By Ross Hendrickson
There’s something funny about grace. We love the idea of it until we actually have to give it. Especially when we’re tired, misunderstood, or feeling like the only adult in a house full of chaos. Grace sounds great in theory, like something you’d find in a framed quote at Target, but it is a whole different thing in practice.
It shows up when everyone in the house is operating on too little sleep. When the milk has spilled. When someone forgot the thing. When a comment was taken the wrong way and now two people are mad and no one really remembers how it started. In those moments, grace can feel like a stretch. But it is exactly what relationships need most when things feel the hardest.
Here’s the truth I’ve seen over and over again. Not just in therapy sessions but in my own living room. Without grace, relationships wither. With grace, they breathe.
I don’t mean grace in the sense of excusing everything or pretending things are fine when they’re not. I mean the kind of grace that sees people as works in progress. The kind that recognizes how hard it is to show up fully human and still tries anyway. Grace is what allows room for mistakes, misunderstanding, and repair. It lets your spouse be a person who is figuring things out. It lets your kids have a bad day without you needing to take it personally. It lets you extend compassion to yourself when you feel like you’re not measuring up.
Grace is not weak. It is not fragile. In fact, it might be one of the strongest forces we have access to in relationships. It shows up when every part of us wants to protect or shut down. It asks us to stay present when we’d rather withdraw or lash out. It calls us toward connection when our instinct is to keep score. Grace is the difference between enduring each other and actually growing closer.
It is not passive. It doesn’t sit in the corner quietly hoping things get better. Grace moves toward. It leans in. It asks questions. It listens without jumping in with a solution. It says, “I see you, and I still want to do this with you.”
Grace says: You matter more to me than being right.
When I was 4 years old, I was convinced I was destined for stardom. Not just any stardom. I was going full Elvis. I had the hair, kind of. The hip moves, sort of. The confidence? Off the charts. I had a little plastic microphone and a wardrobe I’m still slightly proud of. Somewhere in a dusty garage, there is actual VHS footage of me belting out “Hound Dog” with all the intensity a preschooler can offer. That tape will never see the light of day.
Fast forward a few decades and I finally had the chance to visit Graceland. I went expecting a tourist attraction. What I found was something surprisingly human. A little over-the-top in places, yes, but full of character and heart. The furniture wasn’t perfect. The spaces felt lived in. The whole place told a story about a real person with flaws and passion and presence. It wasn’t polished. It was personal.
And that’s when it hit me.
What if our homes could feel like that?
Not curated. Not camera-ready. Just real. Full of joy and mess and history and meaning. Full of grace.
Grace in relationships often doesn’t look like grand gestures. It looks like this:
- Letting go of keeping score
- Believing the best about someone when it would be easier to assume the worst
- Saying “I’m sorry” without attaching shame
- Saying “I forgive you” without demanding perfection moving forward
It also looks like walking away for a moment to calm down and returning with a softer tone. It sounds like “I know that came out sharp. I didn’t mean it that way.” It feels like someone holding space for your bad day without taking it personally.
And grace for yourself? That part is critical. If you’re constantly running on guilt and criticism, it will eventually leak into every conversation. You can only give grace when you’re practicing it internally too.
As a therapist, I hear so much internal dialogue. Most of it is not kind. It sounds like:
“I messed that up. I’m the worst.”
“Why can’t I just get it right?”
“I’m failing them.”
We would never say those things to someone we love, but we say them to ourselves without even thinking about it.
Let’s rewrite those stories.
Grace-filled self-talk sounds more like:
“That wasn’t my best moment, but I can repair it.”
“I’m still learning, and I’m allowed to grow.”
“I love these people, and I’m trying my best. That counts.”
When we speak to ourselves with grace, it shifts everything else. We’re more patient. More forgiving. More open. We stop trying to force everything into control and instead start building trust. And that shift? It matters.
Now let’s be real for a second. What if you’re trying and your spouse isn’t? What if you are doing all this work, and it feels like no one else is meeting you in the middle?
That’s real. That’s painful. And grace does not mean accepting unhealthy patterns or being walked on. Boundaries are part of grace too. Grace can say, “I love you, and I can’t do it like this anymore.” Grace tells the truth. It doesn’t avoid conflict. But it does invite healing instead of escalation.
Sometimes grace opens the door to change. Sometimes it creates just enough safety for someone else to be vulnerable too. And sometimes, grace is what helps you hold steady until clarity comes.
You don’t have to do it all. But if you’re trying to be the one who leads with grace, even in small ways, you are making a bigger impact than you realize.
One of my favorite phrases in both therapy and parenting is deceptively simple.
Can we reset?
It’s not fancy. It doesn’t solve everything. But it opens a door. It breaks the tension. It says, “I want to get back on the same team.” I have seen those four words repair conversations in the therapy room. I’ve used them in my own marriage. I’ve offered them to my kids when I got something wrong. I’ve received them from my family when I needed grace more than I deserved it.
Resetting is not about erasing what happened. It is about choosing to stay connected, even in the mess. And that, to me, is grace in action.
You don’t need chandeliers or a Jungle Room. You don’t need themed décor or gold records. You just need the kind of home where people can be real.
Where mistakes are allowed.
Where love is bigger than frustration.
Where laughter, tears, and awkward apologies all live side by side.
That is what I think of when I picture Graceland now. Not Elvis memorabilia. Not a velvet rope. But a place where someone was fully themselves, surrounded by people who saw the good and the messy and stayed anyway.
That is the kind of home I want to build. Not a perfect one, but a gracious one.
So here’s your invitation. Just a few small practices this week. Nothing major. No confetti required.
- Pause before reacting. Ask yourself, “Is what I’m about to say going to move us closer or farther apart?”
- Speak to yourself like someone you care about. Really. Try it.
- Assume your partner’s tired comment was not an intentional jab.
- Let go of one small thing that you’ve been holding too tightly.
- If a moment gets tense, ask to reset.
- Laugh out loud. Even if it’s just at how weird and wonderful family life can be.
Grace isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present.
Our relationships don’t have to be flawless to be meaningful. They just need space. They need a little room to breathe. A little compassion. A lot of grace.
Here’s to the kind of love that grows through the cracks.
Here’s to homes that feel safe, even when life feels uncertain.
Here’s to building our own little Gracelands, one grace-filled day at a time.
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