Tag Archive for: Relationships

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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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What It Means to Put First Things First

First Things First is in the middle of a rebrand.

Same name. Same mission. Deeper alignment.

And as part of that process, I’ve had the privilege of sitting across from some of the founders of the organization and key stakeholders who prompted this work decades ago. I’ve asked them questions that sound simple until you try to answer them out loud.

What does it mean to put first things first? Why did we name the organization that? What does it look like in relationships?

What does it look like on a Tuesday afternoon when the laundry is loud, the inbox is louder and everyone in your house needs something at the exact same time?

Again and again, the answer pointed back to Stephen Covey’s 1990s book, First Things First. Covey wrote about the difference between living by urgency and living by importance. In other words, there are things that scream for our attention, and there are things that quietly shape our lives.

The problem is, the screaming things usually win.

The text message. The deadline. The appointment. The sports schedule. The dishes. The bill. The group chat. The thing we forgot to sign. The thing we said yes to when we should have said, “Let me check my calendar.”

Urgency is not always bad. Children do need to be picked up from school. Bills do need to be paid. Work matters. Dinner, in some form, should probably happen.

But urgency becomes a problem when it consistently outruns importance.

And importance is where relationships live.

Putting first things first means deciding, on purpose, what matters most before life decides for us. It means we do not simply ask, “What needs to get done today?” We also ask, “Who needs to feel loved today?” “What kind of person do I want to be in this moment?” “What kind of family are we building?”

And here’s where the idea of “steps” matters.

Putting first things first will not look the same for every person or every family. We are all in different seasons, carrying different responsibilities, pressures, resources and rhythms. The young couple trying to build trust after a hard season may have a different next step than the parents of toddlers who are just trying to survive dinner without someone crying into a chicken nugget. The empty nesters learning how to reconnect may have a different next step than the single parent who feels like every plate in life is spinning at once.

That is why putting first things first is not about doing everything at once. It is about taking the next right step.

For one person, the next right step may be asking for help. For another, it may be putting the phone away at dinner. For someone else, it may be making the counseling appointment, apologizing first, setting a boundary, joining a community, creating a bedtime routine or simply sitting still long enough to remember what matters.

The step may be small, but small does not mean insignificant. A step in the right direction is still movement. And enough small steps, taken with intention, begin to shape a life.

For individuals, putting first things first may look like taking care of your health before your body forces you to. It may mean choosing rest without guilt. It may mean making time for prayer, reflection, counseling, recovery or friendship before you reach the point of crisis. It may mean having the hard conversation you keep avoiding because peacekeeping has started to look a lot like resentment.

For couples, it may mean remembering that the relationship cannot survive on logistics alone. A marriage or partnership can become a very efficient small business if we are not careful. Who is paying the bill? Who is picking up groceries? Who forgot picture day?

These things matter. But they are not the whole relationship.

Putting first things first in a relationship means making room for eye contact, affection, repair and honest conversation. It means saying, “I’m sorry,” before pride builds a wall. It means asking, “How are we doing?” not just, “What’s on the calendar?” It means treating your spouse or partner as someone to cherish, not simply someone to coordinate with.

For families, putting first things first means understanding that children are not just being raised by what we say. They are being raised by what we prioritize.

If we say family matters but never have time for each other, they notice.

If we say kindness matters but speak harshly under stress, they notice.

If we say faith, character, service or connection matter but every margin of our lives is consumed by achievement, entertainment or exhaustion, they notice that too.

Children do not need perfect parents. Thank goodness, because that ship sailed for most of us somewhere between the missing shoe and the spilled applesauce.

But they do need parents and caregivers who are willing to pause and realign. They need adults who can say, “This is not working. We need to reset.” They need families who understand that busy is not the same as healthy, and full calendars are not the same as full hearts.

On a practical level, putting first things first does not require a complete life overhaul. Most of us cannot quit our jobs, cancel every activity and move to a quiet cabin where no one ever asks what is for dinner.

It starts smaller.

Sit down once a week and ask, “What matters most this week?” Not just what is due, but what is important. Protect one meal, walk, bedtime routine or conversation from the chaos. Put the phone down when someone you love is talking. Say no to something good so you can say yes to something better. Apologize faster. Ask for help sooner. Make space for the people and values you say matter most.

And when you get it wrong, because you will, begin again.

That may be the most hopeful part of putting first things first. It is not a one-time decision. It is a daily practice. Sometimes an hourly one. Sometimes a “take a deep breath in the driveway before walking into the house” one.

So here is the invitation: look at your calendar, your spending, your conversations, your energy and your habits. Not with shame. With curiosity. Ask yourself, “Do my choices reflect what I say matters most?”

If they do, keep going. If they do not, take one step.

Because if individuals put first things first, we would see healthier people. If couples put first things first, we would see stronger relationships. If families put first things first, we would see children growing up with a clearer sense of love, stability and belonging.

And if enough of us did that, our communities would change too.

We would be less reactive and more rooted. Less distracted and more connected. Less consumed by the urgent and more committed to the important.

We may not fix everything overnight.

But we can begin building a world where people matter more than pressure, relationships matter more than busyness, and love is not something we squeeze in after everything else.

It becomes the first thing.

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

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What Will This Generation Not Hear from Their Parents?

A friend recently posed a question to me that I have not been able to shake. He said that for many Boomers, the phrase they rarely heard growing up was, “I love you.” For many Gen Xers and older millennials, the missing phrase was often, “I’m sorry.”

Then he asked: What will this generation say they did not hear from their parents?

It is such a smart question because every generation tends to correct the mistakes of the one before it. And, being human, every generation also manages to create a few fresh ones of its own.

In many families, earlier generations were not especially verbal with affection. Love was often present, but it was shown through sacrifice, duty, provision and perseverance more than spoken aloud. Then many of us came along determined to become more emotionally fluent. We wanted our children to know they were loved. We wanted them to identify their feelings, name their struggles and feel seen.

That is not a bad correction. In many ways, it is a very good one.

But I wonder if the phrase this generation may not hear enough is this: I believe in you.

Maybe even more fully: I believe in you, and I will support you while you do hard things.

Parents today hear a great deal about helping children identify and process emotions, and that matters. Children should absolutely learn to recognize fear, disappointment, anger, embarrassment and anxiety. They should know that feelings are real and that they are not shameful. But somewhere along the way, many families seem to have absorbed a second message that is less helpful: that feeling uncomfortable is itself a reason not to proceed.

It is not.

A friend told me recently about a family vacation where her 8-year-old son (a rambunctious, brave, beautifully wild little boy in most settings) froze at the idea of doing a high ropes course. He got scared and immediately said, “I’m not doing it.” His mom, to her credit, did not instantly rescue him from the challenge. She told him he could choose the ropes course or the rock wall, but one way or another, he was going to face a fear that day.

He protested. He resisted. He did not feel ready.

But what mattered most was not simply that she pushed him. It was that she stood beside him with the clear message: I believe in you. She was not mocking his fear, dismissing his feelings or throwing him to the wolves. She was supporting him through something difficult and telling him, in word and deed, that he was capable of more than his fear was telling him in that moment.

And he did it.

That is such an important message for children to hear.

Because emotions are important, but they are not dictators.

Fear can be real without being right. Anxiety can be loud without being wise. Discomfort can be intense without being dangerous. Children need help learning that they are not helpless in the presence of strong feelings. They can feel afraid and still move forward. They can feel embarrassed and still try. They can feel unsure and still begin.

Usually, they do that best when a steady adult is nearby saying, “I believe in you.”

That is how resilience is built. Not by shaming children for being afraid, and not by removing every obstacle before they have to face it, but by helping them discover that they can survive challenges and come out stronger on the other side.

Of course, this takes wisdom. Parenting is not about pushing children harshly, humiliating them or ignoring genuine limits. It is about refusing to let a child’s first impulse of fear become the final authority. It is about teaching them that courage is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to act in spite of it, especially when someone loving is there to help steady them.

Maybe that is one of the great parenting assignments of this era: to care deeply about our children’s emotional lives without raising them to believe that their emotions should run their lives.

Yes, help them name their feelings. Yes, sit with them in their struggles. Yes, be a safe place.

But also tell them the truth: I believe in you. You can be scared and still be brave. You can feel deeply without being ruled completely. You can try, fail, recover and try again. And I will be here to support you as you do.

That may be one of the most loving things a parent can say.

Because what children need is not just protection from hard things. They need a parent who believes they are capable of facing them.

And in a world increasingly tempted to treat discomfort as danger, that may be one of the most necessary messages of all.

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

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