I’ve learned so much over the last couple years of helping parents with their emotional health. One of which is: unless a marriage is growing more emotionally skilled, their efforts to include their children are limited. So I’ve created a brand new course! The Emotionally Skilled Marriage is an 8-week course with Seth (Lauren is also helping) to master emotional skills and create a thriving family culture. First, we will use the identity map to evaluate the source of our emotions and shape them to be more godly and less self-ish. Second, we will move into Dr. John Gottman’s proven strategies to create a new culture in our marriages. You’ll get live sessions, practical tools, and real-time growth to transform your relationship. Why Act Now? Your marriage shapes your family’s future. Stop wishing—start building love, trust, and connection today! Details: • Starts: October 27th • Live: Mondays, 6:00-8:00pm CDT • Spots Limited! Sign Up Here Today and spark a ripple effect of true connection in your home!

If I were the devil or a nefarious entity aiming to dismantle families subtly over time, using their emotions as the primary tool, I’d approach it with a slow, insidious strategy—exploiting natural human vulnerabilities and amplifying them until the bonds erode. Here’s how I might do it: First, I’d sow seeds of resentment by nudging each family member toward self-focus. Whisper doubts into their minds—make the parents feel unappreciated, like their sacrifices go unnoticed. For the kids, I’d stoke entitlement, a sense that they deserve more than they’re getting, whether it’s attention, freedom, or stuff. I’d use everyday frustrations: a forgotten “thank you,” a messy room, a late dinner. Small things, but I’d magnify them emotionally. Over time, they’d start keeping score—who’s giving more, who’s getting less—until love feels transactional. Next, I’d weaponize guilt and shame. For the parents, I’d plant the idea that they’re failing—too strict, too lenient, not present enough. I’d make them question every decision until they’re paralyzed, retreating into themselves instead of connecting. For the kids, I’d twist their mistakes into proof they’re unworthy—unloved, misunderstood. I’d keep them all too ashamed to talk openly, locking their real feelings behind walls of pride or fear. Then, I’d lean on envy and comparison. I’d nudge them to look at other families—real or curated online—and feel inadequate. The parents might envy a neighbor’s “perfect” marriage or a friend’s “successful” kids. The kids might covet their peers’ freedom or gadgets. I’d let that fester into bitterness: “Why don’t we have that?” “Why aren’t you like them?” Connection erodes when you’re too busy wishing you were someone else. I’d exploit exhaustion, too—emotional and physical. Push the parents to overwork, overcommit, until they’re too drained to engage. For the kids, I’d drown them in distractions—screens, drama, noise—so they never sit still long enough to feel the family’s pulse. I’d make silence uncomfortable, so they avoid the deep talks that build real bonds.