Over the years, I’ve met so many women who carry both a longing for love and a deep, silent ache. They’re exhausted, not just physically, but spiritually. They’ve spent years trying to be good mothers, good wives, good everything, and yet feel misunderstood, unseen, and resentful. They are tired of giving, as well as forgiving. Tired of hoping their spouse might change.
And so often, this fatigue turns into control—subtle at first, then more insistent. It shows up as frequent correcting, sharp criticisms, or even the silent treatment. Beneath it is a heart that once hoped to feel cherished but now feels hardened, even angry.
I understand this experience. I recall a time, probably in my late 30s or early 40s, after a difficult day with three young children, I paused and wondered, ‘How did I become someone who yells?!’. My family home never involved yelling (at least, I don’t remember it), but now I find myself yelling often. I blamed my behavior on my husband, not only because his family tended to yell but also because it felt like the easiest option for me.
But what I’ve come to learn—and what I wish I had known earlier—is that this hardness of heart is not inevitable. It can be healed. And one of the surprising, almost countercultural pathways to healing is the very word we’ve been conditioned to resist: obedience.
The Misunderstanding of Obedience.
In modern relationships, especially in the context of Christian marriage, the word obedience can feel outdated or even offensive. I often hear it from clients: “I feel like a doormat.” And they’re right to push back on that notion. Obedience in the Christian life is not about becoming passive, voiceless, or weak. It does not mean suppressing our needs or tolerating mistreatment. But it also doesn’t mean clinging tightly to control just because we’re afraid of being hurt again.
I follow Fr. Joseph Iannuzzi’s work, and he helped me to understand what obedience means from a Christian perspective. He reminded us that nowhere in Scripture does it say Jesus was “nice.” Niceness, he says, is a horizontal, social virtue—one that keeps the peace, seeks approval, and avoids conflict. But Christian virtue is not about pleasing everyone. It is about being faithful to God and allowing His love to shape our hearts, even when others misunderstand that love.
Obedience, then, is not niceness. It is a courageous alignment of our will with God’s. It means placing our trust in a higher order of justice, mercy, and timing than our own.
Tenderness Is Not Weakness.
It’s important to speak especially to women here, because I know that many of us have learned to equate tenderness with weakness. We’ve built walls around our hearts in the name of protection. We may think, If I stop correcting him, he’ll never change, or If I let this go, I’m enabling him.
But there is a difference between enabling and entrusting. There is a difference between surrender and silence.
I’ve learned in my own life—and continue to learn—that stepping back from micromanaging isn’t a sign of weakness, but rather a sign of wisdom. When we soften our hearts and let go of the compulsion to fix or control, we create the very space where God can move. The saints show us this, not because they were agreeable or easy to get along with, but because their hearts were yielded to something greater.
As Fr. Iannuzzi explained, even saints had difficult personalities, but what made them holy was not their temperament; it was their virtue. They weren’t always liked, but they loved well. Their obedience to God wasn’t a blind following; it was an active, discerning surrender.
Letting Go Without Giving Up.
There is such peace in letting go of what we cannot control, and yet for many of us, that lesson doesn’t come easily. I see women all the time holding the entire emotional temperature of their homes. They keep track of everything—the chores, the appointments, the mood of the household—and they carry it like a cross. But it is not always the cross God asked them to carry. Sometimes it is one they picked up out of fear, not faith.
Resignation, as Fr. Iannuzzi put it, is not the same as agreement. You can accept your husband’s limitations without condoning them. You can acknowledge his failings without letting them define your entire marriage. You can even pray for change while choosing peace in the meantime.
One of the most powerful truths he shared was this: when we see someone sinning, our task is not to judge but to pray—with warm tears, if we can. It is not our job to convict hearts. That belongs to God alone.
A Different Kind of Strength
What if we reframed obedience as the strength to let God lead, not just in our big life decisions, but in our everyday responses? In the way we speak, the way we listen, the way we endure difficult moments without bitterness?
To be clear, this is not about excusing sin or denying harm. There are times when confrontation is needed, when boundaries must be drawn. But obedience, in its truest form, is an interior posture. It is about making space in your heart for grace, even when your emotions want to shut the door.
And here’s the irony: when we stop trying to do God’s job for Him—when we stop being the judge, the fixer, the saviour—we rediscover our role as wife, not warrior. Instead of becoming an interrogator, a sleuth, or a detective, we become a peacemaker, a sage, and an intercessor.