Why Complementarity Is the Glue That Holds a Marriage Together
In a world that glorifies self-sufficiency, it’s easy to forget that the strength of a marriage lies not in sameness, but in sacred difference. This post explores why marriage isn’t about “I” but “We,” and how giving from your strengths—rather than guarding them—creates the kind of bond that doesn’t just survive, but thrives. If you’ve been feeling the weight of doing it all, this is your gentle reminder: you weren’t meant to. You were meant to do it together.
I’ve been reflecting lately on what makes a marriage not just last—but deepen. The kind of marriage that becomes richer over time, not more fragile. And the answer I keep coming back to is this: real partnership.
We live in a time where individualism is celebrated. Autonomy, self-sufficiency, independence—it’s all applauded. And yes, there’s beauty in being your own person. But when we bring that mentality into marriage unchecked, it can quietly undo the very thing we’re trying to build.
Over the years, both in my own marriage and in my work with couples, I’ve seen how the “I” mindset can slip in unnoticed. Suddenly, one partner is scorekeeping, or hyper-focused on what they’re not receiving. The other becomes guarded, defensive, or withdrawn. And before they know it, they’re living parallel lives under one roof.
But marriage isn’t about being two identical blocks stacked side by side. It’s more like two puzzle pieces—uniquely shaped, maybe even a little odd on our own—but when placed together, the interlock is strong. Solid. Not easily shifted like two perfect squares would be. It’s the difference in the pieces that creates the fit. That’s the beauty of complementarity.
Equal, Yet Not the Same
There’s a passage in Genesis that has always struck me: when God creates woman, He doesn’t form her from the dust like man, but from his rib. And when Adam sees her for the first time, he exclaims, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.”
To me, this isn’t a story of hierarchy or inequality. It’s a story of intentionality. Of being side by side. Equal in worth, in dignity, in value—but not the same. And that difference isn’t a flaw. It’s the design.
Yet somewhere along the line, our culture started to tell us that being “different” meant being “less than.” Women began to feel they had to mirror men to be powerful. Men felt they had to suppress their needs to be acceptable. And both began to lose themselves in the process.
But what if we embraced our natural strengths—not as barriers to overcome, but as gifts to offer?
Giving from Your Strength
A strong marriage asks each partner to give—not from a place of exhaustion or resentment, but from a place of strength. Where one partner is more grounded in logic, the other might offer emotional nuance. Where one is bold, the other brings patience. And when each person gives from their strength, the other is naturally supported.
This is not about one person sacrificing everything, or becoming a martyr. It’s about recognizing that your strength was never just for you—it was always meant to be a gift for your spouse.
But that kind of giving requires awareness. It requires you to know yourself, to see where you tend to grasp for control or validation. It asks you to grow—not just for your own sake, but because someone else is counting on you to rise.
Becoming Better for Each Other
I often say: the healthiest relationships are built by two people who are committed to becoming better for each other. Not perfect, but better. This doesn’t mean endless self-help books or overthinking every conversation. Sometimes it’s as simple as saying, “I know I get reactive when I feel criticized, and I want to work on that.” Or “I realize I haven’t been emotionally present lately, and I want to change that.”
These moments of self-awareness are sacred. They’re what allow trust to deepen and walls to soften.
You don’t need to do it all perfectly. But you do need to do it with intention.
A Final Thought
Marriage was never meant to be a transactional agreement between two self-actualized individuals. It was meant to be a covenant—a sacred partnership where two people choose, again and again, to offer themselves. Where they say, I see your needs, and I’ll meet you there. I’ll give where I’m strong. I’ll receive where I need help.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not always fair. But it’s deeply human. And, I believe, it’s where we touch the divine.
So if you find yourself wondering, “Why does this feel hard?”—you’re not broken. You’re just being asked to stretch. To give. To trust.
Just remember: the puzzle fits better not when you shave down your edges, but when you honour the shape God gave you—and offer it freely to the one you’ve chosen to love.