Husband Supports Wife Quotes

As a woman you are better off in life earning your own money. You couldn't prevent your husband from leaving you or taking another wife, but you could have some of your dignity if you didn't have to beg him for financial support.

A husband, a wife and some kids is not a family. It's a terribly vulnerable survival unit.

We start a relationship with someone not only because of how great they are but how great they make us feel. And because they have granted us this extraordinary gift—a chance to experience love, joy, compassion, and security —it is our exclusive privilege to make them feel wonderful about themselves, especially during days when they, themselves, don't feel so wonderful.

. . . children should draw [a husband & wife] nearer than ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, and [your husband] had nothing to do but support them. . . . don't neglect husaband for children, don't shut him out of the nursery, but teach him how to help in it. His place is there as well as yours, and the children need him; let him feel that he has his part to do, and he will do it gladly and faithfully, and it will be better for you all. . . . That is the secret of our home happiness: he does not let business wean him from the little cares and duties that affect us all, and I try not to let domestic worries destroy my interest in his pursuits. Each do our part alone in many things, but at home we work together, always. . . . no time is so beautiful and precious to parents as the first years of the little lives given them to train. Don't let [your husband] be a stranger to the babies, for they will do more to keep him safe and happy in this world of trial and temptation than anything else, and through them you will learn to know and love one another as you should.

Philip May is known in politics as a man who has taken a back seat and allowed his wife, Theresa, to shine.” Allowed. Now let us reverse it. Theresa May has allowed her husband to shine. Does it make sense? If Philip May were prime minister, perhaps we might hear that his wife had “supported” him from the background, or that she was “behind” him, or that she’d “stood by his side,” but we would never hear that she had “allowed” him to shine. “Allow” is a troubling word. “Allow” is about power.

The purpose of marriage is not to have pleasure and to be idle, but to procreate and bring up children, to support a household. This, of course, is a huge burden full of great cares and toils. But you have been created by God to be a husband or a wife that you may learn to bear these troubles. Those who have no love for children are... unworthy of being called men or women; for they despise the blessing of God, the creator and author of marriage.

Her support was a constant, one of the few good things I could take as a given. And whenever I see a first novel dedicated to a wife (or a husband), I smile and think, There’s someone who knows.” Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot of difference. They don’t have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough.

No husband of mine will say, “I could have been a drummer, but I had to think about the wife and kids. You know how it is.” Nobody supports me at the expense of his own adventure. Then I get bitter: no one supports me.

Simply put, she was the one who had to put up with me. That she did so with love and patience and encouragement instead of strangling me, throwing my remains into a wood chipper, and then pretending she had never been married to me at all is a testament to the fact that she is, in fact, the single best person I know.

[You for] the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts [be zealous,] girls, [and the] clear melodious lyre: [but my once tender] body old age now [has seized;] my hair’s turned [white] instead of dark; my heart’s grown heavy, my knees will not support me, that once on a time were fleet for the dance as fawns. This state I oft bemoan; but what’s to do? Not to grow old, being human, there’s no way. Tithonus once, the tale was, rose-armed Dawn, love-smitten, carried off to the world’s end, handsome and young then, yet in time grey age o’ertook him, husband of immortal wife.

Submission means that a wife acknowledges her husband’s headship as spiritual leader and guide for the family. It has nothing whatsoever to do with her denying or suppressing her will, her spirit, her intellect, her gifts, or her personality. To submit means to recognize, affirm, and support her husband’s God-given responsibility of overall family leadership. Biblical submission of a wife to her husband is a submission of position, not personhood. It is the free and willing subordination of an equal to an equal for the sake of order, stability, and obedience to God’s design. As a man, a husband will fulfill his destiny and his manhood as he exercises his headship in prayerful and humble submission to Christ and gives himself in sacrificial love to his wife. As a woman, a wife will realize her womanhood as she submits to her husband in honor of the Lord, receiving his love and accepting his leadership. When a proper relationship of mutual submission is present and active, a wife will be released and empowered to become the woman God always intended her to be.

Whatever God has called your husband to be or do, He has also called you to support it and be part of it, if in no other way than to pray, encourage, and help in whatever way possible.

I want to be your husband, Lucy. I want to be the guy who carries your bag, and holds your hand and sits next to you on planes. I want to be the one who supports you in your career and in your life. The man who loves you through thick and thin. And I’m hoping you’ll say yes to being my wife.

Cleopatra moreover came of age in a country that entertained a singular definition of women’s roles. Well before her and centuries before the arrival of the Ptolemies, Egyptian women enjoyed the right to make their own marriages. Over time their liberties had increased, to levels unprecedented in the ancient world. They inherited equally and held property independently. Married women did not submit to their husbands’ control. They enjoyed the right to divorce and to be supported after a divorce. Until the time an ex-wife’s dowry was returned, she was entitled to be lodged in the house of her choice. Her property remained hers; it was not to be squandered by a wastrel husband. The law sided with the wife and children if a husband acted against their interests. Romans marveled that in Egypt female children were not left to die; a Roman was obligated to raise only his first-born daughter. Egyptian women married later than did their neighbors as well, only about half of them by Cleopatra’s age. They loaned money and operated barges. They served as priests in the native temples. They initiated lawsuits and hired flute players. As wives, widows, or divorcées, they owned vineyards, wineries, papyrus marshes, ships, perfume businesses, milling equipment, slaves, homes, camels. As much as one third of Ptolemaic Egypt may have been in female hands.

So, what is family? How is it best defined? Must you be related by blood? If that’s true, then how does marriage make a family of the husband and wife? Could a group of dear friends who are witness to each others’ lives, who grow old together and pledge to support one another in sickness and in health, till death do they part, be anything less?

It’s that time of the month again… As we head into those dog days of July, Mike would like to thank those who helped him get the toys he needs to enjoy his summer. Thanks to you, he bought a new bass boat, which we don’t need; a condo in Florida, where we don’t spend any time; and a $2,000 set of golf clubs…which he had been using as an alibi to cover the fact that he has been remorselessly banging his secretary, Beebee, for the last six months. Tragically, I didn’t suspect a thing. Right up until the moment Cherry Glick inadvertently delivered a lovely floral arrangement to our house, apparently intended to celebrate the anniversary of the first time Beebee provided Mike with her special brand of administrative support. Sadly, even after this damning evidence-and seeing Mike ram his tongue down Beebee’s throat-I didn’t quite grasp the depth of his deception. It took reading the contents of his secret e-mail account before I was convinced. I learned that cheap motel rooms have been christened. Office equipment has been sullied. And you should think twice before calling Mike’s work number during his lunch hour, because there’s a good chance that Beebee will be under his desk “assisting” him. I must confess that I was disappointed by Mike’s over-wrought prose, but I now understand why he insisted that I write this newsletter every month. I would say this is a case of those who can write, do; and those who can’t do Taxes. And since seeing is believing, I could have included a Hustler-ready pictorial layout of the photos of Mike’s work wife. However, I believe distributing these photos would be a felony. The camera work isn’t half-bad, though. It’s good to see that Mike has some skill in the bedroom, even if it’s just photography. And what does Beebee have to say for herself? Not Much. In fact, attempts to interview her for this issue were met with spaced-out indifference. I’ve had a hard time not blaming the conniving, store-bought-cleavage-baring Oompa Loompa-skinned adulteress for her part in the destruction of my marriage. But considering what she’s getting, Beebee has my sympathies. I blame Mike. I blame Mike for not honoring the vows he made to me. I blame Mike for not being strong enough to pass up the temptation of readily available extramarital sex. And I blame Mike for not being enough of a man to tell me he was having an affair, instead letting me find out via a misdirected floral delivery. I hope you have enjoyed this new digital version of the Terwilliger and Associates Newsletter. Next month’s newsletter will not be written by me as I will be divorcing Mike’s cheating ass. As soon as I press send on this e-mail, I’m hiring Sammy “the Shark” Shackleton. I don’t know why they call him “the Shark” but I did hear about a case where Sammy got a woman her soon-to-be ex-husband’s house, his car, his boat and his manhood in a mayonnaise jar. And one last thing, believe me when I say I will not be letting Mike off with “irreconcilable differences” in divorce court. Mike Terwilliger will own up to being the faithless, loveless, spineless, useless, dickless wonder he is.

We are married -and maybe this is no conventional arrangement, but it is still real. "It isn't," he said. "It is. What is a husband, but the man who offers you support when all the world turns you away?" Was that what he was to her? He couldn't look at her now, or she'd see how much those words affected him. She continued. "What is a wife, but a partner who will see through to your deepest wishes? We have promised each other our deepest wishes.

To me, the simplest gift that a husband or a wife can do for their partner is to remind them of their precious visions, goals and dreams. What a gift that is to have a voice of reason right in your corner when you sometimes need a little nudge to get back on track. To have a team player to cheer you on and to support your efforts is indeed a massive present from the universe. Whomever has such a gift should surely treasure and protect it for all its worth. It's worth is invaluable to the world.

What prevents a woman from walking out of an abusive relationship? Old-school feminists will speak about economic independence. A woman is free if she has the money to support herself. With a job, she will find her feet. If she has a job, it will miraculously solve all her problems. A job will give her community. One day she will walk into the office, and they will ask her about the bruise above her eyebrow and she will say she walked into a wall, but they will know it is her husband hitting her, and they will wrap her up in a protective embrace.

I imagine standing beside you as a partner. I imagine supporting you as a friend. I imagine encouraging you as a confidant. And I imagine loving you in all the ways a devoted husband would adore his wife.

From thirty-five to forty-two, a new step, a new door opens. If up to the age of thirty-five you have felt deep harmony, an orgasmic feeling, and you have discovered meditation through it, then from thirty-five to forty-two you will help each other go more and more into that meditation without sex, because at this point sex starts looking childish, juvenile. The age of forty-two is the time when a person should be able to know exactly who he is. From forty-two to forty-nine he goes deeper and deeper into meditation, more and more into himself, and helps the partner in the same way. The partners become friends. There is no more “husband” and no more “wife” that time has passed. It has given its richness to your life; now there is something growing that is even higher than love. That is friendliness, a compassionate relationship to help the other to go deeper into himself or herself, to become more independent, to become more alone, just like two tall trees standing separate but still close to each other, or two pillars in a temple supporting the same roof—standing so close, but also so separate and independent and alone.

And let me tell you something else, my friend," she said in the precise enunciation of a trained nurse talking to a worried patient. "It is all very easy for a man to talk about living in the present. Much more so than for a woman, who is liable to get knocked up higher than a kite every time the man enjoys himself in the present. Thats one thing I dont have to worry about, thank God. But there are a lot of others: such as what I am going to do when my husband kicks me out and then my lover throws me over when he has to support me, and me not being trained for anything but to be somebody's wife and having to do all my politicking and achieving and gain what little success I can by getting behind some stupid man and pushing him.

We were a team, husband and wife. There was no part of my partner that I did not see and did not love. Whether the man who called me beautiful when I first woke up or the bloodthirsty gangster. This man was mine and I would support him through anything.

The idea of having a useless husband sounds like a nightmare.” She had friends who put up with that nonsense. Not her. She wanted a partner, not another child in a grown-up body. He’d always been steady. Present. Supportive. Driven. A little too set in his ways, but a loving dad and husband. As a child of divorce, he fought hard for their marriage. They’d hit rough patches and lived through a painful year filled with yelling and disappointment when they both hated their jobs and their expenses didn’t allow for a change.

I won’t try to convince you that this guy isn’t worthy of you. I remember being young and thinking I understood love, too. But I do have to ask questions, in the hopes that you will ask them of yourself. What are his bigger ambitions for himself? When was the last time he asked about yours? Besides your looks, does he value your mind? Does he ask your opinions in public? Does he support your curiosities in a meaningful way? What is his vision for you as a wife and a mother? What is his vision for himself as a husband and a father? Does he ask you if you want to have kids or does he just assume? Does he know that money can purchase things but not joy?

Her support was a constant, one of the few good things I could take as a given. And whenever I see a first novel dedicated to a wife (or a husband), I smile and think, There’s someone who knows. Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot of difference. They don’t have to make speeches. Just believing is usually enough.

More than economic dependency of the wife and children on the husband and father is needed to preserve the institution of the authoritarian family [and its support of the authoritarian state]. For the suppressed classes, this dependency is endurable only on condition that the consciousness of being a sexual being is suspended as completely as possible in women and in children. The wife must not figure as a sexual being, but solely as a child-bearer. Essentially, the idealization and deification of motherhood, which are so flagrantly at variance with the brutality with which the mothers of the toiling masses are actually treated, serve as means of preventing women from gaining a sexual consciousness, of preventing the imposed sexual repression from breaking through and of preventing sexual anxiety and sexual guilt-feelings from losing their hold. Sexually awakened women, affirmed and recognized as such, would mean the complete collapse of the authoritarian ideology. Conservative sexual reform has always made the mistake of merely making a slogan of "the right of woman to her own body," and not clearly and unmistakably regarding and defending woman as a sexual being, at least as much as it regards and defends her as a mother. Furthermore, conservative sexual reform based its sexual policies predominantly on the function of procreation, instead of undermining the reactionary view that equates sexuality and procreation.

It’s so important for husbands and wives to be united when making parenting decisions. If either parent doesn’t feel good about something, then permission should not be granted. If either feels uncomfortable about a movie, a television show, a video game, a party, a dress, a swimsuit, or an Internet activity, have the courage to support each other and say no.

The human ripples of pain are still heartbreaking when made visible to us now. Our friend Agnolo the Fat wrote: “Father abandoned child, wife husband, one brother another; for this illness seemed to strike through the breath and sight. And so they died. And none could be found to bury the dead for money or friendship. Members of a household brought their dead to a ditch as best they could, without priest, without divine offices.” The essence of that account is of an epidemic destroying the very bonds of human society. When was the last time the developed world experienced such a rapid descent into a microbial hell? And if parents abandoning children wasn’t destabilizing enough, other support elements in society were shattered by the justifiable fear of the pestilence. The natural human inclination to seek companionship and support from one’s neighbors was short-circuited. No one wanted to catch whatever was killing everybody. In an era when people congregating together was so much more important than it is in our modern, so-called connected world, people kept their distance from one another, creating one of the silent tragedies of this plague: that they had to suffer virtually alone.

1)    The woman has intuitive feelings that she is at risk. 2)    At the inception of the relationship, the man accelerated the pace, prematurely placing on the agenda such things as commitment, living together, and marriage. 3)    He resolves conflict with intimidation, bullying, and violence. 4)    He is verbally abusive. 5)    He uses threats and intimidation as instruments of control or abuse. This includes threats to harm physically, to defame, to embarrass, to restrict freedom, to disclose secrets, to cut off support, to abandon, and to commit suicide. 6)    He breaks or strikes things in anger. He uses symbolic violence (tearing a wedding photo, marring a face in a photo, etc.). 7)    He has battered in prior relationships. 8)    He uses alcohol or drugs with adverse affects (memory loss, hostility, cruelty). 9)    He cites alcohol or drugs as an excuse or explanation for hostile or violent conduct (“That was the booze talking, not me; I got so drunk I was crazy”). 10)   His history includes police encounters for behavioral offenses (threats, stalking, assault, battery). 11)   There has been more than one incident of violent behavior (including vandalism, breaking things, throwing things). 12)   He uses money to control the activities, purchase, and behavior of his wife/partner. 13)   He becomes jealous of anyone or anything that takes her time away from the relationship; he keeps her on a “tight leash,” requires her to account for her time. 14)   He refuses to accept rejection. 15)   He expects the relationship to go on forever, perhaps using phrases like “together for life;” “always;” “no matter what.” 16)   He projects extreme emotions onto others (hate, love, jealousy, commitment) even when there is no evidence that would lead a reasonable person to perceive them. 17)   He minimizes incidents of abuse. 18)   He spends a disproportionate amount of time talking about his wife/partner and derives much of his identity from being her husband, lover, etc. 19)   He tries to enlist his wife’s friends or relatives in a campaign to keep or recover the relationship. 20)   He has inappropriately surveilled or followed his wife/partner. 21)   He believes others are out to get him. He believes that those around his wife/partner dislike him and encourage her to leave. 22)   He resists change and is described as inflexible, unwilling to compromise. 23)   He identifies with or compares himself to violent people in films, news stories, fiction, or history. He characterizes the violence of others as justified. 24)   He suffers mood swings or is sullen, angry, or depressed. 25)   He consistently blames others for problems of his own making; he refuses to take responsibility for the results of his actions. 26)   He refers to weapons as instruments of power, control, or revenge. 27)   Weapons are a substantial part of his persona; he has a gun or he talks about, jokes about, reads about, or collects weapons. 28)   He uses “male privilege” as a justification for his conduct (treats her like a servant, makes all the big decisions, acts like the “master of the house”). 29)   He experienced or witnessed violence as a child. 30)   His wife/partner fears he will injure or kill her. She has discussed this with others or has made plans to be carried out in the event of her death (e.g., designating someone to care for children).

There is a small village graveyard in a remote corner of Russia. Like almost all of our graveyards it has a sad look. Sheep wander freely over the graves... But among them is one grave untouched by man, untrodden by beast. Two old people often come to it from a little village nearby - a husband and a wife, now infirm. Supporting each other and with heavy steps. They exchange a few words, they wipe the dust from the stone and adjust a fir branch, and they say another prayer, unable to leave this place. Are their prayers and tears really in vain? Has love, holy, devoted love, really lost its power over all? No, no! The grave may hold a passionate, sinful, rebellious heart, but the flowers growing on it gaze serenely at us with their innocent eyes. They do not only speak to us of everlasting peace. They also speak of eternal reconciliation and of life without end...

Thus engaged, with her right elbow supported by her left hand, Madame Defarge said nothing when her lord came in, but coughed just one grain of cough. This, in combination with the lifting of her darkly defined eyebrows over her toothpick by the breadth of a line, suggested to her husband that he would do well to look round the shop among the customers, for any new customer who had dropped in while he stepped over the way. The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about, until they rested upon an elderly gentleman and a young lady, who were seated in a corner. Other company were there: two playing cards, two playing dominoes, three standing by the counter lengthening out a short supply of wine. As he passed behind the counter, he took notice that the elderly gentleman said in a look to the young lady, "This is our man." "What the devil do you do in that galley there?" said Monsieur Defarge to himself; "I don't know you." But, he feigned not to notice the two strangers, and fell into discourse with the triumvirate of customers who were drinking at the counter. "How goes it, Jacques?" said one of these three to Monsieur Defarge. "Is all the spilt wine swallowed?" "Every drop, Jacques," answered Monsieur Defarge. When this interchange of Christian name was effected, Madame Defarge, picking her teeth with her toothpick, coughed another grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line. "It is not often," said the second of the three, addressing Monsieur Defarge, "that many of these miserable beasts know the taste of wine, or of anything but black bread and death. Is it not so, Jacques?" "It is so, Jacques," Monsieur Defarge returned. At this second interchange of the Christian name, Madame Defarge, still using her toothpick with profound composure, coughed another grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line. The last of the three now said his say, as he put down his empty drinking vessel and smacked his lips. "Ah! So much the worse! A bitter taste it is that such poor cattle always have in their mouths, and hard lives they live, Jacques. Am I right, Jacques?" "You are right, Jacques," was the response of Monsieur Defarge. This third interchange of the Christian name was completed at the moment when Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled in her seat. "Hold then! True!" muttered her husband. "Gentlemen--my wife!" The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with three flourishes. She acknowledged their homage by bending her head, and giving them a quick look. Then she glanced in a casual manner round the wine-shop, took up her knitting with great apparent calmness and repose of spirit, and became absorbed in it. "Gentlemen," said her husband, who had kept his bright eye observantly upon her, "good day. The chamber, furnished bachelor- fashion, that you wished to see, and were inquiring for when I stepped out, is on the fifth floor. The doorway of the staircase gives on the little courtyard close to the left here," pointing with his hand, "near to the window of my establishment. But, now that I remember, one of you has already been there, and can show the way. Gentlemen, adieu!" They paid for their wine, and left the place. The eyes of Monsieur Defarge were studying his wife at her knitting when the elderly gentleman advanced from his corner, and begged the favour of a word. "Willingly, sir," said Monsieur Defarge, and quietly stepped with him to the door. Their conference was very short, but very decided. Almost at the first word, Monsieur Defarge started and became deeply attentive. It had not lasted a minute, when he nodded and went out. The gentleman then beckoned to the young lady, and they, too, went out. Madame Defarge knitted with nimble fingers and steady eyebrows, and saw nothing.

We don’t want to think about being a witness to our husband’s stabbing. Or supporting our wife through her rapist’s trial. Or receiving the phone call reporting that our straight-A son’s exam celebrations got a bit lairy and ended in him taking his mate’s dad’s Jag out for a spin, wrapping it round a lamp post and killing his three passengers. Or our grandfather being accused of sexually abusing young boys as a Scout leader in the 1950s. Such things don’t happen to people like us. The criminal courts are not the place for people like us. Legal aid isn’t something that is ever going to affect people like us.

Forgetting herself entirely, Pandora let her head loll back against Gabriel's shoulder. "What kind of glue does Ivo use?" she asked languidly. "Glue?" he echoed after a moment, his mouth close to her temple, grazing softly. "For his kites." "Ah." He paused while a wave retreated. "Joiner's glue, I believe." "That's not strong enough," Pandora said, relaxed and pensive. "He should use chrome glue." "Where would he find that?" One of his hands caressed her side gently. "A druggist can make it. One part acid chromate of lime to five parts gelatin." Amusement filtered through his voice. "Does your mind ever slow down, sweetheart?" "Not even for sleeping," she said. Gabriel steadied her against another wave. "How do you know so much about glue?" The agreeable trance began to fade as Pandora considered how to answer him. After her long hesitation, Gabriel tilted his head and gave her a questioning sideways glance. "The subject of glue is complicated, I gather." I'm going to have to tell him at some point, Pandora thought. It might as well be now. After taking a deep breath, she blurted out, "I design and construct board games. I've researched every possible kind of glue required for manufacturing them. Not just for the construction of the boxes, but the best kind to adhere lithographs to the boards and lids. I've registered a patent for the first game, and soon I intend to apply for two more." Gabriel absorbed the information in remarkably short order. "Have you considered selling the patents to a publisher?" "No, I want to make the games at my own factory. I have a production schedule. The first one will be out by Christmas. My brother-in-law, Mr. Winterborne, helped me to write a business plan. The market in board games is quite new, and he thinks my company will be successful." "I'm sure it will be. But a young woman in your position has no need of a livelihood." "I do if I want to be self-supporting." "Surely the safety of marriage is preferable to the burdens of being a business proprietor." Pandora turned to face him fully. "Not if 'safety' means being owned. As things stand now, I have the freedom to work and keep my earnings. But if I marry you, everything I have, including my company, would immediately become yours. You would have complete authority over me. Every shilling I made would go directly to you- it wouldn't even pass through my hands. I'd never be able to sign a contract, or hire employees, or buy property. In the eyes of the law, a husband and wife are one person, and that person is the husband. I can't bear the thought of it. It's why I never want to marry.

She merely wiped the floor with paper towels and said nothing, brushing her free hand against my shoulder blade—my shoulder blade!—as she carried the soaked paper to the trash can, never holding me fast, refraining not out of lack of humanity but out of fear of being drawn into a request for further tenderness, a request that could only bring her face-to-face with some central revulsion, a revulsion of her husband or herself or both, a revulsion that had come from nowhere, or from her, or perhaps from something I’d done or failed to do, who knew, she didn’t want to know, it was too great a disappointment, far better to get on with the chores, with the baby, with the work, far better to leave me to my own devices, as they say, to leave me to resign myself to certain motifs, to leave me to disappear guiltily into a hole of my own digging. When the time came to stop her from leaving, I did not know what to think or wish for, her husband who was now an abandoner, a hole-dweller, a leaver who had left her to fend for herself, as she said, who’d failed to provide her with the support and intimacy she needed, she complained, who was lacking some fundamental wherewithal, who no longer wanted her, who beneath his scrupulous marital motions was angry, whose sentiments had decayed into a mere sense of responsibility, a husband who, when she shouted, “I don’t need to be provided for! I’m a lawyer! I make two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year! I need to be loved!” had silently picked up the baby and smelled the baby’s sweet hair, and had taken the baby for a crawl in the hotel corridor, and afterward washed the baby’s filthy hands and soft filthy knees, and thought about what his wife had said, and saw the truth in her words and an opening, and decided to make another attempt at kindness, and at nine o’clock, with the baby finally drowsy in his cot, came with a full heart back to his wife to find her asleep, as usual, and beyond waking. In short, I fought off the impulse to tell Rachel to go fuck herself.

Even if your husband is full of himself, he should be allowed to dream. Let him. Don’t burst his bubble. Why would any man want to come home to a wife who rolled her eyes and said, “Right!,” every time he had an idea or made a resolution? Maybe your husband wants to run for local political office. You know he doesn’t have a prayer. He’s running anyway. You want to say, “You’ve got to be kidding!” But in this case he doesn’t want to hear the truth. He wants your support. So give it to him. Call all your friends and tell them to vote for him, stand by his side when he gives speeches, buy buttons and balloons and throw him a campaign party. It doesn’t matter if he wins or loses, what matters is that you believe in him.

My dad, shattered by Mom’s exit, began to work hard at becoming the husband who could be kind and caring toward his wife. Through many months of counseling with Rick, our family friend, my dad began the process of self-examination and rethinking what it means to love someone. He began to put his time, energy and resources into his relationship with Mom—planning special trips alone together, listening to her as she shared her thoughts and feelings, and learning to support and encourage my mom instead of demeaning and criticizing her. When Growing Pains filmed in Hawaii for a second time, Dad gave Mom a new wedding ring set, asking her to rejoin him. All of us were astonished by the change in Dad. He grew to be much more loving and tender with Mom. He bought her gifts and spoke to her in a sweet voice. He became a different husband—and we all reaped the benefits of his maturity.

• Can I give a smile at almost everyone I see even if I have a bad day! .. Yes I can • Can I tell a new co-worker a shortcut way to come to work instead of the long one he told us to save him/her sometime every day! .. Yes, I can. • Can I buy a flower or a bouquet and visit a sick person that I do not know at the hospital maybe once a week or once a month! .. Yes, I can. • Can I say Happy Birthday to someone you don’t know but you heard like today years ago he/she was born! .. Yes, I can. • Can I congratulate my neighbor for their newborn child by sending a greeting card or even verbally! .. Yes, I can. • Can I buy a hot meal or give away a coat to a homeless person when it is too cold or the same meal and an ice-cream when it is too hot! .. Yes I can • Can ask someone about another one who is important to the first to inquire about his health, condition, how he/she is doing so far! .. Yes I can • Can I give a little bit of time to my child (or children) every day as a personal time where we could talk, play, discuss, solve, think, enjoy, argue, hang out, play sports, watch, listen, eat, and/or entertain together! .. Yes I can. • Can I allow some time to listen to my wife without judgment but encouragement almost every day! … Yes I can. • Can I respectfully talk to my husband at least once a day to show respect and appreciation to the head of our house and family! .. Yes, I can. • Can I buy a flower and give it to someone I care about and say "I love you" and when the person asks you "what this for" you reply "because I love you". Yes, I can. • Can I listen to anyone who I feel needs someone else to listen to him/her! .. Yes, I can. • Can I give away the things that I do not use anyone to others who might need them! .. Yes, I can. • Can I buy myself something that I do adore and then enjoy it! .. Yes, I can. • Can I (fill in the blanks)! .. Yes I can.

Within the institution of patriarchal marriage, the following is true: A woman may be challenged with "unfitness" as a mother if she works outside the home and is thereby able to support her children (a threat to the economic basis of father-right). A woman who wishes to divorce her husband to marry another man is tolerated more readily than a woman who leaves a marriage in order to be separate and self-sufficient, or because she finds marriage itself an oppresive institution. (...) Motherhood is identified with nurture, fatherhood with the moment of conception and with economic power. (...) "Father -right" is seen as one specific form of the rights men are presumed to enjoy simply because of their gender: the "right to the priority of male over female needs, to sexual and emotional services from women (...) The husband's "rights" over his wife are, in social terms, all inclusive; they can be whatever the man defines them to be at any given moment: all inclusive "rights" of men to the bodies, emotions, and services of women.

The traditional community of property in a marriage, i.e., the wife’s claim to support from her husband, should again be made conditional on her being a wife to him. She may run off with the milkman if she wishes—leaving her children behind, of course (a woman willing to do this is perhaps na unfit mother in any case); but she may not evict her husband from his own house and replace him with the milkman, nor continue to extract resources from the husband she has abandoned. Until sensible reforms are instituted, men must refuse to leave themselves prey to a criminal regime which forces them to subsidize their own cuckolding and the abduction of their children. The date rape issue can be solved overnight by restoring shotgun marriage—but with the shotgun at the woman’s back. The “victim” should be told to get into the kitchen and fix supper for her new lord and master. Not exactly a match made in heaven, but at least the baby will have both a father and a mother. Furthermore, after the birth of her child, the woman will have more important things to worry about than whether the act by which she conceived it accorded with some Women’s Studies professor’s newfangled notion of “true consent.” Motherhood has always been the best remedy for female narcissism.

Divorce is distressing. One does need moral support. Divorce lawyers are professionally adept at persuasively taking your side. A good divorce lawyer will have no trouble agreeing that an errant husband’s adultery killed the marriage and that he is, consequently, tyrannical for holding against his wife her own tiny indiscretion, which was a mere meaningless one-time fling with a friend. Divorce lawyers are the professional adepts at proxying for the kind of emotional support often given by best friends. Attorneys are ready and able to provide you with emotional alliance. But let me ask you: are you ready to pay a divorce lawyer’s hourly rate for emotional support? Why not use lawyers for legal work and reach for emotional support elsewhere? Many people are much better suited to comfort you. Most of them work cheaper or even free: therapists, clergy, primary care physicians. Your mother is often a good choice, and always free. Your best friend may be a good choice—unless your spouse is sleeping with your best friend. Facebook is full of “supporting each other in divorce” groups. Talk to your mother. Talk to your friends. Talk to the fellow-sufferers on Facebook (but do be careful not to give out too many personal details). These resources might not heal all of your emotional scars, but unlike your divorce layers, they are cheap or even free. They will cost less even if you become quite a successful practitioner in the art of stiffing an attorney for his fees.

And once they have children, the most difficult times will seem to them happy, so long as there is love and courage. Even toil will be a joy, you may deny yourself bread for your children and even that will be a joy. They will love you for it afterward; so you are laying by for your future. As the children grow up you feel that you are an example, a support for them; that even after you die your children will always keep your thoughts and feelings, because they have received them from you, they will take on your semblance and likeness. So you see this is a great duty. How can it fail to draw the father and mother nearer? People say it’s a trial to have children. Who says that? It is heavenly happiness! Are you fond of little children, Liza? I am awfully fond of them. You know—a little rosy baby boy at your bosom, and what husband’s heart is not touched, seeing his wife nursing his child! A plump little rosy baby, sprawling and snuggling, chubby little hands and feet, clean tiny little nails, so tiny that it makes one laugh to look at them; eyes that look as if they understand everything. And while it sucks it clutches at your bosom with its little hand, plays. When its father comes up, the child tears itself away from the bosom, flings itself back, looks at its father, laughs, as though it were fearfully funny, and falls to sucking again. Or it will bite its mother’s breast when its little teeth are coming, while it looks sideways at her with its little eyes as though to say, ‘Look, I am biting!’ Is not all that happiness when they are the three together, husband, wife and child? One can forgive a great deal for the sake of such moments. Yes, Liza, one must first learn to live oneself before one blames others!

Ben’s dead,” he says not moving or breaking his stare. “And?” “Just thought you should know,” he says, looking at me in the eyes like he’s waiting for me to confess. “Thanks for waking me up to share the information,” I tell him. “Where’s Venessa?” “At home,” he says. “Needed to see you first, alone.” “Quit looking at me like that, partner,” I tell him. “I ain’t left this floor all night.” Which isn’t a lie. Ben’s room is on this floor, but he doesn’t know I know that. “Even if you did, you know I wouldn’t —” “Partner,” I tell him straight, letting him figure it out. “I didn’t shut off his life support.” After he blinks several times he gives me that smirk. He looks around me to my sleeping wife and then back at me and tells me straight, too. “Go back to sleep partner. You look like shit.” With that he gets up and walks out. Staring at the door he walks out of, I smile. He gets it. Turns out the staff at that front desk got it, too. They didn’t stop my wife from doing what she needed to do; seems like they had other shit going at that time. Heard through the grapevine one of the women taken and held by Ben happened to work on this very floor. It also turns out the coffee pot wasn’t working and it was an all hands on deck kinda thing to get it fixed. I get it, the women need their coffee. They also didn’t run to his aid until I had my wife safe back in her bed. Those women have husbands and children of their own; I owe them a debt for letting my wife give Ben what he deserved. Those same women respect my wife and the women taken, and they ain’t got no respect for a man, any man, shooting another woman, a pregnant woman, one of theirs, in the stomach. You just don’t fuck with the female species. Brawler-K.S. Adkins

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was admired by all, but no one dared to ask for her hand in marriage. In despair, the king consulted the god Apollo. He told him that Psyche should be dressed in mourning and left alone on top of a mountain. Before daybreak, a serpent would come to meet and marry her. The king obeyed, and all night the princess waited for her husband to appear, deathly afraid and freezing cold. Finally, she slept. When she awoke, she found herself crowned a queen in a beautiful palace. Every night her husband came to her and they made love, but he had imposed one condition: Psyche could have all she desired, but she had to trust him completely and could never see his face.” How awful, I think, but I don’t dare interrupt him. “The young woman lived happily for a long time. She had comfort, affection, joy, and she was in love with the man who visited her every night. However, occasionally she was afraid that she was married to a hideous serpent. Early one morning, while her husband slept, she lit a lantern and saw Eros, a man of incredible beauty, lying by her side. The light woke him, and seeing that the woman he loved was unable to fulfill his one request, Eros vanished. Desperate to get her lover back, Psyche submitted to a series of tasks given to her by Aphrodite, Eros’s mother. Needless to say, her mother-in-law was incredibly jealous of Psyche’s beauty and she did everything she could to thwart the couple’s reconciliation. In one of the tasks, Psyche opened a box that makes her fall into a deep sleep.” I grow anxious to find out how the story will end. “Eros was also in love and regretted not having been more lenient toward his wife. He managed to enter the castle and wake her with the tip of his arrow. ‘You nearly died because of your curiosity,’ he told her. ‘You sought security in knowledge and destroyed our relationship.’ But in love, nothing is destroyed forever. Imbued with this conviction, they go to Zeus, the god of gods, and beg that their union never be undone. Zeus passionately pleaded the cause of the lovers with strong arguments and threats until he gained Aphrodite’s support. From that day on, Psyche (our unconscious, but logical, side) and Eros (love) were together forever.” I pour another glass of wine. I rest my head on his shoulder. “Those who cannot accept this, and who always try to find an explanation for magical and mysterious human relationships, will miss the best part of life.

28 When I Must Rethink My Expectations My soul, wait silently for God alone, for my expectation is from Him. PSALM 62:5 WE WIVES TOO OFTEN come into our marriage with great expectations of what our mate is going to be like and who he will become. We see things we want to see, and we don’t always see the things we should. Because our expectations are so high, when our husband doesn’t live up to them we can’t hide our disappointment. It comes out in moodiness, discontent, disrespect, disdain, critical words, and the ever-popular silent treatment. A wife can become the victim of her own misplaced expectations, and her husband pays for it. King David had it right when he told his soul to wait quietly for the Lord and put his expectations in Him. We must do the same. Your husband can only be who he is. You cannot put expectations on him to fulfill you in ways that only God can do. Your husband simply can’t be everything to you—nor is he supposed to be—but God can be. And He wants to be. Has your husband fulfilled every expectation you have had of him? If not, tell God about it and ask Him to fulfill those needs instead. Of course, there are certain expectations you should have of your husband, such as fidelity, love, kindness, financial support, protection, and decency. If he cannot, or won’t, provide those things for you, he is not living up to what God expects of him either. But beyond that, if you are constantly disappointed in your husband, ask God to show you whether you should be looking to your Lord and Savior, instead of your husband, for everything you need. My Prayer to God LORD, show me any expectations I have of my husband that are unfair, and for which I should be looking to You to provide instead. I know he cannot meet my every emotional need—and I should not expect him to—but You can. I look to You for my comfort, fulfillment, and peace. I thank You for all the good things my husband provides for me, and I ask You to keep me from being critical of him for not being perfect. Lord, help me to wait quietly for You to provide what I need, for I put all my expectations in You. For everything I have expected from my husband and have been disappointed because he couldn’t provide, I now look to You. If I have damaged my husband’s self-respect in any way because I have made him feel that I am disappointed in him, I confess that to You as sin. Help me to apologize and make that up to him. Bring restoration, and heal any and all wounds. Where there are certain things I should expect of him as a husband and he has failed to provide, help me to forgive him. I release him into Your hands to become who You made him to be and not what I want him to be. Help me to keep my expectations focused on You so I can live free of expectations I have no right to put on him. In Jesus’ name I pray.

23 When He Carries a Heavy Burden Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. GALATIANS 6:2 SOCIETY PUTS A LOT OF WEIGHT on a man’s shoulders. It is his burden to earn the finances to support his family. He is expected to do well at his work and on his job. There are so many expectations of him in that regard that he feels the pressure of it constantly. That’s why you read about so many men committing suicide when they are in serious financial trouble. The burden is too great. Few women commit suicide for financial failure. If you or I fell into financial ruin, we would just sell everything, pay off all the debts we could, get a job, and start over. Men can feel the burden of failure in life-threatening ways. That’s why your husband needs your prayers to keep his burdens lifted. One of the best ways to bear your husband’s burden is to pray for him about whatever heavy load he is carrying. Every time you do, pray especially for what burdens him the most. One of the most effective things you can do is let him know you are praying for him and ask him to tell you what his burdens are. He may reveal something you didn’t even know was bothering him. God’s Word says that sometimes our burden comes from the oppressor. The children of Israel had an oppressor, and they were overtaken by this oppressor because of their own disobedience. But God promised that the burden the oppressor put on them would eventually be broken by the power of His Spirit. “It shall come to pass in that day that his burden will be taken away from your shoulder, and his yoke from your neck, and the yoke will be destroyed because of the anointing oil” (Isaiah 10:27). The anointing oil refers to a work of the Holy Spirit. Your prayers can invite the Holy Spirit to break any burden of the oppressor off of your husband’s shoulders. You will be fulfilling the “law of Christ” every time you pray like that, not to mention how it will secure your husband’s devotion. My Prayer to God LORD, I pray my husband will be able to fully release his burdens to You. I know that when we cast our burdens on You, You will sustain us and not allow us to be shaken (Psalm 55:22 NASB). Help me to bear his burdens in prayer and in any other way You reveal to me. Show me what his greatest burden is and what I can do to lighten it. I ask that You would relieve him of his heavy load by Your presence in his life. Enable him to understand that when he yokes up with You, You will carry the burden for him. I pray that when he is oppressed by the enemy, whatever prayer or supplication is made by him—when he acknowledges his own burdens before You and turns to You for help—that You will hear him (2 Chronicles 6:29-30). I also pray that as You take his burden from him, he will know it’s You doing the heavy lifting. In Jesus’ name I pray.

This tendency seems to support H. L. Mencken’s definition of a wealthy man: one whose income is $100 a year higher than his wife’s sister’s husband.

Research supports Jen’s observation that equality between partners leads to happier relationships. When husbands do more housework, wives are less depressed, marital conflicts decrease, and satisfaction rises.27 When women work outside the home and share breadwinning duties, couples are more likely to stay together. In fact, the risk of divorce reduces by about half when a wife earns half the income and a husband does half the housework.

While King Ahasuerus has been rotating his guests during these six months, these seven princes have most likely been with him the whole time as well. To Ahasuerus, it may have seemed that these were the right men to go to for advice, but Ahasuerus is not at his sharpest after these six months of celebrating. We can only imagine that these advisors are as bored and as drunk as King Ahasuerus, even though earlier in this chapter (verse 8) the historian makes a point of telling us that the guests were not required to drink. These men may have been “partying” right along with Ahasuerus for these six months, and their judgement may be hindered by the atmosphere as much as the king’s judgement has been hindered. On a more personal note, can you think of any time when you sought out the wrong person for advice or counsel? I sure can! You would not seek advice on your finances from someone who filed bankruptcy yesterday, nor would you seek advice on marriage from a child. When you need wise counsel, you need to find someone who has experienced victory in the same situation in which you are experiencing difficulty. Of course, when I catch myself looking to the wrong people for advice, many times I realize something: I am not really looking for advice, I am looking for support. Sometimes we seek out people that we expect will be sympathetic to our cause. Ahasuerus may have done this very thing in choosing these men. Maybe Ahasuerus has already determined what he wants to do with Vashti, and now he is looking for validation. Big mistake! Here is a lesson we can take from Ahasuerus: there are situations in our lives when we should seek an opinion from an objective party. The Bible encourages us to seek wise counsel. We should use wisdom and choose someone with more experience and wisdom than we have ourselves. If Ahasuerus wanted approval, he found it in these seven advisors. If he merely wanted a decisive opinion on what course of action to take, he has found that. And Memucan answered before the king and the princes: “Queen Vashti has not only wronged the king, but also all the princes, and all the people who are in all the provinces of King Ahasuerus. For the queen’s behavior will become known to all women, so that they will despise their husbands in their eyes, when they report, ‘King Ahasuerus commanded Queen Vashti to be brought in before him, but she did not come.’ Esther 1:16-17 When Ahasuerus asks for advice, one of the advisors speaks out quickly. Memucan answers Ahasuerus, and apparently he has taken Vashti’s refusal pretty personally himself. Perhaps Memucan’s wife is among those women that Vashti is entertaining. Memucan exaggerates this situation to make it seem like a very serious infraction indeed, and he wants the king to see it his way. Memucan says, “Queen Vashti has not only wronged the king, but also all the princes, and all the people who are in all the provinces” (v. 16). He suggests that the queen’s refusal will make all women despise their husbands (v. 17). … Is Memucan taking this situation a little far? This very day the noble ladies of Persia and Media will say to all the king’s officials that they have heard of the behavior of the queen. Thus there will be excessive contempt and wrath. If it pleases the king, let a royal decree go out from him, and let it be recorded in the laws of the Persians and the Medes, so that it will not be altered, that Vashti shall come no more before King Ahasuerus; and let the king give her royal position to

When He Needs Direction A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps. PROVERBS 16:9 WE ALL NEED DIRECTION from the Lord. In our culture today we encounter so much deception, and without the Holy Spirit leading us we will have a hard time distinguishing the truth from a lie. And how can we make sound decisions without His wisdom? The Holy Spirit is our guide in all things, and it is He who gives wisdom, knowledge, and revelation. “When He, the Spirit of truth, has come, He will guide you into all truth; for He will not speak on His own authority, but whatever He hears He will speak; and He will tell you things to come” (John 16:13). We can make all the plans we want, and we do need to do that, but ultimately it will still be the direction of the Holy Spirit that will direct us on the right path. He will usher us into all that is right and true for our lives. Your husband needs knowledge and guidance from the Lord every day, and you can pray that he will have it. Pray he will clearly hear the voice of God speaking to him above all voices—even those of well-meaning people, or those who want to influence him for their own gain, or the voice of the enemy trying to take him off the path God has for him. Pray the same for yourself every time you ask God for direction on behalf of your husband. The Holy Spirit is the only true guide into all that is right for his life, your life, and your lives together. My Prayer to God LORD, I pray You would guide my husband through this day and in every decision he must make. Enable him to always discern the truth from a lie. Keep him from becoming blinded by deception and led down the wrong path. Teach him to search Your Word so that the truth is in his heart. Give him a fresh flow of Your wisdom. Put in him a holy barometer that has a deception meter ringing loudly in his mind and heart whenever he is about to be swayed away from Your best for his life. Lead him far from all that is not Your will. Enable him to hear Your voice instructing him in the way he should go. Keep him from being influenced by wrong voices who don’t have his best interests at heart. Enable him to hear Your voice above all, telling him the right thing to do. I pray You would guide me as well. Help me to hear Your voice in every decision either of us must make so that I can be a help and support to him. Give him the desire to pray with me about decisions that must be made. Only You, Lord, know what is best for him, and for me, and for us together. And only Your Holy Spirit can guide us in all truth. Enable both of us to know Your truth in our hearts at all times. In Jesus’ name I pray.

Nearly half of churchless people (46 percent) say family is their highest priority. But what does that mean? Something different, perhaps, than what you might expect. A majority of the unchurched (56 percent) are single, whereas a majority of churched people are married (55 percent). In fact, the unchurched are nearly twice as likely as the churched to never have been married, and twice as likely to cohabit. Most of the nation’s unchurched adults are not only churchless but also spouseless. So why and how is family such a big priority for so many of them? Like most other Americans, the unchurched see family as a network of relationships that provides personal support, security, belonging, purpose, comfort, and the opportunity to receive and give love. They look upon family as a natural part of a normal life, and these relationships represent a vital part of their identity. They know who they are because of their family connections and shared experiences. But that does not mean the families of the churchless mirror those of churched adults. Three out of every ten unchurched adults have children under the age of eighteen living with them. Most of these young people are in homes with two married parents, but one-fifth are in homes with a single parent who has never been married. One-seventh are in homes with cohabiting adults and a similar number are in homes with parents who are separated or divorced. Less than one out of every five unchurched households (18 percent) is a “traditional family”—that is, a married husband and wife with one or more children under eighteen.[12] Thirteen percent are “nontraditional families” that include children. One-quarter (26 percent) are married adults without children in the home, while the remaining 43 percent are single adults living without children under eighteen. Understanding these demographics can help to explain why many of the common approaches to attracting the unchurched—many of which revolve around children—fail to produce the hoped-for results.

M10.12 When a husband notices signs of rebelliousness in his wife whether in words as when she answers him coldly when she used to do so politely. or he asks her to come to bed and she refuses, contrary to her usual habit; or whether in acts, as when he finds her averse to him when she was previously kind and cheerful), he warns her in words without keeping from her or hitting her, for it may be that she has an excuse. The warning could be to tell her, "Fear Allah concerning the rights you owe to me," or it could be to explain that rebelliousness nullifies his obligation to support her and give her a turn amongst other wives, or it could be to inform her, "Your obeying me is religiously obligatory". If she commits rebelliousness, he keeps from sleeping (having sex) with her without words, and may hit her, but not in a way that injures her, meaning he may not bruise her, break bones, wound her, or cause blood to flow. It is unlawful to strike another's face. He may hit her whether she is rebellious only once or whether more than once, though a weaker opinion holds that he may

Since her separation she had slowly, cautiously--perhaps even unconsciously--performed a kind of striptease, unpeeling the veils of convention which had surrounded her. During the 1980s she had been defined only by her fashions, seen merely as a glamorous clothes horse, a royal adjunct, a wife and mother. Since the separation, however, her regal wardrobe, which defined her royal mystique, had been left in the closet. Indeed, her decision, inspired by Prince William, to hold an auction of her royal wardrobe for Aids charities in New York in the summer of 1997 was a very public farewell to that old life. She no longer wanted to be seen as just a beautiful model for expensive clothes. Moreover, during her days as a semi-detached royal she had deliberately stripped away other trappings of monarchy, her servants, her ladies-in-waiting, her limousines and, most controversially, her bodyguards. The casting off of her royal title was one giant step on that journey. She had spent much time grieving a failed relationship, lost hopes and broken ambitions. She had once said: ‘I had so many dreams as a young girl. I hoped for a husband to look after me, he would be a father figure to me, he would support me, encourage me, say “Well done” or “That wasn’t good enough”. I didn’t get any of that. I couldn’t believe it.’ The days of betrayal, anguish and hurt lay in the past. Now it was time to move on, to make the most of her position and her personality. Opportunity beckoned. As the Princess admitted: ‘I have learned much over the last years. From now on I am going to own myself and be true to myself. I no longer want to live someone else’s idea of what and who I should be.’ ‘I am going to be me.

She refused alimony from her ex-husband, and didn’t even want him paying child support. Christian still placed an enormous amount in her account every two weeks, but what about Farren?

Why marry an abuser when you can marry a nurturer? Why marry a belittler when you can marry an encourager? Why marry a hater when you can marry a supporter? Why marry an intimidator when you can marry a defender? Why marry a tormentor when you can marry a protector? Why marry a betrayer when you can marry a helper? Why marry a quitter when you can marry a winner? Why marry a loser when you can marry a victor? Why marry a follower when you can marry a leader?

Have you ever struggled through a fight but kept pushing on? Kara Tippetts, who is a mother of four had died of breast cancer. She had written The Hardest Peace to show how she was living the best way she could in her situation. She had never expressed any sort emotion that was never any positive feeling. Starting chapter one Tippetts combines both the mind and the heart in her writing. She does not give the reader any way of comparing their life to her story, having to look back on their own. Her book distinguishes many of her hardships that she had before her passing. Abuse, drugs, and broken relationships all lead up to her talk of cancer. Throughout this whole story Tippetts calls her cancer “hard”. She describes her fight with each hard, while demonstrating her feelings of grace. She had never once let her children or husband see her as unhappy. She wanted them to remember her as being this loving wife and mother that cared deeply for them. I feel that this books stands out before all other when speaking of the fight against cancer. Having to always look in the positives shows that you accept what you have. Kara Tippetts has shown that living with happiness, means to enjoy life. When always focusing on the negatives you always feel like you need to please others rather than yourself. Her life, I feel resembles the Catholic Social teaching, “Call to family, community, and participations.” This teaching, I feel resembles her because it shows that marriage and family must be supported and strengthened. Tippetts wanted to show her happiness to her family, wanting to show that she is not in any case, worried. She wanted them to know that she was going to be home soon, meaning with God in Heaven. So what I have taken out of her story is this one thing, “Always keep a positive mind and never show that you are unhappy, for at the end of life there is always a silver lining.

Angry tears stung her eyes. Tension built and boiled inside her. Her cheeks grew hot with suppressed anger, her movements became jerky and abrupt. She shoved an errant strand of hair out of her face, stormed to the washstand — And collided with her husband. He had been coming toward her with a piece of wet linen and a bowl half-filled with water. As he and Juliet bounced off each other, some of the water spilled onto the carpet, the rest down the front of his waistcoat. Ignoring it, Gareth held out the damp rag like a truce offering. "Here." "What's that for?" "She needs washing, doesn't she?" "What do you know about babies?" "Come now, Juliet. I am not entirely lacking in common sense." "I wonder," she muttered, spitefully. He summoned a polite though confused smile — and that only stoked Juliet's temper all the more. She did not want him to be such a gentleman, damn it!  She wanted a good, out-and-out row with him. She wanted to tell him just what she thought of him, of his reckless spending, of his carefree attitude toward serious matters. Oh, why hadn't she married someone like Charles — someone capable, competent, and mature? "What is wrong, Juliet?" "Everything!" she fumed. She plunged the linen in the bowl of water and began swabbing Charlotte's bottom. "I think Perry was right. We should go straight back to your brother, the duke." "You should not listen to Perry." "Why not? He's got more sense than you and the rest of your friends combined. We haven't even been married a day, and already it's obvious that you're hopelessly out of your element. You have no idea what to do with a wife and daughter. You have no idea where to go, how to support us — nothing. Yet you had to come charging after us, the noble rescuer who just had to save the day. I'll bet you didn't give any thought at all to what to do with us afterward, did you? Oh!  Do you always act before thinking? Do you?" He looked at her for a moment, brows raised, stunned by the force of her attack. Then he said dryly, "My dear, if you'll recall, that particular character defect saved your life. Not to mention the lives of the other people on that stagecoach." "So it did, but it's not going to feed us or find us a place to live!"  She lifted Charlotte's bottom, pinned a clean napkin around the baby's hips, and soaped and rinsed her hands. "I still cannot believe how much money you tossed away on a marriage license, no, a bribe, this morning, nor how annoyed you still seem to be that we didn't waste God-knows-how-much on a hotel tonight. You seem to have no concept of money's value, and at the rate you're going, we're going to have to throw ourselves on the mercy of the local parish or go begging in the street just to put food in our bellies!" "Don't be ridiculous. That would never happen." "Why wouldn't it?" "Juliet, my brother is the Duke of Blackheath. My family is one of the oldest and richest in all of England. We are not going to starve, I can assure you." "What do you plan to do, then, work for a living? Get those pampered, lily-white hands of yours dirty and calloused?

An incident which meant a great deal to Diana took place in that same hospital away from the cameras, smiling dignitaries and the watchful public. The drama began uneventfully three days earlier in a back yard in Balderton, a village near Newark when housewife Freda Hickling collapsed with a brain haemorrhage. When Diana first saw her behind the screens in the intensive care unit she was on a life-support system. Her husband Peter sat with his wife, holding her hand. Diana, who was visiting patients in the hospital, had been already been told by the consultant that there was little hope of recovery. She quietly asked Peter if she should join him. For the next two hours she sat holding the hands of Peter and Freda Hickling before the specialist informed Peter that his wife was dead. Diana then joined Peter, his stepson Neil and Neil’s girlfriend Sue in a private room. Sue, who was so shocked at seeing Freda Hickling on a life-support machine, did not recognize Diana at first, vaguely thinking she was someone from television. “Just call me Diana,” said the Princess. She chatted about everyday matters; the size of the hospital, Prince Charles’s arm and asked about Neil’s forestry business. Eventually Diana decided that Peter could do with a large gin and asked her detective to find one. When he failed to reappear, the Princess successfully found one herself. Peter, a 53-year-old former council worker, recalls: “She was trying to keep our spirits up. For somebody who didn’t know anything about us she was a real professional at handling people and making quick decisions about them. Diana did a great job to keep Neil calm. By the time we left he was chatting to Diana as though he had known her all his life and gave her a kiss on the cheek as we walked down the steps.” His sentiments are endorsed by his stepson, Neil. He says: “She was a very caring, understanding person, somebody you can rely on. She understood about death and grief.

Every mother needs a wife. My wife’s name is Dawa Chodon. Sometimes it is Mercy Caballero. It used to be Jackie Johnson. Dawa is from Tibet and Mercy is from the Philippines. Jackie is from Trinidad. Over the past five years they have helped me and Will take care of our children. We are lucky. Some people cannot afford this option and have little family support. Every mother needs a wife. Some mothers’ wives are their mothers. Some mothers’ wives are their husbands. Some mothers’ wives are their friends and neighbors. Every working person needs someone to come home to and someone to come get them out of the home. Someone who asks questions about their day and maybe fixes them something to eat. Every mother needs a wife who takes care of her and helps her become a better mother. The women who have helped me have stood in my kitchen and shared their lives. They have made me feel better about working so hard because they work hard too. They are wonderful teachers and caretakers and my children’s lives are richer because they are part of our family. The biggest lie and biggest crime is that we all do this alone and look down on people who don’t.

To say that Ruth Brennan was at the center of her husband’s life is no understatement. He never disparaged her supporting role, never spoke like some men do of “the wife,” as if referring to a possession, even an encumbrance. Marriage was not a joking matter to Walter, ever. His son Andy remembers his father’s response to a dirty joke about an actress. Walter didn’t laugh, but instead paused and said, “My wife is the most wonderful woman in the world. When things were really rough and I was out of work—and at times disappointed but never discouraged—there was never a word of criticism. She’d say, ‘Try again tomorrow.’ I’m so lucky that I found someone like her.

The night that our friend's wife died, my brokenhearted husband called his mother: "What do I say? What do I do? What will fix this? There is nothing else to do. You do this every day. Mom: what do I do for my friend?" "Now is the time to sit with him", she said. There is nothing to say. Stop thinking there is something to say to make it go away. It won't go away. Abandon your answers. Avoid your cliches. Don't blame God and don't blame him. Learn to sit in the sadness.

1) The woman has intuitive feelings that she is at risk. 2)    At the inception of the relationship, the man accelerated the pace, prematurely placing on the agenda such things as commitment, living together, and marriage. 3) He resolves conflict with intimidation, bullying, and violence. 4) He is verbally abusive. 5)    He uses threats and intimidation as instruments of control or abuse. This includes threats to harm physically, to defame, to embarrass, to restrict freedom, to disclose secrets, to cut off support, to abandon, and to commit suicide. 6)    He breaks or strikes things in anger. He uses symbolic violence (tearing a wedding photo, marring a face in a photo, etc.). 7) He has battered in prior relationships. 8)    He uses alcohol or drugs with adverse affects (memory loss, hostility, cruelty). 9)    He cites alcohol or drugs as an excuse or explanation for hostile or violent conduct (“That was the booze talking, not me; I got so drunk I was crazy”). 10)   His history includes police encounters for behavioral offenses (threats, stalking, assault, battery). 11)   There has been more than one incident of violent behavior (including vandalism, breaking things, throwing things). 12)   He uses money to control the activities, purchase, and behavior of his wife/partner. 13)   He becomes jealous of anyone or anything that takes her time away from the relationship; he keeps her on a “tight leash,” requires her to account for her time. 14) He refuses to accept rejection. 15)   He expects the relationship to go on forever, perhaps using phrases like “together for life;” “always;” “no matter what.” 16)   He projects extreme emotions onto others (hate, love, jealousy, commitment) even when there is no evidence that would lead a reasonable person to perceive them. 17) He minimizes incidents of abuse. 18)   He spends a disproportionate amount of time talking about his wife/partner and derives much of his identity from being her husband, lover, etc. 19)   He tries to enlist his wife’s friends or relatives in a campaign to keep or recover the relationship.

Because a husband is convinced that he is righteous and his wife is not righteous, he doesn’t feel the need to look at or examine himself. That leaves him with only one conclusion, that the problems in the marriage are his wife’s fault. So he watches her all the more hyper-vigilantly, and because she is less than a perfect person, he collects more and more “evidence” to support his view of the marriage struggles. Each day makes him more convinced that his wife is the one who needs to change, not him. Rather than being grieved at the weakness and selfishness of his own heart, he finds it harder and harder to deal with hers. He struggles to be patient with her and secretly wishes that she could be more like him. This posture is dangerous to any relationship but devastating to the health of a marriage.

Contrary to what you’ve heard, for a wife to support her husband is one of the most sacred things that she can do.

I knew the stereotype I was meant to inhabit, the immaculately groomed doll-wife with the painted-on smile, gazing bright-eyed at her husband, as if hanging on every word. This was not me and never would be. I could be supportive, but I couldn’t be a robot.

ahead. He urged the horse a little faster and when he was within her hearing, he whistled. The piercing sound cut through the air and Vanni turned her mount toward him. She took one look at him, turned and kicked Chico’s flank, taking off. “Goddammit!” he swore. So, this was how it would be—not easy. He was going to have to take off the gloves. He risked being thrown by giving Liberty a snap with the end of his rein. The stallion reared. Paul hung on, then leaned low in the saddle while Liberty closed the space between them. By God, he was going to catch her, make her listen, get through to her. There was no one within shouting distance to distract them. For once in his life, he was going to finish! Even if he had to cover Vanessa’s mouth with his hand! It only took him a few minutes to catch up to her, thanks to Liberty, the champion of the stable. Pulling alongside Vanni he reached out over her hands and grabbed her reins, pulling Chico to a stop. The expression she turned on him was fierce. “What?” she demanded. “Listen to me!” he retorted. “Make it quick!” “Fine. Here’s quick. I love you. I’ve always loved you.I loved you before Matt saw you, but I didn’t have hisguts and I hung back. I’ve regretted that forever. Now I have—” “A baby coming,” she interrupted, lifting her chin. “Listen! I don’t know much about being a father! Just what I watched when I was growing up! And you know what I saw? I saw my parents with their arms around each other all the time! I saw them look at each other with all kinds of emotions—love and trust and commitment and—Vanni, here’s the ugly truth—if I made a baby, I’m not angry about that. It wasn’t on purpose, but I’m not angry. I’ll do my damn best, and I’m real sorry that I’m not in love with the baby’s mother. I’ll still take care of them—and not just by writing a check. I’ll be involved—take care of the child like a real father, support the mother the best I can. What that child is not going to see is his parents looking at each other like they’ve made a terrible mistake. I want him to see his dad with his arms around his wife and—” “Did you try?” she asked. “Did you give the woman who’s got your baby in her a chance?” “Is that what you want for her? She’s a decent person, Vanessa—she didn’t get pregnant on purpose. You want her stuck with a man who’s got another woman on his mind? I didn’t want this to happen to her—I’m not sticking her with half a husband! She deserves a chance to find someone who can give her the real thing.” “But she loves you. She does, doesn’t she? She wanted to get married.” “Vanessa, she’s scared and alone. It’s what comes to mind. She’ll be all right when she realizes I’m not going to let her down. And I’m not going to—” “All this because you couldn’t open your mouth and say how you felt, what you wanted,” she said hotly. “I wanted so little from you—just a word or gesture—some hint that you had feelings for me. Instead, you took your wounded little heart to another woman and—” She stopped her tirade as she saw his eyes narrow and his frown deepen. He glared at her for a long moment, then he jumped off the stallion, her mount’s reins still in his hands. He led the horses the short distance to the river’s edge, to a bank of trees. “What are you doing?” she asked, hanging on to the pommel. He secured the horses at a fallen tree, then reached up to her, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her none too gently out of the saddle. He whirled her around and pressed her up against a tree, holding her wrists over her head and pinioning her there with the whole length of his body. His face was close to hers. “You never opened your mouth, either,” he said. She was stunned speechless. She couldn’t remember a time Paul had ever behaved like this—aggressive, commanding. He leaned closer. “Open it now,” he demanded of her just before he covered her mouth with his.

He urged the horse a little faster and when he was within her hearing, he whistled. The piercing sound cut through the air and Vanni turned her mount toward him. She took one look at him, turned and kicked Chico’s flank, taking off. “Goddammit!” he swore. So, this was how it would be—not easy. He was going to have to take off the gloves. He risked being thrown by giving Liberty a snap with the end of his rein. The stallion reared. Paul hung on, then leaned low in the saddle while Liberty closed the space between them. By God, he was going to catch her, make her listen, get through to her. There was no one within shouting distance to distract them. For once in his life, he was going to finish! Even if he had to cover Vanessa’s mouth with his hand! It only took him a few minutes to catch up to her, thanks to Liberty, the champion of the stable. Pulling alongside Vanni he reached out over her hands and grabbed her reins, pulling Chico to a stop. The expression she turned on him was fierce. “What?” she demanded. “Listen to me!” he retorted. “Make it quick!” “Fine. Here’s quick. I love you. I’ve always loved you.I loved you before Matt saw you, but I didn’t have hisguts and I hung back. I’ve regretted that forever. Now I have—” “A baby coming,” she interrupted, lifting her chin. “Listen! I don’t know much about being a father! Just what I watched when I was growing up! And you know what I saw? I saw my parents with their arms around each other all the time! I saw them look at each other with all kinds of emotions—love and trust and commitment and—Vanni, here’s the ugly truth—if I made a baby, I’m not angry about that. It wasn’t on purpose, but I’m not angry. I’ll do my damn best, and I’m real sorry that I’m not in love with the baby’s mother. I’ll still take care of them—and not just by writing a check. I’ll be involved—take care of the child like a real father, support the mother the best I can. What that child is not going to see is his parents looking at each other like they’ve made a terrible mistake. I want him to see his dad with his arms around his wife and—” “Did you try?” she asked. “Did you give the woman who’s got your baby in her a chance?” “Is that what you want for her? She’s a decent person, Vanessa—she didn’t get pregnant on purpose. You want her stuck with a man who’s got another woman on his mind? I didn’t want this to happen to her—I’m not sticking her with half a husband! She deserves a chance to find someone who can give her the real thing.” “But she loves you. She does, doesn’t she? She wanted to get married.” “Vanessa, she’s scared and alone. It’s what comes to mind. She’ll be all right when she realizes I’m not going to let her down. And I’m not going to—” “All this because you couldn’t open your mouth and say how you felt, what you wanted,” she said hotly. “I wanted so little from you—just a word or gesture—some hint that you had feelings for me. Instead, you took your wounded little heart to another woman and—” She stopped her tirade as she saw his eyes narrow and his frown deepen. He glared at her for a long moment, then he jumped off the stallion, her mount’s reins still in his hands. He led the horses the short distance to the river’s edge, to a bank of trees. “What are you doing?” she asked, hanging on to the pommel. He secured the horses at a fallen tree, then reached up to her, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her none too gently out of the saddle. He whirled her around and pressed her up against a tree, holding her wrists over her head and pinioning her there with the whole length of his body. His face was close to hers. “You never opened your mouth, either,” he said. She was stunned speechless. She couldn’t remember a time Paul had ever behaved like this—aggressive, commanding. He leaned closer. “Open it now,” he demanded of her just before he covered her mouth with his.

Well, that might be fine for the lot of you,” Kerry broke in, “but given you’re siding with Mr. Wingman here, it hardly does me any good. What happened to the whole sisterhood thing? And this after I came to you, hat in hand--” “You were dragged in,” Fiona reminded her. “Laundry basket in hand. Then we had to all but sit on you to squeeze the details out of you. If you want us to be all supportive and on your side, then, you know, you have to actually give us something to side with. So far, all we’ve heard is how you didn’t know how he felt, and then he sent your entire world spinning off its axis with that--” “Fiona--” Kerry said, clear warning in her tone. But it was too late. Logan had walked back to the group and was just saying he had a sailboat lined up and did they want a captain or were they going to sail it themselves, when he overheard the last bit of Fiona’s statement and paused. He turned to look at Kerry, then perhaps a tad more menacingly at Cooper. “With that…what?” Before Cooper could remind him about their recently established wingman/bro code status, Logan’s wife slid past him and hooked her arm through her husband’s and tipped up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Remember our first kiss?” She gave him a meaningful look to go with what was clearly a very private smile. “So I really don’t think you want to go there. Do you?” Logan cleared his throat. “Right, so…as you were,” he finally said. “I’ve got to get back to the station. Keep the mean streets of Blueberry Cove safe.” “Coward!” Kerry called after his retreating back. “See?” Delia said. “We have our ways.” “Except you’re supporting the wrong side,” Kerry said. “Oh, that all depends on how you define ‘sides,’” Grace put in. “We’re on the side of love.” She drew out that last word, making it sound almost like a coo, with Fiona joining her, both of them adding an exaggerated batting of lashes, aimed first at Kerry, then at Cooper. Fiona added a little heart made by steepling her fingers together. Logan looked back over his shoulder. He was grinning now. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll head back to the airport right now,” he called to Cooper. Cooper lifted his hand in a wave. “No worries, mate.

I am so proud of you.” It was the last thing Eve expected her mother to say, much less in a public location. “Proud of me?” “Oh, you rode like a Windham. I wish Bartholomew had been alive to see his baby sister out there, soaring over one fence after another. I wish St. Just had been here to brag on you properly. I wish… oh, I wish…” She reached for Eve and enfolded her daughter in a fierce, tight hug. “You showed them, Eve. You showed us all. Deene will be wroth with you for such a stunt, but he’ll get over it. A man in love forgives a great deal. Just ask your father.” Her Grace whispered this between hugs, tighter hugs, and teary smiles. “Mama, Deene is the one who said I ought to ride. I would never have had the…” The courage. The faith in herself. The determination… All the things she’d called upon time after time in the past seven years, her own strengths, and she’d been blind to them. “I could not have ridden that race without my husband’s blessing and support, Mama.” “But you did ride it,” Her Grace said, pulling Eve in for another hug. “I about fainted when you had that bad moment. Your father had to watch the last fences for me, but then the finish… You were a flat streak, you and that horse. I’ve no doubt he’d jump the Channel for you did you ask it. Oh, Eve… You must promise me never to do such a thing again, though. I could not bear it. Your father nearly had another heart seizure.” “I did no such thing, and I will ask you, Duchess, to keep your voice down if you’re going to slander my excellent health in such a manner.” His Grace was capable of bellowing, of shouting down the rafters, of letting every servant on three floors know at once of his frequent displeasures, but the duke was not using ducal volume as he approached his wife and youngest daughter. He was using his husband-voice, his volume respectful, even if his tone was a trifle testy. “Papa.” Eve pulled back from her mother’s embrace to meet her father’s blue-eyed gaze. Mama might be willing to make allowances, but His Grace was another matter entirely. “Evie.” He glanced from daughter to mother. “You’ve upset your mother, my girl. Gave her a nasty moment there at that oxer.” She was to be scolded? That was perhaps inevitable, given that His Grace— Her father pulled her into his arms. “But what’s one bad moment, if it means you’re finally back on the horse, though, eh? I particularly liked how you took the water—that showed style and heart. And that last fence… quite a race you rode, Daughter. I could not be more proud of you.” He extended an arm to the duchess, who joined the embrace with a whispered, “Oh, Percival…” So

To sit beside Eve and not touch her was difficult. To sit beside her and not argue his case was making Deene clench his jaw and ball his fists and recite the Lord’s Prayer in Latin, Greek, French, and German. Marrying Eve made such sense. When last he’d considered the notion, he hadn’t been dealing with nasty rumors that had Mildred Staines eyeing his crotch and the clubs going oddly silent when Deene walked into the room. The idea of taking Eve to wife loomed as not just right, but necessary for them both. The list of arguments in support of their wedding circled through his head faster than the wheels of their conveyance bore them toward a reckoning: He and Eve were of appropriate rank. They had shared interests. Their lands marched. They were compatible in ways both mundane and intimate. He needed to marry well, and Eve needed to marry a man who’d be a true husband to her if she was to have the children and loving family that was her God-given right. He’d give her all the children she wanted and delight in doing so… A white marriage, for God’s sake… As Eve turned the cart up the Moreland drive, it occurred to Deene that in some convoluted, unfathomable female manner, Eve was probably seeking to relieve her family of worrying over her and punish herself in the bargain with this notion of a white marriage. Which he could not allow. She deserved so much better. She deserved every happiness a family and home of her own could afford, and more, given… given everything. She

My Dear Fellow Subjects, I have recently learned a Truth that I wish to share with you: A man can be powerful, wealthy, privileged, even arrogant, yet still bend himself down to the level of the lowliest child to act with kindness, compassion, and heroism. I have witnessed it. I have been wrong my friends. In the past, cynicism and old hurt threaded through my disparagements of great men. Some men of position and wealth do serve England for their own gain. But some do so because they wish to help others and to make the world a better place. Whether it is always apparent to observers, the fact that they serve from a place of both Honor and Love – love of their families, their lands, and England. The People of this great nation and its Rulers have much to teach other. Both sides should listen. In this same manner, a wife and her husband must coexist. In sharing and celebrating their partnership, they must trust each other; depend upon each other, support each other, and raise each other up – in equal measure. For where there is Love there must always be Respect. For Respect to flourish, however, Equality must first exist. I ask you: How can a man with a single slice of bread look upon a rich man’s feast day after day, yet not come to resent him for that bounty? And how can a feasting lord look upon a pauper’s crust and not feel contempt, even judge that pauper deficient in some manner? Is not a well-fed man a happier man and a better contributor to Society? Is not an equal sharing of resources a pathway toward equal respect? In much the same way, to withhold from wives the same rights and privileges in marriage as their husbands is to sow Anger, Resentment, Fear, and Weakness into the fertile soil of this most blessed union. Instead of allowing wives equal rights and privileged as their husbands is to empower women to love and serve with Strength, Vigor, and Honesty. Dear fellow subjects, I have witnessed the intimate bond between Love and Respect: I have seen it in my parents’ marriage and in the marriages of my dearest friends. Now I have also felt it in my heart. And I have learned that without the one, the other cannot survive. Entwined together, however, they can conquer the worst of life’s challenges. In learning this lesson, I have come to understand that I can no longer hide in anonymity. In doing so, I only contribute to mistrust between the People of this kingdom and its Rulers, who should instead be united, bonded, as spouses are bonded, in Love and Respect. In remaining anonymous, I am also a hypocrite. For how can I claim that women’s voices are worthy of being heard when I have hidden my own so effectively behind this crusade that even those who I love most dearly do not know me? Therefore, today I sign off sincerely, -- Emily Vale, “Lady Justice

Job’s wife went with her husband from a comfortable and well-supplied lifestyle to being homeless, bankrupt, and childless. She became a caregiver, as she had been to her entire family while they were alive and for her ill husband, who according to Scripture, was in so much physical pain that he wished for death (Job 2:12-13, Job 3). Perhaps the words that his wife uttered, was merely her way of ending the pain for her husband whom she had to witness suffering day after day. It only mentions Job’s three friends that came to comfort him. Job’s wife probably did not have a support network of other women to help and assist her. If she did, while they were affluent, these fair weather friends would probably not have wanted to get involved now. The saying: ‘Sympathy says “sorry” and runs away; empathy says “I understand” and stays’, rings so true. She probably subdued her own sorrow and pain and first took care of her husband’s pain. Yet, she, together with her husband, trusted in the goodness of God. And God blessed them.

The world is nothing but a school of love. Our relationships with our husband or wife, with our children and parents, with our friends and relatives are the university in which we are meant to learn what love and devotion truly are. —Swami Muktananda

Throughout the day, partners would make requests for connection, what Gottman calls “bids.” For example, say that the husband is a bird enthusiast and notices a goldfinch fly across the yard. He might say to his wife, “Look at that beautiful bird outside!” He’s not just commenting on the bird here: He’s requesting a response from his wife—a sign of interest or support—hoping they’ll connect, however momentarily, over the bird. The wife now has a choice. She can respond by either “turning toward” or “turning away” from her husband, as Gottman puts it. Though the bird-bid might seem minor and silly, it can actually reveal a lot about the health of the relationship. The husband thought the bird was important enough to bring it up in conversation and the question is whether his wife recognizes and respects that. People who turned toward their partners in the study responded by engaging the bidder, showing interest and support in the bid. Those who didn’t—those who turned away—would not respond or respond minimally and continue doing whatever they were doing, like watching TV or reading the paper. Sometimes they would respond with overt hostility, saying something like, “Stop interrupting me, I’m reading.” These bidding interactions had profound effects on marital well-being. Couples who had divorced after a six-year follow-up had “turn-toward bids” 33 percent of the time. Only three in 10 of their bids for emotional connection were met with intimacy. The couples who were still together after six years had “turn-toward bids” 87 percent of the time. Nine times out of 10, they were meeting their partner’s emotional needs.

The worst part of it is that I was right. I’ve always known that my need to control things to a minute level of detail is unhelpful, bordering on unhealthy. I try to keep it in check as much as I can. But then if I don’t stay vigilant, my husband uses our money to grow a new wife, and my lab assistant uses my grant to support his side hustle, and I wonder why I bother trying. There’s no winning. Either I’m a bitch who needs to control everything, or I’m an easy mark.

I have seen a husband adapt honestly and courageously while his wife descended into terminal dementia. He made the necessary adjustments, step by step. He accepted help when he needed it. He refused to deny her sad deterioration and in that manner adapted gracefully to it. I saw the family of that same woman come together in a supporting and sustaining manner as she lay dying, and gain newfound connections with each other—brother, sisters, grandchildren and father—as partial but genuine compensation for their loss. I have seen my teenage daughter live through the destruction of her hip and her ankle and survive two years of continual, intense pain and emerge with her spirit intact. I watched her younger brother voluntarily and without resentment sacrifice many opportunities for friendship and social engagement to stand by her and us while she suffered. With love, encouragement, and character intact, a human being can be resilient beyond imagining. What cannot be borne, however, is the absolute ruin produced by tragedy and deception.

Focus on the wife as her husband's helper has led to the belief that God gave primary roles and responsibilities to men, and secondary, supporting roles to women. It has led to practices that communicate that women are second class citizens at home and in the church. None of this is true. There is nothing second class about God's vision for his daughters, and the ezer holds the clues.

Checketts picked up on just how deeply Riley believed in being on the same page within months of working with him. During the team’s first training camp in Charleston, in 1991, Checketts and Riley were having lunch when Checketts’s cell phone rang, interrupting the talk. It was his wife, Deborah, who was about to buy a Chevy Suburban sport-utility vehicle, and wanted her husband’s input on color. Deborah had all but decided on the color green, and asked her husband if he was okay with that option. He was, and told her that would be a perfectly fine choice. But then Riley, who was sitting next to Checketts and had listened in enough to know the couple was choosing a color for a new vehicle, butted in. “What are you talking about? She can’t buy a green car, Dave. Green is the Celtics,” Riley said, referring to the team that had served as the archrival of his Showtime Lakers during the 1980s. Checketts laughed, before realizing Riley’s facial expression hadn’t changed. “I’m dead serious,” Riley said. So Checketts, still on the phone with his wife, told her she couldn’t get a green Suburban. When Deborah asked what other colors were available, the car salesman suggested red. So she asked Checketts how he felt about red. Again, Checketts was fine with that option. Again, Riley wasn’t. “What? Red is the Bulls,” said Riley, almost annoyed Checketts would even ask his take on the color. Checketts relented. “Don’t come home with anything but a blue one,” he told his wife, before hanging up. This was how Riley was wired. You were either all the way in on supporting his vision—down to the color of your car—or you weren’t.

Where Are the Ads of Old? The granddaddy of them all was the Yuban coffee commercial, parodied so well in Airplane!, in which a couple is leaving a dinner party when the host appears and offers them a second cup of coffee. The husband, Jim, takes it. The wife, dejected and shamed, hangs her head like a dog that just got caught shitting on the carpet as we hear her internal monologue: “Jim never has a second cup of my coffee.” Her credentials as an adequate wife were just torched. This is the female equivalent of being cuckolded. She was cuckolded by coffee.

Part 1 A Woman is a Fate? Or a Bless? When a baby is girl is born, to some is a blessing. She will grow as wonderful woman, beautiful, with nice features and showers love as a daughter, a sister, as a wife, as a friend and as a mother. It is also luck, or a Mahalakshmi to the house. Some centuries back, and to some people when she is born, she is a fate. An ill fated to some in orthodox families and believe that she brings bad luck. So, there is this ritual in some places or villages where, when a new born baby girl will be poisoned to death upon her arrival on earth. It is brutal and devastating. Yes it is still happening till today. Where did this ritual came from? Who started it? Where was it written that the baby must be killed if it is a girl. And WHY? Has anyone thought, that it was a woman who carried her for 9 months, loved her from the day she is created in her womb, and the moment when she is born, the tear of a joy and her happiness the moment she sees her little tiny human girl arrived, and her dreams as mother and to love her all her life… will be no longer alive in the next few minutes? I have always respected woman, for uncountable reasons. As much as I am happy to see them successful, but it also worries me most of the time. 99.9% of it I am worried for them! The one who gave birth to us, is a woman. We also worship to a female God and beg her to show mercy on us. It is also a woman, who becomes a wife and satisfies a husband’s needs. But still, there are no respect shown to them despite knowing these basics. In some houses while her parents off to work, or being abandoned, or lets just say the parents passed. It is her responsibility to take care the rest of her family as the family head. When it comes to education, she is not safe to study among the boys, neither in higher education. Same goes to a woman at work. As she will have those wild eyes on her, she has to take care of her virginity, her womb, and her dignity. Beyond these, there are also some beasts, who is talented in sweet talking and flirtatious towards her. When she is too naïve and fall for the trap, it happens to be a one night stand. Once a woman marriage is fixed, she gets married and goes off to her in laws. Her life changes in the moment the knots tied by the man. In todays millennia, womens are still carrying the burden of the responsibility of her maternal side, together with her new in-laws. Every morning she wakes up, she serves the husband, deal the day with by preparing him for his day, every day. As well taking care of her new in-laws all of her life. Then, comes the pregnancy moment, again, she carries her child her womb, making sure he is safe in there, and taking care of her world on the outside. She loses all her beauty, her happiness, her wishes, her ambitions, and it is all sacrificed for the sake of her marriage. And then the cycle never stops. She raises her children, become beautiful, and then one day they too get married. But as mother, she never stopped caring and provide them all the love, the needs, etc. It never stops. There are some man and in laws who support their daughter in law and I have a big salute to them. They are an example for today’s woman millennia, don’t stop her for what she is capable of, and don’t clip her wings..

I was first introduced to Clint’s writing in his 2014 New York Times essay: “Getting Up in the Night Is Your Wife’s Job.” Briefly, in this essay, Clint and his wife Mel are new parents, both working, exhausted and juggling the new adjustments of being parents of an infant. In a conversation between Clint and his mother, when Clint shared that he was waking up in the middle of the night to care for their infant son, his mother imposed judgment on Mel. She said that getting up in the night was his wife’s job. And initially, Clint took in his mom’s belief for a moment. Then he paused, reflected, and shared with incredible vulnerability: He gets up in the middle of the night to care for his child in reaction to the pain and abandonment he felt in childhood from his father. For Clint, getting up in the middle of the night to care for his child was an act of love, and healing, embracing what it meant for him to be a father and supportive husband. I observed, caring for his son was a drive to heal from his father’s actions and inactions.

I was too ashamed of myself, of being a bad husband, a failure as a provider, of bailing out on my would-be novel after almost two years of being supported by my loving wife, that I could no longer stand her seeing me the way I was.

I feel this intense pressure to step in and be this amazing “bonus mom.” Everyone expects me to just naturally be maternal and love my step-kids and take care of everything for them. I feel like I do all the hard work of parenting, but I don’t get any of the benefits that bio-parents get. I don’t get love, loyalty, or affection from the kids, no matter how kind I am to them. They never hug me or say thank you. I certainly don’t get acknowledged on Mother’s Day. I really try to be a good stepmom, but I feel like all my efforts are looked at with suspicion or resentment from my step-kids, because they think I’m “trying too hard.” It also feels like my husband wants it both ways. He expects me to love his kids “just like they’re my own,” and he expects me to take care of them and be involved and support them and help raise them. But then he gets defensive and territorial, and he resists my input if I try to be involved in any actual parenting, because they’re “his” kids, not mine. And his ex-wife gets threatened, and she basically tells me to “butt out and stay in my place.” So, my husband and his ex both expect me to help them do the hard work of parenting and provide childcare for them, but only on their terms. Apparently, I don’t get a place at the decision-making table. I feel like an unpaid babysitter, not a partner. And it seems like the harder I work and the nicer I am, the less anyone appreciates me. I can’t win.

bringing in folding chairs to place in the aisles. She didn’t know Reverend Kelley, but she had met his elder daughter, Kim Randall, through her community service, and her heart went out to the Kelley family. The life of every clergyman in the region was at risk, including Dewan’s life, a thought she could hardly bear. But everyone had to be wondering who the killer would target as his next victim. With her head held high and a brave expression on her face, she entered the sanctuary and found her spot in the front row between Deacon Fuqua and his wife, Dionne. She leaned across and spoke to the deacon. “Should someone adjust the air-conditioning? With so many people packed inside the church, it’s bound to get hot.” “It’s being done,” Deacon Fuqua told her. “Can you believe this crowd? I see God’s hand in this prayer vigil that Dewan organized.” “God’s hand is in everything my husband does,” she said. A flurry of activity up on the podium at the front of the sanctuary gained Tasha’s attention. The members of the choir, decked out in their white and gold robes, were taking their places and preparing to sing God’s praises. She closed her eyes, her every thought a prayer for all those whose hearts were heavy tonight. Patsy and Elliott Floyd had arrived in time to find seats in the middle aisle, a few pews from the back of the building. As she glanced around, Patsy was pleased to see so many of her parishioners here this evening. She had sent out e-mails to the entire congregation and made numerous personal phone calls. Tonight’s prayer vigil was of great importance on several different levels. First and foremost, Bruce Kelley needed the combined strength of this type of group praying. Second, holding this vigil at the black Baptist church went a long way toward bridging the gap between black and white Christians in the area. Third, this was an example of how all churches, regardless of their doctrine, could support one another. And coming together to pray for one of their own would bring strength and comfort to the ministers and their families who were living each day with fear in their hearts. As they sat quietly side by side, Elliott reached between them and took her hand in his. They had been married for nearly thirty years, and they had stayed together through thick and thin. They had argued often in the early years, mostly because Elliott had never been at home and she’d been trapped there with two toddlers. She had not been as understanding as she should have been. After all, Elliott had been holding down a part-time job and putting

A householder has his duties to discharge, his debts to pay: his debt to the gods, his debt to his ancestors, his debt to the rishis, and his debt to wife and children. If a wife is chaste, then her husband should support her; he should also bring up their children until they are of age. Only a monk must not save; the bird and the monk do not provide for the morrow. But even a bird provides when it has young. It brings food in its bill for its chicks.

Shallow. Harmless. A little bit stupid. Crazy in love with you. Needs access to every part of the house. Let’s see . . . Who am I? Well, Roman’s trophy wife, of course. I am pretty, elegant, and extremely snobbish. I love wearing expensive clothes, just the best labels. I’m not really into dresses unless the occasion requires it. I much more prefer designer jeans, paired with silky blouses. The heels are a must.” She pauses, opens her eyes, and turns toward me. “Are heels a must, do you think?” She scrunches her tiny nose. “Of course they are. Damn it. I hate wearing heels.” She closes her eyes again and continues. “The heels are a must, and I have dozens of them. Roman loves when I wear them, he says they make my butt look amazing. I’m also very self-conscious about my height, and wearing heels all the time makes me forget how short I am. My favorite pastime is shopping, and I buy a ton of clothes. My husband has to allocate one driver specifically for me and my shopping sprees.” Another pause and she turns toward me again. “Roman, I’ll need funds to support her addiction with clothes. She is an impulse buyer.” “You’ll get anything you need,” I laugh. She’s completely nuts. “My husband is crazy about me, and he allows me to do whatever I want with the house, like rearrange furniture, so the vibe of the house works better with the earth vibrations. The house feels terribly cold, so I buy a bunch of indoor plants and spread them everywhere. I also tour every single room because I want to make sure the unobstructed energy flows, so I rearrange paintings and mirrors. I also hate the dining room table, it’s so overstated, and I decide to swap it with a sleek glass one I found in an interior design magazine.” Another pause. “This woman is expensive, Roman. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” “I’ll manage.” “Your funeral.” She shrugs and continues. “My husband doesn’t like it when he’s interrupted, but of course, that doesn’t apply to me. I often come into his office just to check up on him and exchange a few kisses. It annoys his men so much. They wonder what he sees in me and why he allows me so much freedom, and then decide he’s thinking with his dick. I’m always around, and they hate it.

There is only one way for women to reach full human potential—by participating in the mainstream of society, by exercising their own voice in all the decisions shaping that society. For women to have full identity and freedom, they must have economic independence. Breaking through the barriers that had kept them from the jobs and professions rewarded by society was the first step, but it wasn’t sufficient. It would be necessary to change the rules of the game to restructure professions, marriage, the family, the home. The manner in which offices and hospitals are structured, along the rigid, separate, unequal, unbridgeable lines of secretary/executive, nurse/doctor, embodies and perpetuates the feminine mystique. But the economic part would never be complete unless a dollar value was somehow put on the work done by women in the home, at least in terms of social security, pensions, retirement pay. And housework and child rearing would have to be more equally shared by husband, wife, and society. Equality and human dignity are not possible for women if they are not able to earn. When the young radical kids came into the movement, they said it was “boring” or “reformist” or “capitalist co-option” to place so much emphasis on jobs and education. But very few women can afford to ignore the elementary economic facts of life. Only economic independence can free a woman to marry for love, not for status or financial support, or to leave a loveless, intolerable, humiliating marriage, or to eat, dress, rest, and move if she plans not to marry. But the importance of work for women goes beyond economics. How else can women participate in the action and decisions of an advanced industrial society unless they have the training and opportunity and skills that come from participating in it?

There were two types of military wives, in Miriam’s opinion—those who supported their husbands and those who thought they, too, were Marines. Brooke was squarely in the latter set. Attended every officer’s wife function—high teas and luncheons and charity drives and golf outings. She ran the Camp Lejeune Toys for Tots Christmas program as if she were Britain’s prime minister during the war. Miriam thought her the most entitled white women she had met—uninteresting, her life so intertwined with that of her husband’s that she was no longer distinguishable as a woman.

Sometimes applicants were given a second chance. This worked, for example, for a Hungarian German family whose application had been rejected in April 1959. When they were reexamined by the embassy in Belgrade in June 1961, it was determined that “the German Volkstum of [the mother] by now prevails in the family. The husband, who is of Hungarian descent and spoke little German in early 1959, has apparently made an effort to assimilate to German Volkstum (im deutschen Volkstum aufzugehen) and now speaks German. The daughter also speaks German—apparently she is raised the German way (offenbar wird sie deutsch erzogen).”41 This dynamic approach to Volkstum was taken even further in a case in 1962, when Anton P. and his family were granted an immigration permit based on the embassy’s judgment that “German Volkstum will soon prevail in the family.”42 One local office took this approach to its logical consequence when it supported the application of Johann and Katharina M., arguing that the husband’s German Volkstum could prevail over that of his Hungarian wife only if they came to live with his relatives in Germany.

A husband and wife should complete each other, support each other. God gave Adam a helpmate, not an object to be put on a shelf or worshiped from afar.

Don't date just to escape the "Im Single" status. Don't marry just to tick off a checklist. Life is NOT a grocery list. Find yourself first, then find someone who can accommodate the talents, the vision and the ambitions in your heart, someone who can be the enabler for you to emerge into your greatness. Find someone who believes in you, supports and encourages you even when the world laughs at your guts. But first, find yourself because it is far more important to be the right person than it is to date/marry the right person. Become a person of value. Don't go looking for a good woman until you've become a good man. And ladies, don't go looking for a good man till you've become a good woman. If you want a loving, honest, faithful, supportive and rich partner; first become what you are looking for. You must meet the requirements of your own requirements! Leaders, vision bearers and dream chasers look for character, commitment, vision, grit, faith, etc...but ordinary people look for coca-cola bottle shape kinder girl, a six pack kinder guy and a heavy bank balance...but dear men, it's her character that will raise your children not her beauty. It is character that makes a great wife. Dear ladies, It is character that makes a great Dad/husband not a car or a big wallet. Take note good people, you don't need to die to go to hell...misalignment of core values/purpose In your relationship/marriage is the beginning of your own hell right here on earth. In my humble opinion, misalignment of core values is worst than cheating. Yes, both are evil but cheating is a lesser evil compared to misalignment of core values. Trust me, you don't want to test this theory, you may not come out alive. So, leave the girl/boy down the road to a boy/girl down the road. Leave slay queens to slay kings. Leave party queens to party kings. Leave nyaope boys to nyaope girls, drug addicts to drug addicts, leave weed girls to weed boys, playboys to playgirls..,,AND legacy builders to legacy builders!

marriage would necessitate a change of religion, the still-hesitant Alix at first refused. But the otherwise impassive Nicky was nothing if not determined. The very day after Ernie and Ducky were married, the overwhelmed princess finally agreed to become both Russian Orthodox and wife of the heir to the Russian throne. Just as Queen Victoria, the preeminent guest at the festivities, was finishing her breakfast, Ella burst in on her grandmother with the dramatic announcement that “Alix and Nicky are to be engaged.” The wedding was planned for the spring of 1895, but the death of Nicky’s father changed all the elaborate arrangements, including sufficient time for Alix to become literate in the Russian language. Alix had just joined her future husband at the imperial summer palace of Livadia in the Crimea when Tsar Alexander III died on November 1, 1894. His widow Minnie, the princess of Wales’s sister, became the dowager empress; and her son Nicky the new tsar, Nicholas II. The morning after her fiancé’s accession, Alix was received into the Orthodox faith and at the same time given the new name of Alexandra Feodorovna. The imperial family decided the wedding should follow the late tsar’s funeral within the week. Like her mother’s wedding at Osborne in 1862, Alix’s was far more funereal in tone than joyous. All that saved it from complete gloom was the depth of the young bride and groom’s love for each other. During the years when Alice’s children were marrying their cousins and producing a multitude of little second cousins, Vicky had moved from the hurricane’s eye to near oblivion. Though she had been wounded by Fritz’s illness and Willy’s uncivil behavior, until June 1888 she at least had a loving and sympathetic husband to share her distress and lighten her sometimes intolerable burden. After his death, Vicky was left to face her martyrdom stripped of that unfaltering support. With her widowhood, her difficulties centered, inevitably, on the new emperor. Such was the exquisite release Willy experienced in succeeding his father to the throne that he took vainglory to new heights. To the horror of his mother and English grandmother, he jettisoned the standard symbols of mourning that were obligatory for a son in so visible a role, notably refusing to refrain from travel for pleasure. On a grander scale, in his eagerness to test his new powers, Willy made the most disastrous mistake of his early reign only two years after coming

During the early hours of April 12, 1980, which for all practical purposes looked no different than any other hot and humid morning in Monrovia. Select members of Liberia’s National Defense Force awoke early and quietly made their way to the small garden in the back of the Presidential Palace on Ashmond Street. Within minutes President Tolbert and twenty-six of his staff were murdered by the rebels called the “People's Redemption Council,” There are differing stories as to the time and manner of the President’s death; however it is believed that he was disemboweled by Samuel Doe, a member of the Krahn tribe, while asleep in the Executive Mansion. Another report stated that Tolbert was shot and stabbed by an American CIA operative. The First Lady, Tolbert's wife Victoria, wrote in her autobiography that she saw a masked man with a white hand, stabbing her late husband. Because of this evidence it was speculated by many that “white" mercenaries working for the CIA had been behind Doe’s actions. However, Boima Fahnbulleh, a minisiter of Doe’s cabinet, later testified that “the Americans did not support the coup d'état led by Mr. Doe.

What about now, Cassandra?” he asked, touching his hand to her left cheek, his other hand coming to rest on her slender waist. “Are you ready now? I must return to France to study. Come back with me. I can protect you. I will protect you. And I will try--I will do everything I can to make you happy.” Cass didn’t know what to say. She stared into Luca’s eyes--patient, warm, kind. He would be an excellent husband. An almost-perfect husband. But would he be the perfect husband for her? Cass didn’t know. Just then, something moved in the shadows. Instinctively, Cass tensed up. Her head whipped around as a figure emerged from the taverna behind them. It was Falco, holding a canvas sack over his shoulder. He froze, watching her and Luca, and Cass saw them as he must: standing close like lovers, their arms intertwined. He was still at a distance, but his stare radiated heat. Not anger, just his own peculiar energy. Luca did not appear to notice her attention had been distracted. “Will you go with me?” he prompted. “As my wife?” “I--” Cass looked up into Luca’s face. Her fiancé would love her and protect her. He understood pain and loyalty. He would die to keep her safe. Falco was moving now, walking toward the shoreline. Cass’s heart rose into her throat. Her first love. Falco understood her desire to be free from expectations. The man who would support her in living the life she wanted to live. But what life was that? Cass stood frozen, unable to decide. Luca was still staring at her expectantly. Falco reached the two of them, raising his blue eyes just long enough to give her a single soft look as he passed by. As Falco waved an arm to signal a passing fisherman, the sun dipped completely below the horizon.

I had a long talk with my husband last night,' Abigail explained, 'and he made me realize that I have to choose which voices to believe. I can believe the ones that tell me I'm not good enough or brave enough or pretty enough and let them skew my perception of events, or I can push aside that clamor and seek out the voice that tells me I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Please forgive me for inconveniencing you, Mr. Winterborne. I don’t intend to stay long.” “Does anyone know you’re here?” he asked curtly. “No.” “Speak your piece, then, and make it fast.” “Very well. I--” “But if it has anything to do with Lady Helen,” he interrupted, “then leave now. She can come to me herself if there’s something that needs to be discussed.” “I’m afraid Helen can’t go anywhere at the moment. She’s been in bed all day, ill with a nervous condition.” His eyes changed, some unfathomable emotion spangling the dark depths. “A nervous condition,” he repeated, his voice iced with scorn. “That seems a common complaint among aristocratic ladies. Someday I’d like to know what makes you all so nervous.” Kathleen would have expected a show of sympathy or a few words of concern for the woman he was betrothed to. “I’m afraid you are the cause of Helen’s distress,” she said bluntly. “Your visit yesterday put her in a state.” Winterborne was silent, his eyes black and piercing. “She told me only a little about what happened,” Kathleen continued. “But it’s clear that there is much you don’t understand about Helen. My late husband’s parents kept all three of their daughters very secluded. More than was good for them. As a result, all three are quite young for their age. Helen is one-and-twenty, but she hasn’t had the same experiences, or seasoning, as other girls her age. She knows nothing of the world outside Eversby Priory. Everything is new to her. Everything. The only men she has ever associated with have been a handful of close relations, the servants, and the occasional visitor to the estate. Most of what she knows about men has been from books and fairy tales.” “No one can be that sheltered,” Winterborne said flatly. “Not in your world. But at an estate like Eversby Priory, it’s entirely possible.” Kathleen paused. “In my opinion, it’s too soon for Helen to marry anyone, but when she does…she will need a husband with a placid temperament. One who will allow her to develop at her own pace.” “And you assume I wouldn’t,” he said rather than asked. “I think you will command and govern a wife just as you do everything else. I don’t believe you would ever harm her physically, but you’ll whittle her to fit your life, and make her exceedingly unhappy. This environment--London, the crowds, the department store--is so ill suited to her nature that she would wither like a transplanted orchid. I’m afraid I can’t support the idea of marriage for you and Helen.” Pausing, she took a long breath before saying, “I believe it’s in her best interest for the engagement to be broken.

In my opinion, it’s too soon for Helen to marry anyone, but when she does…she will need a husband with a placid temperament. One who will allow her to develop at her own pace.” “And you assume I wouldn’t,” he said rather than asked. “I think you will command and govern a wife just as you do everything else. I don’t believe you would ever harm her physically, but you’ll whittle her to fit your life, and make her exceedingly unhappy. This environment--London, the crowds, the department store--is so ill suited to her nature that she would wither like a transplanted orchid. I’m afraid I can’t support the idea of marriage for you and Helen.” Pausing, she took a long breath before saying, “I believe it’s in her best interest for the engagement to be broken.” A heavy silence descended. “Is that what she wants?” “She said earlier today that she has no wish to see you again.” Throughout Kathleen’s speech, Winterborne had looked away as if he were only half listening. At that last remark, however, she found herself the target of a bladelike gaze. Perhaps, she thought uneasily, it would be best to leave soon.

By buying into the question of what the husbands think, I’m doing something that comes so naturally to me, it feels essential: I am holding myself to account. Something makes me happy, or brings me pleasure, and I ask, how does this make me look? Nice? Thin? Modest? Domestic? Caring? Invested in my relationship? Sexually faithful? Like a good wife? I put everything through a pressure test, to see if it will hold up under public scrutiny, to see if it’s okay. And if the pleasure doesn’t consider the needs of other people, and if it doesn’t attend to what other people require of me—if it’s just for me—then it will fail. No wonder so many women prefer to confine their pleasures to the privacy of their inner life, or to their supportive online communities. It’s the only way to escape the question of what your husband thinks about all this.

It's a story as old as time - a husband suspects his wife of cheating and seeks the truth. In this case study, we explore how Daniel Meuli Web Recovery became the hero in unraveling the secrets of a cheating wife. The husband, let's call him John, was plagued by suspicions, and Daniel Meuli Web Recovery stepped in to clear the fog and provide concrete information. With their expertise and unyielding determination, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery embarked on the investigation. They began by meticulously gathering relevant information and evidence. Through their advanced tools and techniques, they scoured the depths of the web, tracking digital footprints and uncovering hidden communication channels. They left no stone unturned, leaving John astounded by their skills and efficiency. The investigation yielded undeniable proof of infidelity. Daniel Meuli Web Recovery presented John with a comprehensive report containing irrefutable evidence of his wife's betrayal. Armed with this information, John could no longer ignore the truth. The impact was immense - it shattered the illusions he held onto and forced him to confront the harsh reality. Despite the pain, John found solace in knowing the truth, and he could finally make informed decisions about the future of his relationship. One of the pillars of Daniel Meuli Web Recovery's approach is its commitment to maintaining strict confidentiality. They understand the sensitivity of their client's cases and abide by a code of ethics that ensures utmost discretion. Trust is the foundation of their work, and they go to great lengths to protect their clients' privacy. Daniel Meuli Web Recovery recognizes the importance of operating within the boundaries of the law. They stay updated on legal regulations and ensure that their investigation techniques comply with all relevant standards. By working within legal boundaries, they offer their clients peace of mind, knowing that the truth they uncover can be used appropriately without legal repercussions. While uncovering the truth is crucial, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery doesn't stop there. They understand that emotional recovery is equally important. With their empathetic approach, they offer counseling and guidance to help individuals cope with the aftermath of infidelity. From providing a listening ear to offering sound advice, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery is there to support its clients through the healing process. Be rest assured of a good job when you contact Daniel Meuli web recovery via Email: Danielmeuliweberecovery (At) email dot com

It's a story as old as time - a husband suspects his wife of cheating and seeks the truth. In this case study, we explore how Daniel Meuli Web Recovery became the hero in unraveling the secrets of a cheating wife. The husband, let's call him John, was plagued by suspicions, and Daniel Meuli Web Recovery stepped in to clear the fog and provide concrete information. With their expertise and unyielding determination, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery embarked on the investigation. They began by meticulously gathering relevant information and evidence. Through their advanced tools and techniques, they scoured the depths of the web, tracking digital footprints and uncovering hidden communication channels. They left no stone unturned, leaving John astounded by their skills and efficiency. The investigation yielded undeniable proof of infidelity. Daniel Meuli Web Recovery presented John with a comprehensive report containing irrefutable evidence of his wife's betrayal. Armed with this information, John could no longer ignore the truth. The impact was immense - it shattered the illusions he held onto and forced him to confront the harsh reality. Despite the pain, John found solace in knowing the truth, and he could finally make informed decisions about the future of his relationship. One of the pillars of Daniel Meuli Web Recovery's approach is its commitment to maintaining strict confidentiality. They understand the sensitivity of their client's cases and abide by a code of ethics that ensures utmost discretion. Trust is the foundation of their work, and they go to great lengths to protect their clients' privacy. Daniel Meuli Web Recovery recognizes the importance of operating within the boundaries of the law. They stay updated on legal regulations and ensure that their investigation techniques comply with all relevant standards. By working within legal boundaries, they offer their clients peace of mind, knowing that the truth they uncover can be used appropriately without legal repercussions. While uncovering the truth is crucial, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery doesn't stop there. They understand that emotional recovery is equally important. With their empathetic approach, they offer counseling and guidance to help individuals cope with the aftermath of infidelity. From providing a listening ear to offering sound advice, Daniel Meuli Web Recovery is there to support its clients through the healing process. Be rest assured of a good job when you contact Daniel Meuli web recovery via Email: Danielmeuliweberecovery (At) email dot com