No, My Husband Isn’t My Rock. And Yours Shouldn’t Be, Either.

My husband is great. But he’s not my rock.

I don’t say that to be insulting. In fact, I mean it as a compliment. He’s not my rock, or my anchor, or any of those other overused phrases to describe a partner. A rock and an anchor are things that tie you to one place. They slow you down, weigh you down, or even drag you down. That’s not a metaphor I want to use in my marriage.

On top of the terrible image of being weighed down by your partner, a boat is pretty much helpless without an anchor. It can’t go much of anyplace. It can get stuck at sea forever, but it can’t go much of anyplace else. The boat needs the anchor. That’s a pretty crummy analogy for a healthy marriage, too.

By describing our spouses using outdated comparisons, we set negative expectations for what relationships should be. If you hold on to a belief that your marriage is holding you in place, what do you believe will happen if you grow and evolve? Or want to experience the world on a grander scale? If you believe that you require your partner, in order to be safe and secure, what will happen if your partner can’t always keep you safe? Or if life ever challenges you to be alone?

Healthy Marriages Don’t Need Rocks

My husband isn’t a rock. He’s more like… Technicolor.

Movies were great long before Technicolor was introduced. But they were even better after. Before Technicolor, we could still experience the story, the characters, and the emotions. We still enjoyed the drama of it all. But with Technicolor, everything got brighter. It got more engaging. It seeped into our souls.

The analogy of Technicolor works because it helps us understand how our partner makes our life better, while still allowing us to be whole, functioning individuals. It acknowledges the richness of relationships, while not supposing that singlehood is like being adrift on a lonely see. Heck, some people prefer black and white films!

When we rely on other people to provide necessary functions we should really be providing for ourselves, like happiness or stability, we’re handing over our personal power to someone else. And that’s a recipe for dysfunction. The struggles of life require us to be fully complete individuals, all by ourselves, to survive.

My husband is my Technicolor. He brings brightness and joy and intensity to my life that I didn’t have before. My movie would still be running without him, but it’s far better with him.