen firsthand how even the smallest of disagreements can feel monumental. But what happens when these small disagreements turn into chronic family disputes?

A recent study completed by The University of Illinois called Topics of Conflict Across Family Subsystems shines some light on the most common arguments within families—and the consequences these arguments can have on family relationships.

It’s easy to think family arguments are all about the big stuff—money, house rules, and screen time. While those certainly make the list, the study highlights that the everyday squabbles—over things like chores, daily schedules, and even the dinner menu—top the charts.

Bedtime routines and sibling rivalry are major sources of contention in families with younger children. As kids get older, disagreements shift toward more autonomy-related issues like curfews and social media use.

In a nutshell, families fight over everything from the trivial to the significant, with no age group being immune.

Interestingly, the study also found that the intensity of these fights often correlates with the type of relationship involved. For instance, spousal arguments typically center on finances or parenting styles, while parent-teen conflicts are more likely to revolve around issues of independence and control.

It’s tempting to shrug off family arguments as just part of the territory, but the truth is, these conflicts have a lasting impact. Studies have shown that children who grow up in households with frequent, unresolved arguments are more likely to experience mental health challenges like anxiety and depression later in life. Constant exposure to negative communication patterns can also influence how children manage their own conflicts as adults, potentially leading to strained relationships in the future.

In my work with families, I often see that it’s not the topics themselves that cause the damage, but the way arguments unfold. Experts like Dr. John Gottman, a renowned relationship researcher, emphasize that how we argue is more important than what we argue about.

Gottman’s research suggests that criticism, defensiveness, and contempt are the real culprits that erode relationships, creating a cycle of negative interactions.

So, how can families fight better—or maybe even fight less?

The key is shifting from what Dr. Gottman calls “destructive conflict” to “constructive conflict.” This means replacing blaming or accusatory statements with softer language that fosters understanding. For example, instead of saying, “You never help around the house,” try framing it as “I feel overwhelmed when I have to handle all the chores alone.” This small change in tone can de-escalate tension and promote cooperation.

Additionally, setting clear expectations and boundaries can help reduce conflict, especially with children. Research suggests that families who communicate openly about expectations—whether it’s chores, schoolwork, or screen time—experience fewer arguments overall. Consistency is key. If everyone knows the rules ahead of time, there’s less room for resentment or confusion when issues arise.

Family arguments are inevitable.

After all, living in close quarters with people we love (but who can also get on our nerves) is bound to lead to friction. But that doesn’t mean we have to let these conflicts control the health and well-being of our relationships.

If we take anything away from the Topics of Conflict study, it’s this: being aware of what we fight about can give us clues on how to handle those fights better. From setting clear boundaries to fighting with kindness and humor, we have more tools than we realize to make our homes more peaceful, connected places. 

And let’s be honest, who couldn’t use a little less conflict in their lives? Especially when you’re trying to convince a one-year-old that dirt is not for eating.

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The Ripple Effect of Poverty on Family Health

From spending time with my two young children to working with parents who are trying their best to raise their families in a healthy way, I’m reminded daily how the environment we grow up in shapes our lives. It’s more than just the house we live in or the school our children attend—it’s the very fabric of their future well-being, both physically and emotionally. And one of the most significant factors in that fabric is poverty.

We often talk about poverty in terms of numbers and statistics—how many families live below the poverty line or the percentage of children on free or reduced lunch. But behind every statistic is a story of a family struggling to do their best amidst circumstances that can be relentless and unforgiving.

Living in poverty is not just a financial struggle; it’s an emotional one.

Research from the American Psychological Association shows that financial stress is one of the leading causes of anxiety and depression in adults. This stress doesn’t just stay with the parents; it trickles down to the children. Chronic stress in children raised in low-income households can affect brain development and increase the likelihood of behavioral issues and poor academic performance.

The constant stress of scarcity—whether it’s worrying about paying the rent, having enough food, or affording medical care—creates a state of chronic anxiety. This stress disrupts the ability to nurture, connect, and provide stability, making it harder for parents to form healthy bonds with their children. 

The toll of poverty isn’t limited to parent-child relationships. It seeps into the relationships between partners as well.

Financial strain is a common predictor of marital discord. According to a study from the Journal of Family and Economic Issues, couples in lower-income brackets are more likely to experience conflict over finances, which can lead to a breakdown in communication and even increase the likelihood of separation or divorce. This fracturing of the family unit not only affects the partners but reverberates through the lives of the children, adding to their emotional and psychological burdens.

The heartbreaking reality is that poverty and relational health often form a vicious cycle.

Children raised in low-income households are more likely to face difficulties in forming stable relationships themselves. Research published in the Journal of Marriage and Family indicates that individuals who experience economic hardship in childhood are more prone to marital instability as adults. This creates a generational cycle where relational health and economic stability are intertwined in a complex web that’s hard to unravel.

The good news is that this cycle can be broken.

One of the most powerful tools we have is education—not just in terms of academics, but in teaching skills like emotional regulation, stress management, and effective communication. Programs, such as First Things First, that support families in these areas can lead to healthier relationships and, ultimately, a more stable home environment for children.

It’s easy to think of poverty as someone else’s problem. But when one family struggles, we all feel the ripple effects. Higher rates of poverty are linked to increased crime, lower school performance, and a heavier burden on public services—all of which affect the health of our community.  As a parent, I want nothing more than for my children to grow up in a world where they feel secure, loved, and supported. For too many families, poverty threatens to take that away. But by coming together as a community—whether through supporting local nonprofits, advocating for policy change, or simply extending a helping hand to a neighbor in need—we can support an environment where every child has the opportunity to thrive.

So, let’s keep the conversation going. Let’s talk about poverty not just as a statistic, but as a relational issue that impacts us all. And let’s commit to creating a community where every family has the chance to grow, flourish, and contribute to a brighter, healthier future for everyone.

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