Tag Archive for: Communication

Hope Comes Full Circle

In my last column, I wrote about hope as a skill. Hope isn’t passive, and it isn’t something we either have or we don’t. Like any skill, it has to be built through small choices, steady practice, supportive relationships and repeated evidence that change is possible. 

Once hope is developed in a person, it can be shared with those around them.

But rather than keep talking about hope, I want to let you see it in action.

For the next two columns, I’m handing this space over to Chris Cooper. Chris is a member of the First Things First team and directs our EPIC Dads program. 

Chris also graduated from a First Things First fatherhood program a decade ago. But I’ll let him tell that story.

Chris’s story is one of hope, not as an abstract idea, but as something built, practiced and passed along.

Over the next two columns, I want you to hear his hope in action.

Enjoy.

Part 1: From Participant to Leader

By Chris Cooper

In 2016, I sat at a First Things First table as a participant in the fatherhood program Dads Making a Difference. I was trying to navigate child support, custody and the emotional weight of wanting to be a good dad during a difficult season.

I wasn’t leading anything then. I was trying to steady my life and figure out how to be the father my kids deserved.

Nearly a decade later, I sit at that same table in a different seat.

Today, I facilitate EPIC Dads, guiding men through the kinds of conversations and lessons that once guided me. I’m not just an employee of First Things First. I’m a former participant and a beneficiary of the work we do. That lived experience shapes everything about how I lead.

The work didn’t end when I completed the program. I kept showing up. I volunteered. I stayed connected. Over time, the tools I learned helped me stabilize my life, strengthen my relationships and eventually gain full custody of my sons, who are now 26 and 24.

Today, my wife and I are raising our 17-year-old daughter in a home built on the lessons I once came here to learn. The stability we’ve built together is living proof that when a father grows, the entire household grows with him. That’s the same hope I carry into every EPIC Dads session.

When a dad walks into one of my sessions, I know exactly what he may be carrying: uncertainty, stress and the desire to show up for his kids even when life feels complicated.

Because I’ve been in his seat, I don’t talk at the men in my group. I talk with them.

We share stories. We confront real-world struggles. We create a space where honesty is welcomed and growth is possible.

One dad recently told me, “This is the only thing I’ve ever completed.”

That moment reminded me why this work matters. Sometimes a completed session, a breakthrough or one honest conversation can change the direction of a man’s life—and his children’s lives.

Being a father is the most important job a man will ever have. When a dad grows, an entire family grows with him.

My sons, my daughter and my wife have all witnessed my transformation—the struggle, the work and the commitment it took to become the man I am today. Their lives remind me every day why this work matters.

Through EPIC Dads, we’re not just teaching skills. We’re building stability. We’re restoring confidence. We’re helping men write new futures for themselves and their children.

I once sat at that table searching for direction. Now I sit there helping other men find theirs.

That full-circle moment is the greatest honor of my life. 

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

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Hope is a Skill, Not a Wish

At a recent conference, I had the privilege of hearing Dr. Chan Hellman speak about the science of hope. Hellman is a professor at the University of Oklahoma and the founding director of its Hope Research Center. His research examines hope as a psychological strength that can help children and adults experiencing trauma and adversity.

One of the most powerful takeaways from his presentation was this:

Before people can change or grow, they must first be able to imagine a new reality.

They need to see that something different is possible.

Hellman challenged us to think of hope as a noun, not merely as a verb we use when we wish for something. Hope is not simply a feeling that appears when circumstances are good. It is something we can possess, develop and practice.

That framing matters because we often talk about hope as though it were little more than wishful thinking.

Psychologist C. R. Snyder developed what is commonly known as Hope Theory. In the foundational 1991 article “The Will and the Ways,” Snyder and his colleagues described hope as a cognitive pattern involving agency and pathways. Agency is the determination and belief that we can move toward a goal. Pathways are the plans and possible routes we identify for reaching it. Both are necessary. A person needs the will to move and a way to move forward. 

The Hope Research Center presents the model in three practical parts: goals, pathways and agency. A meaningful goal gives us a destination. Pathways give us possible routes. Agency provides the motivation to begin, persist and change course when we encounter an obstacle. 

Research also suggests that these capacities can be strengthened. In a 2006 pilot study, Jennifer Cheavens, David Feldman, Amber Gum, Scott Michael and C. R. Snyder tested an eight-session hope-based group intervention focused on building goal-pursuit skills. Participants showed statistically significant improvements in the agency component of hope, along with improvements in life meaning and self-esteem and reductions in symptoms of anxiety and depression. It was a small pilot study, but it offers evidence that hopeful thinking is not necessarily a fixed personality trait. It can be practiced and developed. 

One of Hellman’s examples at the conference helped make this framework especially clear.

Many of us set goals based on what we are trying to avoid.

I want to avoid losing my children. I want to avoid going to jail. I want to avoid getting a divorce. I want to avoid using substances again. I want to avoid another argument.

These goals are understandable. When we are frightened, hurting or facing serious consequences, preventing another painful outcome may feel like the most urgent thing in the world.

But an avoidance goal only tells us what we are running from. It does not necessarily show us what we are trying to build. A forward-looking goal creates a different picture.

Instead of only saying, “I do not want to lose my children,” a parent might say, “I want to become a safe, stable and dependable parent. I want to rebuild trust and create a home in which my children can thrive.”

Instead of saying, “I do not want to get divorced,” a spouse might say, “I want to create a marriage in which we listen, repair conflict and treat each other with respect. I want to build a healthier atmosphere in our home and a brighter future for our children.”

Instead of saying, “I do not want to use again,” someone might say, “I want to build a life in recovery. I want to be healthy, present and connected to the people I love.”

The circumstances have not suddenly become easy. The desired outcome is not guaranteed. But the person now has a vision of something worth moving toward.

That vision creates a destination. Once there is a destination, pathways can begin to emerge. Those pathways might include counseling, treatment, parenting education, accountability, a support group, new daily routines, healthier relationships or one difficult but necessary conversation.

As I listened to Hellman, I became excited because he was giving research-based language to something we have witnessed for years at First Things First. Families need hope.

Parents who have been separated from their children need hope. People struggling with addiction need hope. Couples on the brink of divorce need hope. Separated spouses who genuinely want to reconcile need hope. Blended families trying to create a healthier reality than anything they have previously experienced need hope.

People need more than someone telling them what they have done wrong. They need more than a list of risks, consequences or problems. They need someone who will walk alongside them and help them see that their current reality does not have to be their permanent reality.

They need help seeing what is still within their control. They need help identifying the decisions they can make, the resources they can access and the next healthy step available to them.

Sometimes people need to borrow someone else’s hope until they are ready to carry their own.

Hellman’s research helps explain why this matters. In a 2022 article in Advances in Social Work, Hellman, Angela Pharris and Ricky Munoz proposed hope as a framework for responding to adverse childhood experiences. They argued that hope can offer useful guidance for building trauma-informed approaches that help people respond to adversity and pursue greater well-being. 

This does not mean we minimize trauma or pretend that serious problems can be solved through positive thinking. Hope is not denial.

Hope does not erase consequences, remove obstacles or guarantee that other people will make the choices we want them to make. Some circumstances require professional treatment, legal guidance, safety planning or long-term support. Hope simply gives us a way to begin moving.

Here are two ways to practice the skill of hope:

1. Rewrite an avoidance goal

Think about an area of your life in which you have been saying, “I do not want,” “I need to stop” or “I am trying to avoid.”

Then ask yourself a different question: What do I want to create?

“I do not want us to fight so much” might become, “I want us to learn how to disagree without attacking each other.”

“I do not want to be an absent parent” might become, “I want to be a dependable and emotionally present parent.”

Make the goal specific, meaningful and focused as much as possible on actions within your control. You cannot control every outcome or another person’s decisions, but you can identify the kind of person you want to become and the next choice you want to make.

2. Create a hope map

Write your goal at the top of a page. Underneath it, list at least three possible pathways toward that goal. Do not rely on only one route. Hopeful thinking includes the ability to find another path when the first one becomes blocked.

Next to each pathway, identify the obstacles that might get in the way. Then write down one possible response or detour for each obstacle.

Finally, choose one small action you can take within the next 24 hours. Identify one person who can encourage you, hold you accountable or help you find another pathway when you feel stuck.

A small step may not feel dramatic, but it matters. Every completed step becomes evidence that you are not entirely powerless.

Hope does not promise that every story will end exactly as we want it to. It reminds us that the future has not been fully written and that our choices can still help shape what comes next.

At First Things First, that is a significant part of our work. We help people imagine what could be, identify possible paths toward it and recognize the agency they still possess.

Hope is not passive. It is practiced.

And when people practice hope, change becomes imaginable. Then, through one decision and one step at a time, it can become possible.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

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The Stories That Make Us Strong

A dear friend of mine, who is a marriage and family therapist, recently sent me a piece of research because, as she put it, it reminded her of my family.

This is both a compliment and a small accusation.

I’ve often felt I know more family history than the average person should. Not just the sweet stories. Not just the “your great-grandmother made the best biscuits” stories. I know the uncomfortable ones, too. The ones most families might tuck away in a drawer labeled “Let’s not bring this up over brisket.”

One of those stories is about my paternal grandparents. When I was seven or eight years old, I learned they had once been on the brink of divorce. This was decades before I was born, and the story was shared at a family gathering over barbecue with the same casual tone someone might use to discuss a Christmas memory.

I was stunned.

We had recently celebrated their 45th wedding anniversary. They seemed so in love. Even in their early 60s, they held hands, laughed together and seemed genuinely delighted to be in the same room. This stood out to me because many of my friends’ grandparents appeared more “mildly annoyed roommates” than “true life partners.”

As I got older, I asked more questions. I learned their near-divorce was not the end of their story. In many ways, it became the turning point. The almost collapse of their marriage helped catapult them into the beautiful relationship I later witnessed. It also explained why they were so adamant that my dad and his brothers not only “get married and stay married,” but adore their wives. Date them. Laugh with them. Play together. Enjoy each other.

I did not realize how much that story shaped my own understanding of marriage until I was married myself.

This is exactly the kind of thing psychologists Robyn Fivush and Marshall Duke at Emory University have studied for years: the power of family stories. Not just the shiny stories. The whole story.

Duke, Fivush and their colleagues developed what is called the “Do You Know?” scale, a set of 20 questions designed to measure how much children know about their family history. The questions are simple. Do you know how your parents met? Do you know where your grandparents grew up? Do you know the source of your name? Do you know about an illness, injury, hard time or lesson your parents experienced when they were younger?

The point was not to see which children had memorized the most family trivia. This was not Ancestry.com meets standardized testing. The researchers wanted to understand whether children who knew more about their family’s past also showed stronger emotional well-being.

In one study, Fivush, Duke and Jennifer Bohanek looked at 66 adolescents, ages 14 to 16, from broadly middle-class, mixed-race, two-parent families. The teens completed the “Do You Know?” scale along with standardized measures of family functioning, identity development and well-being. The results were striking. Adolescents who knew more about their family history showed higher levels of emotional well-being and stronger identity achievement, even when researchers controlled for general family functioning.

Earlier work found similar patterns among younger children. Higher scores on the “Do You Know?” scale were linked with higher self-esteem, a stronger sense of control over life, better family functioning, lower anxiety and fewer internalizing and externalizing behavior problems.

But here is the important part: Fivush and Duke were clear that simply stuffing a child’s brain with facts about Uncle Larry’s old Ford truck does not magically make them resilient.

The power is not in the facts alone. The power is in the process.

Families who tell stories are usually doing something deeper. They are creating connections. They are showing children where they come from. They are giving them a larger narrative to stand inside when life gets hard.

And, according to Duke, the healthiest family narratives are not only ascending stories, where everything gets better and better. They are not only descending stories, where everything falls apart. The most helpful stories are often “oscillating” stories: We had hard times. We got through them. We had good times. We lost our way. We found our way again.

That matters because children do not need a family tree full of perfect people. In fact, good luck finding one.

Children need to know their family has survived real life. They need stories of grandparents who struggled, parents who made mistakes, relatives who repaired relationships, people who changed, families who grieved and laughed in the same kitchen.

Of course, this does not mean every story is appropriate for every age. We do not need to hand a six-year-old a full documentary on generational trauma while they are trying to eat macaroni and cheese. But we can tell the truth in age-appropriate ways.

“We had a really hard season, and we had to learn how to love each other better.”

“Grandpa made some mistakes when he was younger, and he worked hard to make things right.”

“When I was your age, I felt left out sometimes, too.”

“Our family has been through hard things before, and we know how to take the next right step.”

So how do we use this research in real family life?

First, tell stories at ordinary times. The best family storytelling often happens in the car, at the dinner table, on the porch, during holidays or while washing dishes. You do not need a formal family history night, although if your people will tolerate that, bless them.

Second, tell the whole story, not just the polished one. Share the wedding day and the almost-divorce. The job promotion and the job loss. The answered prayer and the season of waiting. Children learn resilience when they hear that struggle is not proof their family is broken. It is proof their family is human.

Third, connect the story to meaning. Do not just say, “Your grandmother lived through a hard time.” Say, “That taught her to be generous,” or “That is why she cared so much about keeping family close.” The lesson helps the child carry the story forward.

Fourth, ask questions. Try a few from the “Do You Know?” scale. Ask your children what they know about where you grew up, how you met their other parent, what you were like as a child or what mistakes taught you the most. Let them ask follow-ups. Let the conversation wander.

Finally, remember that family stories are not about creating pride in perfection. They are about creating belonging.

When I think about my grandparents now, I do not think less of their marriage because it almost ended. I think more of it. I saw the fruit of repair. I saw two people who had weathered something hard and built something beautiful on the other side.

That story gave me more than information. It gave me imagination.

It helped me believe that love can mature. That repair is possible. Those hard seasons do not have to have the final word.

And maybe that is one of the greatest gifts we can give our children: not a flawless family history, but an honest one sturdy enough to hold them.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

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A Healthy Relationship Equals Freedom to Be Yourself

As we just celebrated America’s 250th birthday, I found myself thinking about freedom.

Not just the big, beautiful idea of it, but the everyday reality of it. We enjoy freedom of speech, but that freedom depends on people using their words with some measure of truth, courage and restraint. We enjoy freedom of religion, but that freedom depends on neighbors respecting one another’s conscience, even when they disagree. We enjoy the freedom to vote, build businesses, raise families, move across state lines, gather in public, protest peacefully and pursue the kind of life we believe is meaningful.

But none of those freedoms work very well if people refuse to consider how their choices affect everyone else.

Freedom is not just the ability to do whatever we want. It is the responsibility to make choices that allow both ourselves and others to flourish.

And, of course, as someone who spends a lot of time thinking about healthy relationships and families, my mind went there next.

Because the joy and freedom found in a healthy relationship are also deeply dependent on the people inside it. A good relationship is not one where two people slowly become the same person. It is not one where every opinion, plan, hobby, friendship and decision must be approved by a committee. And it is certainly not one where “I love you” quietly turns into “I can’t function unless you are okay with me.”

A healthy relationship is something much better and harder. It is two people learning how to belong to each other without disappearing into each other.

Relationship researchers have been studying this tension for decades. Self-determination theory, developed by psychologists Edward Deci and Richard Ryan, says human beings need three things to thrive: autonomy, competence and relatedness. In plain English, we need to feel like we have some say over our lives, we are capable, and we are meaningfully connected to others. The interesting part is that autonomy and connection are not enemies. In fact, studies applying self-determination theory to romantic relationships find that people tend to have stronger relationships when both partners feel supported in being themselves.

That may sound obvious, but it is easy to get wrong. Some couples confuse closeness with sameness. They assume love means doing everything together, agreeing on everything, or never making a decision without checking in first. But research on autonomy and relatedness suggests the best relationships are not built on control. They are built on mutual consideration. One study published in Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin (PSPB) found that people were more likely to respond constructively to a partner when they felt both connected and free.

In other words, we are often better partners when we do not feel trapped.

This is also where codependency gets tricky. Codependency can look like devotion from the outside. It can sound sweet to say, “I just want whatever you want.” But over time, a relationship where one or both people constantly ignore their own needs, friendships, preferences or convictions can become less like love and more like emotional oxygen deprivation. Healthy love says, “Your life matters to me.” Codependent love says, “Your life is responsible for mine.”

The healthiest couples seem to practice a rhythm of “me, you and us.”

There is room for my interests, your interests and the life we are building together. Arthur and Elaine Aron’s self-expansion model helps explain why this matters. Their research suggests that close relationships can help people grow by exposing them to new ideas, experiences and parts of themselves. A spouse may introduce you to hiking, jazz, gardening, a new food or a different way of seeing the world. But self-expansion does not mean self-erasure. The goal is not to become a copy of your partner. The goal is to become more fully alive because of the relationship.

So what does it look like to freely be yourself in a committed relationship?

It looks like being able to say what you think without fearing punishment. It looks like having separate friendships without suspicion. It looks like taking your partner into account without asking them to become your conscience. It looks like saying, “I care how this affects you,” and also, “I am still responsible for my own choices.” It looks like celebrating the fact that one of you loves a quiet Saturday morning and the other comes alive around people. It looks like curiosity instead of constant correction.

Marriage can strengthen this freedom, but it does not automatically create it. Studies often find that married adults report higher levels of happiness, trust, closeness and life satisfaction than cohabiting or unmarried adults, including Pew Research Center’s surveys and analyses on marriage and cohabitation. But research is careful here: marriage itself is not magic. A controlling marriage can shrink a person.

A respectful marriage can give a person steadiness, support and courage.

The best marriage is not a cage with nicer furniture. It is a home base. It is the place where two people are deeply committed, regularly considerate and still free to grow. Not free from responsibility, but free from fear. Not free to ignore each other, but free to become themselves together.

Maybe that is one of love’s greatest gifts. Not “You complete me,” but “You help me become more whole.”

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

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How to Handle Pet Peeves in Marriage

My husband is a wild sleeper.

And I don’t mean he occasionally rolls over with a dramatic sigh. I mean he talks. He moves. He swings his legs. He basically sleeps with the same level of animation and commentary he has when he is awake.

It is, in a word, maddening.

There are few things that will test your character quite like being kicked by a sleeping man who has no idea he is currently in a REM-cycle wrestling match with the bedding.

At first, I did what many spouses do with pet peeves. I silently collected evidence. I built my case in the dark. I lay there thinking, “Surely he knows he is doing this.” Which, of course, he did not. Because he was asleep.

This is where pet peeves can become dangerous in relationships. Not because the irritation itself is always a big deal, but because small irritations have a way of collecting interest.

The sock on the floor becomes, “You don’t respect me.” The loud chewing becomes, “You are inconsiderate.” The wild sleeping becomes, “You are personally committed to ruining my life between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m.”

That may not be fair, but it is human.

Relationship researchers John and Julie Gottman have long taught that the way we begin a hard conversation often shapes where it goes. Their concept of a “soft startup” encourages couples to bring up concerns without criticism, contempt or blame. In other words, “I’m having a hard time sleeping and I need us to figure this out together” will likely go better than, “You sleep like a deranged rotisserie chicken.”

Even if both statements feel true.

The goal is not to pretend something does not bother you. That is not maturity. That is emotional composting. Eventually, something will smell.

The goal is to bring up the pet peeve before it becomes a character indictment. A complaint says, “This behavior is bothering me.” Criticism says, “You are the problem.” Healthy couples learn the difference.

So, I talked to my husband about it. Not at 2:17 a.m. while furious and sleep deprived, which would have been tempting, but unwise. I brought it up when we were both awake and reasonably kind. Then we did something that helped tremendously: we researched it together.

Some research has linked screen use before bed with poorer sleep outcomes in adults. Other sleep research points to the importance of a cool, comfortable sleep environment. So, we cut back on TV and screen time before bed. We found lighter-weight blankets. We bought a fan.

And, friends, the man still sleeps with personality. But it helped.

That is the sweet spot with pet peeves. Learn how to handle pet peeves in marriage with empathy, communication and teamwork instead of resentment.
 Sometimes the goal is reducing the irritation, increasing understanding and refusing to turn an annoying habit into a relational war.

This is where Scott Stanley’s work on commitment is helpful. Stanley and colleagues have written about dedication in relationships as more than staying because you are stuck. It is choosing “us.” It is making decisions with the relationship in mind.

When a partner takes your pet peeve seriously, even if they cannot fix it perfectly, they are communicating, “Your experience matters to me.”

That matters.

But compromise also has limits.

Some pet peeves are changeable. Leaving cabinets open, scrolling in bed, interrupting, being chronically late or never replacing the toilet paper roll are behaviors that can often be addressed with effort, systems and humility.

Other pet peeves are tied to temperament, personality, sensory differences, health issues or deeply ingrained habits. Your spouse may always be louder than you prefer. Your partner may never load the dishwasher according to your sacred and obviously correct architectural vision. Someone may need medical help for snoring, restless sleep or other sleep disturbances. Someone else may need to accept that love does not come with a custom-built human who operates exactly to their specifications.

Esther Perel often talks about relationships as places where difference is not a flaw to eliminate, but a reality to understand. The person you love is not you. This is very inconvenient. It is also the foundation of intimacy.

So when bringing up a pet peeve, try this: name the behavior, not the character.

Share the impact, not a prosecution.

Ask for collaboration, not surrender. Be specific about what would help. And be honest about whether this is truly a problem or simply a preference.

There is a big difference between “I need sleep so I can function” and “I prefer the towels folded like they are being displayed at a boutique hotel.”

Both may matter. They do not matter equally.

The healthiest couples are not the ones with no irritations. They are the ones who can talk about irritations without humiliation. They can laugh when appropriate, repair when needed and adjust when possible.

My husband and I did not solve wild sleeping entirely. But we did solve some of it. More importantly, we treated the problem like something we were facing together, not something I was using against him.

That is the real work of love.

Because every relationship has pet peeves. The question is whether we let them become evidence against each other, or invitations to better understand each other.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

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The Sweet Spot of Growth

We recently moved into a house that is almost 100 years old, which means every day feels like a small adventure in charm, character and “what is that sound?”

It has old floors, old doors, old windows and the kind of quirks you only love after you’ve signed the mortgage paperwork. It also has raspberry vines.

At first glance, they are beautiful. Long, lush, sturdy vines growing in good soil, with plenty of sunlight and the kind of established root system you can’t buy at a garden center. These are not fragile little starter plants. They have been here awhile. They know the yard better than I do.

And yet, for all their beauty and strength, they have produced maybe 10 raspberries.

Ten.

For a family hoping for bowls of fresh berries, this feels a bit like false advertising.

The problem, we learned, is not the soil. It is not the sunlight. It is not that the vines are weak. The problem is that they have not been pruned regularly.

They have been allowed to grow in every direction, long and lovely, but not necessarily fruitful.

As a Christian, I immediately thought of the words of Jesus in John 15: “Every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.” I have heard that verse most of my life. I have nodded along in Bible studies. I have appreciated the metaphor in theory.

But standing in front of my beautiful, unproductive raspberry vines, I understood it a little differently.

Pruning is not punishment. It is preparation.

That is part of why I enjoyed Paul Bloom’s book The Sweet Spot. Bloom, a psychologist, explores a strange but familiar truth about human beings: we do not actually want a life with no difficulty. We may say we do, especially when the calendar is full, the kids are melting down, the budget is tight and the dishwasher is making a sound that suggests it has given up on life. But deep down, most of what gives our lives meaning comes with some level of challenge.

We train for races. We raise children. We commit to marriage. We build careers. We care for aging parents. We apologize. We forgive. We start over. We sit in therapy and tell the truth. We choose the harder conversation because the easy silence is slowly killing the relationship.

None of those things are painless. But they are often where purpose is formed.

Bloom makes an important distinction: suffering itself is not automatically good. Some suffering is harmful, unjust and unnecessary. No one should romanticize abuse, trauma, neglect or hardship that crushes the human spirit.

But there is another kind of difficulty – the kind that stretches us, humbles us, disciplines us and invites us to become more than we would have become if comfort had been the only goal.

That matters in relationships.

A strong marriage is not built because two people never disagree. It is built because two people learn how to repair after disagreement. A healthy friendship is not one where no one is ever disappointed. It is one where people can be honest, accountable and gracious. A connected family is not one where every child is protected from every hard thing. It is one where children know they are loved while they learn how to do hard things.

As parents, this is one of the trickiest lines to walk. We do not want our children to suffer. Of course we don’t. Any decent parent would rather take the pain themselves than watch their child hurt.

But if we remove every obstacle, solve every problem, soften every consequence and rescue them from every discomfort, we may accidentally raise long, leafy vines with very little fruit.

Children need love, safety and support. They also need opportunities to struggle appropriately. They need to lose a game and survive it. They need to apologize when they were wrong. They need to work at something they are not instantly good at. They need to feel disappointment without believing disappointment is the end of the world.

And they need parents who do not simply say, “This is easy.”

They need parents who say, “This is hard, and I believe you can take the next step.”

Partners need the same thing. So do we.

Growth often looks like pruning. A boundary. A hard conversation. A season of waiting. A habit we have to cut back. A dream we have to reshape. A comfort we have to surrender. A truth we can no longer avoid.

At first, pruning can feel like loss. The vine is shorter. The shape is different. What once looked full now looks bare.

But the gardener knows what the vine cannot yet see.

Fruit is coming.

Maybe the sweet spot is not a life with no pain. Maybe it is learning the difference between pain that destroys and discomfort that develops. Maybe it is trusting that not every cut is cruel. Some cuts are careful. Some are loving. Some are making room for what could not grow otherwise.

Our raspberry vines are going to need some work. They will need trimming, tending and patience. They will not become fruitful simply because they are beautiful.

And, apparently, neither will we.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

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The Gift of Loving Someone Different

On a recent podcast, Dr. Orna Guralnik, the psychoanalyst many viewers know simply as “Dr. Orna” from Showtime’s Couples Therapy, was asked what she has learned about love after years of sitting with couples. Earlier in her career, she said, she believed compatibility was one of the greatest predictors of success. Find the person who fits you well enough, and the relationship has a better chance.

But now, after listening to hundreds of couples wrestle with money, sex, family, ambition, loyalty, fear and disappointment, she sees something deeper:

The capacity to love someone who is different from you may be one of the greatest forms of love.

That idea feels almost countercultural in a dating world obsessed with “finding your match.” Apps ask us to filter for height, politics, religion, hobbies, education, diet, drinking habits and whether someone wants dogs, children or pickleball. Compatibility matters, of course. Shared values can steady a marriage. A sweeping 2023 meta-analysis in Nature Human Behaviour found that romantic partners are more often similar than different across many traits, especially education, religion, politics and substance use.

But similarity is not the same thing as love.

Similarity may help us choose each other. It does not guarantee we will know how to cherish each other.

A 2020 study in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences analyzed 43 longitudinal couple datasets from more than 11,000 couples. The strongest predictors of relationship quality were not basic demographic similarities or personality matching. They were relationship-specific experiences: perceived partner commitment, appreciation, sexual satisfaction, perceived partner satisfaction and conflict. In other words, what matters most is not simply whether we found someone compatible, but what kind of relationship we are building once we are together.

This is where Dr. Orna’s wisdom lands. Every marriage eventually introduces us to the “otherness” of the person we love. Your spouse may handle stress differently. Spend money differently. Need closeness at a different time of day than you do. Grieve differently. Parent differently. Rest differently. Change differently.

At first, those differences can feel like betrayal. “I thought we were on the same page,” we say, when often what we mean is, “I thought you would keep being the version of yourself that was easiest for me to love.”

But marriage is not a lifelong compatibility test. It is a lifelong invitation to mature.

Healthy love does not mean pretending differences are insignificant. Some differences are serious and require counseling, boundaries, repair or even safety planning. But many everyday differences are not signs that we married the wrong person. They are opportunities to practice curiosity instead of control.

Research on partner acceptance supports this. Studies show that feeling accepted by your partner is associated with greater relationship satisfaction. Likewise, perceived partner responsiveness (feeling understood, validated and cared for) is repeatedly linked to intimacy and relationship well-being.

That is a different vision of marriage than “we never fight” or “we like all the same things.” Dr. Orna has said a strong couple creates an atmosphere of mutual respect, adoration and acceptance. She even notes that couples who never argue can be concerning, because it may mean differences are being hidden, swallowed or erased.

Real intimacy is not the absence of difference. It is the courage to remain tender when difference appears.

Maybe the goal is not to marry your mirror image. Maybe the goal is to become the kind of person who can say: I see that you are not me. I will not make you become me in order to love you. I will learn you. I will tell the truth about myself. I will let us grow.

Compatibility may help a couple begin.

But acceptance, appreciation, commitment and the willingness to love across differences may be what helps them last.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

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Overwhelm, Accountability and Relationships That Matter 

Several people have told me lately that May feels less like spring and more like “May-cember.” It’s the December of the school year. 

There are graduations, field days, awards ceremonies, end-of-school parties, teacher gifts, final projects, Mother’s Day plans, Memorial Day travel, sports banquets, recitals, class celebrations, field trips, summer camp registrations and approximately 427 emails from school that all require a response, payment, permission slip or costume. 

May arrives with sunshine and flowers, but it can feel like it is wearing December’s calendar. 

And just like the holiday season, this month can leave people over-scheduled, overwhelmed and running on empty. We may be showing up everywhere, but not really present anywhere. We may be getting things done, but not actually doing well. We may be surrounded by people and still feel unseen. 

That kind of pace does not just affect our schedules. It affects our relationships. 

When we are exhausted, we often become less patient, less curious and less emotionally available. We snap at the people we love. We withdraw. We stop asking good questions. We forget to eat well, sleep well, listen well and love well. We confuse survival mode with normal life. 

This is why we need relationships deep enough to hold both vulnerability and accountability. 

Without vulnerability, people may be near us but not really know us. Without accountability, people may love us but never help us come back to ourselves. And where both are missing, relationships may remain pleasant, busy and functional, but shallow. 

Research continues to affirm what many of us know by experience: the quality of our relationships matters deeply. Robert Waldinger, director of the Harvard Study of Adult Development, has said one of the study’s clearest findings is that relationships help keep people both happy and healthy. The lesson is not simply “be around people.” It is that meaningful, reliable connection shapes our well-being over time.

But meaningful connection requires honesty. 

It requires being able to say, “I am not doing well.” Or, “I am stretched too thin.” Or, “I know I said yes, but I should have said no.” Or, “I don’t like who I become when I am this tired.” 

Brené Brown describes vulnerability as uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure. She also writes that “vulnerability is not weakness, but part of courage and connection.” Vulnerability is not telling everyone everything. It is letting the right people see what is true. 

And when vulnerability is met with care, relationships deepen. 

Relationship researchers have described intimacy as a process that involves self-disclosure and a caring response. One important concept is “perceived partner responsiveness,” which means we feel that another person understands us, validates us and cares for us. Research has identified this kind of responsiveness as central to intimacy and healthy connection. 

That means one of the most loving things we can do for someone in a chaotic season is notice them. 

Not just their schedule. Not just their productivity. Them. 

“You don’t seem like yourself lately.” 

“You sound exhausted.” 

“You have been carrying a lot.” 

“Have you eaten?” 

“Have you slept?” 

“What can I take off your plate?” 

“Is this pace sustainable?” 

Those questions are not intrusive when they come from love, humility and trust. They are a form of care. 

But the other half of a deep relationship is accountability.

Accountability has a bad reputation because many of us have experienced it as control, criticism or shame. But healthy accountability is not someone trying to manage your life. It is someone helping you live in alignment with your values. 

It sounds like: “I know you want to be a patient parent, and I can see how depleted you are.” It sounds like: “You are saying yes to everyone, but it seems like you are disappearing from yourself.” 

It sounds like: “You don’t have to keep this pace just because you can.” 

It sounds like: “This may be a season to move through, but it cannot become a lifestyle you maintain.” 

That kind of honesty can be uncomfortable. It can also be a gift. 

John Gottman’s research on couple relationships emphasizes the importance of repair, the ability to take responsibility, soften, reconnect and come back to one another after tension or disconnection. Healthy relationships are not conflict-free. They are marked by the willingness to repair and re-engage. 

The same principle applies beyond marriage. Strong relationships require people who can tell the truth with kindness and receive the truth with humility. 

So how do we know whether vulnerability and accountability are present in our relationships? 

Ask yourself: Do I have people who know when I am not myself? Can I admit when I am overwhelmed without being dismissed, mocked or immediately fixed? Can someone lovingly challenge me without me assuming they are attacking me? Do the people closest to me remind me of who I want to be, not just what I need to get done? 

Then turn the questions around. 

Am I safe for other people to be honest with? Do I listen without rushing to correct? Do I ask before giving advice? Do I notice when someone I love is running on empty? Do I have the courage to gently name what I see? 

If vulnerability is missing, start small. Tell a trusted person something true: “I am overwhelmed.” “I need help.” “I am not sleeping.” “I feel like I am failing at everything.” Depth is built through small moments of honesty met with care.

If accountability is missing, invite it. Say to a friend, spouse, sibling or mentor, “When I get too busy, I lose sight of myself. Will you help me notice when that’s happening?” Or, “If you see me slipping into a pattern that is hurting me or the people I love, I want you to say something.” 

And when someone gives you permission to speak honestly into their life, treat that permission as sacred. Be gentle. Be specific. Be humble. The goal is not to win, diagnose or control. The goal is to help someone remember who they are. 

“May-cember” may be a funny word, but the exhaustion behind it is real. Many families are limping toward summer with full calendars and empty tanks. And in seasons like this, we need more than another productivity hack or color-coded calendar. 

We need people. 

People who can see past our busyness. People who notice when our pace is costing us something. People who can offer help without judgment and honesty without harshness. People who remind us that our worth is not measured by how many events we attend, how many tasks we complete or how well we hold everything together. 

And we need to be those people for others. 

Because deep relationships are not built by pretending everyone is fine. They are built when love becomes brave enough to tell the truth and safe enough to receive it. 

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

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