
For the woman who has been so focused on what he is doing wrong that she has not yet looked honestly at what she might be contributing.
There is a woman who can tell you everything her husband does wrong.
She remembers the conversations.
The disappointments.
The things he said.
The things he didn’t say.
The ways he has failed to show up.
She has rehearsed the evidence so often that the verdict feels obvious.
He is the problem.
And perhaps he is.
But there is another question she has not asked with the same honesty:
What if the mountain is me?
Not because everything is her fault.It isn’t. Not because he is blameless. He isn’t. But because there is something dangerous about becoming so fluent in another person’s failures that you become blind to your own contribution.
Jesus said: “Why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?”
He did not say the speck wasn’t there. He said: Look at yourself first. And that is a very uncomfortable invitation when you have already decided who is responsible for the problem.
There is a young woman I think about.
She grew up in a home where, from the outside, everything looked fine. They had enough. The family was intact. Life looked good. But she did not experience home as the place she needed it to be.
So she grew up believing marriage would be her way out. And then she married. Only now her husband was expected to become more than a husband. He had to become the safety she never had. The reassurance she missed. The protection she craved. The proof that she was finally chosen.
And without realising it, she had handed one man the responsibility for repairing an entire childhood.
He could not.
No husband can.
Sometimes the marriage is carrying wounds that existed long before the wedding.
And if she never examines them, she may spend years interpreting her husband through the eyes of the little girl who was hurt before he ever arrived.
So perhaps the question is not only:Why is he so distant? But: Have I made closeness difficult? Could fear of abandonment have become clinginess?
Could insecurity have turned into suspicion? Could the need for reassurance have become exhausting?
Could constant correction, complaining or nagging have made home feel like somewhere he is perpetually failing an examination? Could she be trying to mother him instead of partner with him? Or perhaps she has gone in the opposite direction.
She has become so fiercely independent that there is no room left for him to contribute. She handles everything. Decides everything. Carries everything. Then wonders why he does not seem to know where he belongs.
Maybe her independence is not the problem. Maybe the armour is. And sometimes the mirror asks harder questions. Has contempt entered the marriage? Has she become verbally cruel? Does she humiliate him?
Does she weaponise money, affection or sex? Does she intimidate him? Has she become physically aggressive? If so, this is not a letter asking her to become softer so that he will behave better.
Abuse is not a marital communication problem. Accountability does not mean taking responsibility for another person’s violence.
But where there is no abuse, where there are simply two imperfect people bringing their histories, fears, habits and blind spots into a marriage, there is a question worth asking:
What part of this belongs to me?
Because this is the thing about accountability. It is neither self-blame nor saying, “Everything is my fault.” It is saying: “I will not surrender my agency by pretending I have none.”
The truth is, she cannot control whether he changes or make him become the husband she imagined. She cannot heal wounds he refuses to acknowledge.
But she can examine herself. She can apologise. She can learn. She can get help. She can stop punishing him for what someone else did or did not do. She can release the need to control everything.
She can learn to communicate without attacking. She can become secure enough to love without constantly bracing for abandonment.
And sometimes, when one person changes their side of the dance, the dance changes. Not always, but sometimes.
And even when it doesn’t, truth still sets something free.
So here is where you begin this week:
One.
Look at your side of the mirror.
Choose one recurring conflict, not your entire marriage.
One.
And ask:
What do I consistently do, fail to do, say, assume or withhold that might be making this worse?
Stay with your own side. Do not answer with his behaviour. If there is something there, own it. Ownership agency, not condemnation.
Matthew 7:5
“First take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly.”
Two.
Ask what is underneath your behaviour.
What sits underneath the suspicion?The control? The withdrawal? The nagging? The inability to receive? The need to be constantly reassured Sometimes the behaviour is only the surface. Look underneath.
And if what you find reaches into trauma, deep wounds or patterns you cannot safely untangle alone, get help. You do not have to excavate yourself by yourself.
Psalm 139:23–24
“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”
Three.
Change what is yours.
Apologise where you need to. Speak differently. Release the comparison. Ask for help. Set the boundary. Get the support.
Stop trying to mother your husband.
Stop carrying what belongs to him.
And stop carrying what belongs to neither of you.
You are responsible for the woman you bring into the marriage. He is responsible for the man he brings into it. Your work is your work.
And sometimes the mountain is him.
Sometimes it is you.
Sometimes it is both of you.
Wisdom is learning the difference.
Until you read from me again, remember:
Do Less.
Be More.
Stay Rare.
Yours in grace,
The Lady Lorie
❤️❤️❤️
The Declarative Corner
I declare over you today, the courage to look at yourself without turning the mirror into a weapon. May God give you eyes clear enough to distinguish conviction from condemnation, responsibility from blame, and your work from work that belongs to another. May He expose what needs changing, heal what needs healing, and give you the humility to own what is yours without carrying what is not.
May you become a woman who does not need to win the case to find freedom. May you have the wisdom to repair where repair is possible, the courage to seek help where help is needed, and the discernment to recognise when the problem truly lies beyond your side of the mirror. May truth make you freer, wiser and more capable of loving well.
Amen.
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