Shulamis was convinced that if she didn’t step in, her children would be damaged for life.

That was the fear running through her all the time.

Not annoyance.
Not irritation.
Terror.

Shulamis came to coaching seething as she put it into words:

“If my husband keeps yelling at my kids like this, th...

Miri didn’t have to guess what her mother-in-law was thinking.

She said it out loud - no filter.

Every visit came with unsolicited advice and blatant criticism.

“You’re feeding the kids that?”
“In my house, Shabbos never looked like this.”
“You really should take him for an evaluation. That is no...

Leah felt ridiculous admitting it.

Her husband was wildly successful.
Charismatic. Popular. Always in motion.
A natural deal-maker who thrived on late nights, travel, and being needed by everyone.

People admired him.

He told her often, “Buy whatever you want. Get help. Enjoy yourself. Don’t worry...

Nechama is embarrassed to admit it — even to herself.

Her marriage is fine.
More than fine, really.

Her husband is gentle and kind.
He helps with the kids. He thanks her for dinner. He never yells.
He’s steady and sweet and doesn’t complain even when she’s snappy.

They don’t really fight.
He d...

Esty hadn’t planned on crying during candle lighting.

But something about the moment — the warm glow, the singing, the children playing— cracked something open inside.

Her husband was there. Physically.

But not emotionally.

He was distracted and in a bad mood about who knows what. The moment fel...

When Chanukah turns into comparison, chaos, and sugar crashes… here’s what one wife did instead.

They pulled into the driveway of her sister-in-law’s house, and Tamar’s stomach suddenly felt tight, smile plastered on.

Inside were her brothers-in-law - funny, helpful, generous. Her father-in-law, w...

Rina froze in the kitchen.

He hadn’t exactly raised his voice. But the words landed hard.

“Why is this place always a disaster?”
“You’re always overreacting… always making everything about you.”
“This is exactly why I don’t bother talking to you.”

It started with a complaint about the mess.  ...

Tzivia bakes sourdough every week.
Her home is spotless (ok, right after the cleaning lady is done).
She dresses tastefully.
She even says Tehillim every day.

And still… she felt hollow.

“I’m doing everything I’m supposed to. Why do I feel like a shadow of myself?”

A wife. A mother. But not… ...

When Tzippy and I met on that Wednesday morning, she looked polished on the outside but her eyes told a different story.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, twisting a strand of her sheitel.
“I do everything for my husband. Everything. I am such a good wife! And somehow… the more I try, the farthe...