Accepting Help from My Husband: How I love to teach you.

The other day, I found myself thinking back to a moment from when my husband and I were engaged, cooking dinner together at his parents’ house. That day, I was feeling particularly insecure. It was one of those days where I couldn’t seem to do anything right. All my efforts and words seemed to fall short in every aspect of life. By the time we got to dinner, I was burned out and struggling to be someone enjoyable to be around for date night.

The stove at my in-laws’ house is old. It functions fine, but some of the knobs need a little love to get them to work. In particular, the front burner, which has two settings for a smaller and larger pan in one, needs a few turns to use the larger outer ring. My husband (then fiancé) had shown me several times how to get it to work, but I could never quite manage it. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out.

Most of the time, when I was cooking just for myself, I got by with the smaller burner. But that day, I realized I needed the big burner. And instead of just asking for help, I panicked.

It’s such a little thing, and it sounds so silly looking back now, but at the time, I felt so embarrassed. I didn’t want to admit that I still couldn’t figure out something he’d shown me multiple times. I didn’t want to feel needy or helpless. So, instead, I decided to use the small burner and just cook slower.

Slower turned out to be really slow. My stomach started rumbling as I waited, and my fiancé peeked into the kitchen to check on me.

“Do you have the large burner on?” he asked, noticing the food wasn’t cooking as quickly as it should.

“Yes,” I snapped back. “It’s almost done. You just need to be patient.”

Once the food was finally ready and we sat down to eat, an unexpected moment of sharing happened. We started to talk about the struggles we were each feeling. My frustrations, his anxieties—nothing was off-limits. If there’s one thing I’ve always admired about my husband, it’s that he’s never afraid to “go there.” Even back then, he created space for me to be honest, even when I didn’t feel like I deserved it.

As we talked, I felt my heart softening, and I suddenly remembered the little white lie I’d told about the burner. I tried to brush it off, but I felt the Holy Spirit nudging me to confess. So I did.

“I didn’t actually use the big burner,” I blurted out. “I couldn’t figure it out. I was embarrassed to ask you for help again.”

He was quiet for a moment. He clasped his hands together and looked off to the side. I braced myself, even though I knew deep down he wouldn’t yell at me or get angry. Still, there’s that little part of my heart that struggles to believe I can make mistakes and still be treated with kindness.

Finally, he took a breath, turned to me, and said something I will never forget. “This makes me emotional,” he said softly, his eyes glossy. “Because I wish I could find the words to express to you what a joy it is to teach you. You don’t need to be embarrassed or feel needy. I love when you ask me for help.”

His words completely disarmed me. In that moment, I realized I had let embarrassment keep me from intimacy. I had been so caught up in worrying about what he might think of me if he saw my neediness, I failed to see how much joy it brought him to share his knowledge and care for me.

I apologized for snapping earlier and for hiding my frustration. He smiled, got up, and walked over to the stove. “Here,” he said, gently taking my hand. “Let me show you again.”

And he did. Slowly, patiently, he walked me through the steps to turn the knob and get the larger burner to work. I laughed, realizing how simple it actually was. But the moment wasn’t really about the burner—it was about trust, about love, and about the gift of letting someone in.

Now, years later, as I stand in our own kitchen, those lessons still linger in my heart. When I find myself tempted to hide my struggles or act like I have it all together, I think back to that moment and his words. Love isn’t about being perfect. It’s about showing up honestly, admitting our weaknesses, and inviting each other into our imperfections.

To this day, my husband still loves to teach me, whether it’s how to do something practical or how to see myself the way he sees me: as someone worthy of love, grace, and patience. And now, I try to embrace the gift of asking for help, knowing that vulnerability is where intimacy truly grows.