Tag Archive for: Relationships

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Loving Your Spouse Through the Unknown

Right now, our house feels a bit like a circus act where someone is trying to keep 14 plates spinning at once.

My husband is in a job transition. It is not that he lacks connections or promising leads; it is that we do not have a clear known. Is the next step a new full-time job, launching his own business, or piecing together contract work? At the same time, my schedule has been bananas with early mornings, late nights, and travel sprinkled in, while we have put our house on the market and the kids have been trading the same bug for weeks.

In the middle of it, I have found myself asking a simple but complicated question: How do I love him well right now? How do I show up for his stress when mine is screaming for attention too?

If you are walking through a hard season with your spouse or partner, whether it is a job loss or transition, health issues, caring for aging parents, burnout, or financial uncertainty, you are not alone.

Researchers have found that one of the most important things in stressful seasons is “partner responsiveness,” the sense that your partner understands you, cares about you, and is genuinely there for you. People who feel that way about their partner tend to report less distress and more relationship satisfaction, even when life is hard.

Another big idea is that stress is best handled as a shared burden, not an individual one. Experts call this “dyadic coping” and use it to describe how couples manage stress together instead of separately. When partners talk openly about what they are facing, support each other, and make decisions as a team, they are more likely to stay connected and resilient.

So what does all of that look like on an ordinary Tuesday night when the kids are coughing, the emails will not stop, and your partner is wondering if they will ever feel settled again?

Here are a few practices I am trying, very imperfectly, in our own house.

Lead with empathy, not solutions.

Most of us are quick to jump into fixing mode: “Have you tried…?” “What if you just…?” I am trying instead to start with simple, grounded empathy: “This limbo is exhausting. Of course you are worn out.” That kind of validation says, I see you, and I get why this is hard. Feeling understood often does more good than the perfect pep talk.

Ask what kind of support they want.

One day your spouse may want to brainstorm résumés and business ideas. The next day, they may need quiet and a mindless show. Instead of guessing, try: “Do you want ideas right now, or do you just want me to listen?” Support works best when it matches what the person actually wants at the moment.

Be a soft place to land and a mirror of their strength.

During a job transition, it is easy for someone’s sense of worth to get tangled up with productivity and paychecks. Yes, your spouse needs comfort and a reminder that you are okay today. But they also need you to reflect on the parts of them that are bigger than this season: “You are wise and capable. That does not disappear just because things feel uncertain.” That is the “safe haven” and “source of strength” idea in real life.

Create tiny rituals of connection.

In seasons like ours, uninterrupted date nights can feel fictional. But small, consistent check-ins matter more than grand gestures. It might look like a ten-minute “how is your heart?” chat after bedtime, a quick midday text, or putting your phone down when they start talking. Couples who respond to each other’s little “bids” for attention most of the time are the ones who tend to stay happily together.

And when (not if) you get it wrong, repair. There will be nights when you snap, offer the wrong kind of support, or completely miss how overwhelmed your spouse is. The goal is not perfection; it is the willingness to circle back: “I am sorry I jumped into problem-solving. Can we try that again?” Those “repair attempts” are powerful because they send the message, Our relationship matters more than this moment.

I wish I could tell you I have mastered all of this. I have not. Some nights I get it right; some nights I crawl into bed and think, Well, that was not my best work as a wife, mom, or human.

But I am learning this: supporting your spouse in a difficult season is less about one heroic conversation and more about a hundred small choices to stay emotionally present, to say, “I see you,” “I am with you,” and “We will figure this out together,” even when the path forward is still foggy.

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

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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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Honoring Where You’re From While Building What Comes Next

The first time you pack a home to start a new one, you realize you’re not just moving furniture, you’re moving a culture.

I found that out the year my husband and I wrapped and packed our new dishes next to his large trunk of travel souvenirs and my grandmother’s floral music box. On paper, that box held a smorgasbord of fragile things. In practice, it carried a thousand little “we always…” and “we never…” statements that would follow us wherever we went.

Starting a family has a way of bringing those scripts to the surface. Holidays arrive, and suddenly there are three ideas of when and where to celebrate, as well as four opinions about what type of food should be on the table. Bedtime comes with a debate: two stories and a song? A quick goodbye or a slow cuddle? We inherit so much: our values, stories, jokes, grudges, and the choreography of everyday life.

The trick isn’t to erase what came before; it’s to honor it while shaping a culture that fits the people we are becoming.

Research gives us permission to take that work seriously. Decades of studies point to something deceptively simple: families who build steady routines and meaningful rituals tend to function better. Kids are more secure, parents report lower stress, and couples feel more satisfied, not because life gets easier, but because those small, repeated touchpoints stitch everyone together. The Gottmans would say these rituals are part of how couples “create shared meaning,” the sturdy beams of the Sound Relationship House. It’s not just the big traditions; it’s the goofy goodbye at the door, the nightly five-minute check-in, the Sunday call to Nana. Tiny things, done on purpose, turn into the grammar of “us.”

Still, none of us starts with a blank page. The way we handle conflict, money, faith, chores, and affection often echoes our family of origin. Attachment researchers have shown that early relational “templates” have a way of hitching a ride into adulthood. That can be a gift. Maybe warmth around the dinner table comes naturally. It can also be a challenge. Maybe we flinch when voices rise because that never ended well in our childhood home.

Naming those patterns doesn’t dishonor our parents or grandparents; it gives us the agency to decide what we’ll carry forward and what we’ll set down.

Marriage researcher Scott Stanley has a phrase I love: “decide, don’t slide.” He uses it for big transitions, but it fits family culture, too. It’s easy to slide into what’s familiar: we host because we always have, we drive six hours because that’s what’s expected, we serve the dish no one eats because it’s “tradition.” Deciding looks different. It sounds like, “We’re grateful for that, and here’s how we’ll do it now.” Intentional choices beat inertia every time.

Of course, our families of origin don’t stop being our families just because we start a new one. Therapist Esther Perel talks often about boundaries, not as walls to keep people out, but as guardrails that keep relationships safe. In practice, that might mean you send the holiday schedule to both sets of parents at the same time so no one is surprised. It might mean you ask that certain couple of conversations remain just that—between the two of you. It might mean expanding the table some years and narrowing it others. Boundaries make room for generosity because they reduce resentment.

I saw all of this come to life on the holiday we tried to please absolutely everyone. We committed to two Christmas meals, the long drive between them, and the “quick stop” at a third house that turned into a three-hour detour. By dessert, we were smiling for photos and privately exhausted with each other. The next year, we did it differently. We sat at the kitchen table with coffee and made four little lists, not as a manifesto but as a conversation.

First, we asked what we wanted to keep exactly as it was. Then we looked at what to tweak so it fit our season: the marathon holiday drive became a huge no. We decided one year we’d host, one year we’d travel, and one year we’d keep it small and invite anyone who wants to join us. We chose one thing to start that felt like us: a quick “rose, bud, thorn” check-in at dinner where each person shares a highlight, a hope, and a hard thing. And finally, we retired one tradition that had quietly stopped serving our family. We didn’t bury it; we gave it a grateful goodbye.

None of that made our family perfect. But it did make us more deliberate. We tied our choices to values we wanted to grow: gratitude, hospitality, playfulness, faith. Our rituals weren’t just busywork; they were habits of the heart. We put the small things on the calendar, because meaningful traditions rarely survive on good intentions. And we gave ourselves permission to laugh when the beautiful plan met the very real toddlers.

If you’re wondering whether any of this matters beyond feeling cozy, the answer is yes. Scholars like Brad Wilcox and others have shown that, on average, children do better (academically, emotionally, and financially) when they grow up in stable, committed two-parent homes. There are wonderful exceptions, and every family constellation can be loving and strong.

But it’s fair to say that investing in the culture of your home is not just sentimental, it’s one of the most practical ways to give kids a secure base. Rituals and routines are how love puts on work clothes.

So maybe this is your season to sift the heirlooms. Keep what is unmistakably good. Sand and refinish what needs adapting. And be brave enough to build a few pieces of your own. It might be Friday night pizza on the floor, a monthly family service project, a standing date night, or a once-a-week FaceTime with the cousins. It might be the boundary that says, “We’ll join you Saturday morning, but we’ll sleep in our own beds Friday night.” It might simply be the quiet promise that your partner gets the benefit of the doubt, even when the day goes off the rails.

Years from now, your children may not remember what you served or whether the napkins matched. They’ll remember the feeling around the table. They’ll remember that in your home, people showed up, stories were told, forgiveness was normal, and love was practiced on purpose. That’s what it means to honor where you’re from while building what comes next.

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

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Second Chances, Slower Starts: How We Got to Fewer Divorces

Love isn’t dead, but it is getting wiser.

Pew Research Center’s newly released brief on divorce lands with a hopeful headline for families: compared with the 1980s, Americans are less likely to divorce than they used to be. That’s not wishful thinking or an over simplification, it shows up in a long arc of numbers. Researchers at Bowling Green State University track the “refined” divorce rate (divorces per 1,000 married women). That rate peaked in 1980 at 22.6 and has fallen substantially since down to 14.4. In other words, among people who do marry, marriages today are, on average, more stable than they were in the Reagan era.

Pew’s snapshot brings the story into the present tense: divorce still touches many lives, with over 1.8 million Americans divorcing in 2023. But the broader trend is that divorce is less common than decades ago. 

So what’s behind the decline? A few big trends seem to be at play.

First, Americans are marrying later, and that matters.

The typical first-time bride is now around 28–29 years-old, and the typical groom is about 30–31, up dramatically from newlyweds being in their late teens/early twenties in the 1980s. Waiting a little longer tends to reduce divorce risk; people bring more maturity, more education, and a clearer sense of “fit.” Peer-reviewed studies find that marrying young is linked to higher odds of splitting. Translation: couples are slowing down, choosing more intentionally, and that’s paying off.

Second, the marriage pool has changed. Today’s marriages are more selective and more likely to involve partners with higher education, and education is tied to lower divorce risk. That compositional shift nudges the overall divorce rate down. (Think of it like this: if more of the people who marry have the traits associated with stability, the averages move.)

Now, a key caveat that actually strengthens the good news: the marriage rate itself is lower than it was in the late 20th century. Fewer marriages overall means fewer opportunities for divorce, which helps pull down “crude” divorce measures (per 1,000 people). But even when you focus only on those who are married—the refined rate mentioned above—divorce has still fallen since the 1980 peak. Both things can be true: we have fewer marriages, and the marriages that do happen are, on average, sturdier.

How should we interpret this shift?

First, take heart. The cultural panic of “half of all marriages end in divorce” was always an oversimplification and it’s even less true today. Many couples are entering marriage later, with more shared expectations, and they’re staying together longer. That steadiness shows up in the data Pew just pulled together and in the federal stats underneath it.

Second, remember what actually protects kids and couples day to day: not a date on a license, but the temperature of the relationship. Reviews in top journals keep pointing to the same levers such as lower conflict, clearer routines, and intentional commitment. Those are choices any couple can practice, whether you married at 23 or 33.

Finally, keep the denominator in mind. Because fewer people are marrying at all, crude divorce rates will stay low even if behavior doesn’t change. That’s why the refined rate is so useful, because it tells us that among those who are tying the knot, marriages really are more durable than they were a generation ago.

That’s worth a quiet cheer, a date night, and maybe a shared Google calendar to keep the wheels turning at home. 

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

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How We Learn to Hate and How We Can Stop

Recent events (both near and far) have led me to question one small little word with a big bite: “hate.”

My son’s school had to go into lockdown mode while we were having an outdoor celebration breakfast for his class. Nothing was going on at the school, but only a couple of blocks down the road gunshots were fired between people who were raging with hate towards each other. Out of an abundance of caution, we made our way into the cafeteria and had a giant dance party instead. 

Of course the kids asked all the questions, “Why did we have to come inside?”, “Are we safe?”, “Will we ever be able to go back outside?”

But they had no idea what happened only a few streets away, and they definitely didn’t feel the hate that started the whole issue.

Where does hate begin? How do regular disagreements turn into something darker? What helps us step back from that edge?

Psychologists say hate isn’t just “really strong dislike.” It’s a hot mix of anger, contempt, and disgust that can push us toward action. One brain-imaging study in 2008 even found a distinct pattern when people looked at someone they hated. Parts of their brain tied to strong emotion and action planning lit up, as if the mind were putting the body on standby.

But the slide into hate usually starts earlier. We sort the world into “us” and “them.” Then we tell simple stories about “them.” Psychologist Nick Haslam’s review of decades of studies shows how this can turn into dehumanization, which means to treat other people as less than fully human. This makes it easier to justify harsh words or worse. We don’t notice it at first; it feels normal, and that’s the trap. 

Politics turns that trap into a bear pit. A team led by Northwestern’s Eli Finkel, director of the university’s Relationship and Motivation lab, calls today’s political dynamic “political sectarianism,” othering, aversion, and moral contempt mixing into a poisonous cocktail. Their work notes that in the U.S., many of us feel more heat toward the other party than warmth for our own. That’s not just disagreement; that’s relationship acid.

Here’s a twist that sounds like every family argument ever: research from Adam Waytz and colleagues finds both sides think we act from love, while they act from hate. It’s called “motive attribution asymmetry,” and it locks conflict in place because compromise starts to feel like giving in to bad people with bad motives. 

So what actually helps? First, real contact. The human kind, not the comment-section kind. Back in 2006, a massive meta-analysis of 515 studies found that contact between groups reliably reduces prejudice, especially when people work together as equals and leaders support the effort. Translation: volunteering side-by-side beats arguing on Facebook.

Second, a bigger “we.” Social psychologists Samuel Gaertner and John Dovidio show that when we recategorize from “us vs. them” to “all of us,” bias drops. In normal life that sounds like, “We’re neighbors raising kids in the same city,” before we ever talk about policy. It’s simple and surprisingly powerful.

Third, shared goals. The classic 1954 “Robbers Cave” summer-camp study split boys into rival teams and—surprise—hostility erupted. What cooled it wasn’t a lecture; it was fixing problems together (like hauling a stuck truck) that neither team could solve alone. Families can borrow this: when a fight stalls, pick a goal bigger than the argument and push the truck together.

Fourth, better conversations. “Deep canvassing” is the term to describe 10-minute, nonjudgmental, story-sharing chats. In 2016, researchers David Broockman and Joshua Kalla found these conversations produced durable attitude change on a hot-button issue. The magic wasn’t debating harder; it was listening, reflecting, and trading personal stories.

And because our media diet shapes our mood, here’s a timely note: a 2024 University of Michigan analysis warned that rage-bait politics on social media can crank up our cynicism and hostility. If your feed makes you feel permanently itchy, that’s not a character flaw, it’s a design feature. Curate accordingly.

What does all this mean for daily life? In my house, we try to “disagree like teammates.”

We name the shared goal first (“We both want kind, sturdy kids”), we assume decent motives (“You’re aiming for safety; I’m aiming for independence”), and we take a break when we start narrating the other person as the villain. It’s not perfect. But the research backs up these small habits: contact, common identity, shared goals, and decent motives interrupt the slide from conflict to contempt and from contempt to hate.

So here’s a simple play for this week. Invite one person you disagree with for coffee. Ask three sincere questions before you share your view. Tell a short story about why you care. Then look for one thing you can do together like coach a team, pick up trash on your block, help a neighbor.

It won’t fix the internet, but it can change a relationship. And relationships are where the heat cools and the future is built.

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

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New Study Shows Online Dating Can Lead to Lower Relationship Satisfaction

According to a global team of researchers, people who meet their romantic partners online tend to be a little less satisfied in their relationships than people who meet the old-fashioned way, through friends, work, or a random meet-cute at the grocery store. Now before anyone throws their dating app out the window, let me say this: meeting online isn’t the problem.

In fact, it’s how millions of people meet these days, especially busy single parents, college students, young professionals, and even those looking for love later in life. But the study, which surveyed over 6,600 people from 50 different countries, found that on average, couples who met online reported lower levels of intimacy, passion, commitment, and overall relationship satisfaction than couples who met offline. 

So what’s going on? Well, one reason might be that online dating throws open the floodgates of possibility. You suddenly have access to more potential partners than ever before, which sounds great, right?

But psychologists have long pointed out that too much choice can lead to decision fatigue. It’s the jam aisle dilemma: faced with 24 flavors, we freeze up, question our choice, or assume there’s always something better.

Another factor is what researchers call “homogamy.” It means people tend to have stronger, more satisfying relationships when they share common ground, such as similar values, cultural backgrounds, education levels, and life goals. Offline couples, it turns out, are more likely to have that natural overlap because they tend to meet in shared spaces, like church, school, mutual friends, the lunch line at work.

There’s also the challenge of community support. When you meet someone through friends or your social circle, you automatically get a little network of encouragement. Your people know their people. There’s history. And maybe some gentle accountability. But when you meet online, you don’t get that built-in backup system, at least not right away.

None of this means online dating is doomed. Plenty of strong, loving, deeply connected couples met on Bumble or Hinge or (gasp!) even Craigslist back in the day.

The research just reminds us that if we’re going to find love in the digital age, we need to be intentional.

We have to move beyond swiping, past the highlight-reel conversations, and toward the real stuff: communication, vulnerability, shared purpose, and mutual respect.

As someone who leads a nonprofit focused on strengthening families, I think a lot about how relationships begin and how they grow. The spark is fun, sure. But it’s the slow burn of trust, laughter, shared grocery lists, and “I’ll get up with the baby this time” moments that keep couples going strong.

So if you met your partner online, wonderful. Keep watering that relationship. Build your community. Don’t be afraid to ask the hard questions. And if you’re still swiping, maybe balance that screen time with real-world connection. Let your friends set you up. Go to that birthday party. Say hello at the library. Sometimes love shows up when your phone is in your pocket.

We live in a world where everything moves fast. But building love? It still thrives the most when we slow down.

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

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The Quiet Sting of Feeling Left Out (& How to Deal With It)

A few days ago, my six-year-old came home from a playdate with shoulders sagging and tears in his eyes. “Nobody wanted to play with me today,” he said. In that moment, I was catapulted back to my own grown-up version of the same sting, learning about a meeting I wasn’t invited to.

Brains of every age register that exclusion as actual pain; functional MRI studies show the anterior cingulate cortex lighting up during social rejection just as it does when we stub a toe.

We like to think adulthood vaccinates us against playground politics, yet a meta analysis of 120 Cyberball experiments (a virtual ball tossing game researchers use to simulate ostracism) finds that even brief exclusion tanks self-esteem and mood in participants well past puberty.

The long-running Harvard Study of Adult Development echoes the cost: people who nurture warm relationships live longer, are happier, and stay mentally sharper—decades of data distilled to one sentence, “Good relationships keep us healthier and happier, period.” 

So what helps? First, call the feeling by its name. Neuroscientists argue that labeling an emotion recruits the thinking parts of the brain and lowers its intensity; it’s like dimming a harsh light.

Next, treat yourself with the same gentleness you’d offer a friend; a 2025 systematic review shows self-compassion cushions the blow of social media comparisons and other modern snubs.

Then take a small risk: send the “Miss you! Coffee soon?” text. People with about five dependable friends report the highest well-being, while those averaging barely three lag behind, according to a recent Australian survey on friendship and mental health. Building (or rebuilding) those five can start with one invite.

When our kids feel iced out, the script shifts from fixing to listening. Researchers tracking online peer rejection found that children bounced back fastest when they felt supported by parents or teachers. So I sit on the kitchen floor, eye level with my son, and say, “That sounds rough. Tell me everything.” Only after he exhales do we practice what he might say tomorrow: “Can I have a turn after Jason?” or, if need be, “That hurts. Please stop.” 

Remember, modeling is powerful; when children see or hear their parents experience rejection or feeling left out, and they see a healthy, action-oriented response, they learn that resilience is an action verb.

It can be tempting to try and hide our own “negative” or “hurtful” feelings from our children. But being open with them about what’s going on in our world and how we’re dealing with certain issues can build our connection with them and boost their confidence. Of course, it’s important these conversations remain age-appropriate.

Sometimes exclusion crosses the line into bullying. If your child’s stomachaches multiply or their spark dims, loop in the teacher early and document patterns. Often, though, the remedy is simpler: genuine connection. Last night, while my toddler built block towers, my son and I drew a “friend web” on scrap paper: classmates, cousins, and neighbors. These circles and lines reminded him (and me) how many doors can swing open when one seems shut.

Feeling left out is universal, but it doesn’t have to be terminal. Name it, tend to it with kindness, and reach out, whether you’re six or thirty-five.

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

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Do Similarities Attract in Romantic Relationships?

Some say opposites attract. Others argue that similarity is the glue. So which is it?

Turns out, science is siding with the “birds of a feather” crowd. A massive meta-analysis of 313 studies found that both actual and perceived similarity increase attraction between people. Perceived similarity (thinking we’re alike) helps in early dating, but actual similarity (being alike) becomes more important as time goes on.

And it’s not just attraction.

Research consistently shows that couples who share values—like faith, family priorities, financial goals, or life purpose—experience more satisfaction and fewer conflicts.

That alignment creates a sense of shared direction, which is especially grounding during life’s bigger storms (like teething toddlers or unexpected job changes).

It’s not just values. Similarity in personality traits also plays a meaningful role. Couples who are on the same wavelength when it comes to traits like openness, agreeableness, and emotional stability tend to report greater relationship quality.

Let me break that down practically: If you’re someone who craves structure and calm, and your partner thrives in chaos and impulse, you might find yourselves out of sync when life gets stressful. On the other hand, if you both tend to process stress similarly—whether that’s with humor, reflection, or a shared bowl of mint chip ice cream—you’re more likely to feel supported, understood, and, frankly, less annoyed at each other when things go sideways.

Another factor in the “does similarity matter” equation is how well you read and respond to each other’s emotions. Empathic accuracy—that ability to understand what your partner is feeling and needing—has been linked to healthier day-to-day interactions, especially after disagreements.

This doesn’t mean you need to be carbon copies emotionally. But having a shared emotional rhythm, or at least mutual respect for each other’s rhythms, can help couples de-escalate conflict, reconnect faster, and reduce emotional exhaustion.

In the “Hall house” with two little kids and two big careers, this kind of harmony isn’t just helpful—it’s holy.

Now, being similar doesn’t mean you have to enjoy all the same hobbies or finish each other’s sentences (although that can be cute). Research on what psychologists call the Michelangelo phenomenon reveals that the best relationships help us become better versions of ourselves. That happens when your partner supports your dreams and growth, even if they’re different from theirs.

So, it’s not always about matching interests—it’s about matching investments. It’s about being co-architects of the life you want to build together.

But let’s be honest—differences can be exciting. They keep things interesting and offer opportunities to learn from each other. (I married someone who loves to dream and vision, while I can organize a closet like it’s going on the cover of a magazine.) Research shows that differences might fuel the initial spark, but similarity often sustains the fire.

In other words, being wildly different can make dating thrilling—but being meaningfully similar makes a long-term partnership more sustainable.

I wouldn’t be where I am today—leading a mission-driven organization and parenting two little ones with a decent amount of joy and humor—without a partner who shares my foundational values. We approach conflict in similar ways, believe in the same bigger purpose, and know how to support each other without trying to change who the other person is.

Sure, we’re different in a million tiny ways. (Let’s just say one of us considers “on time” to mean five minutes early and the other thinks it means still finding their shoes.) But when it comes to how we see the world, raise our kids, and handle life’s curveballs, we’re solid. And that’s what counts.

So, does it matter if you’re similar? Yes—especially when it comes to your values, emotional style, and willingness to grow together. Similarity won’t solve every problem, but it gives you a shared language and rhythm for tackling life’s hardest and happiest moments.

Because when the baby’s up at 2 a.m. and your six-year-old is asking deep philosophical questions like “Do bugs have birthdays?”, it’s good to be in sync with the person beside you in the trenches. Even if they think you load the dishwasher all wrong.

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

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