The Gentle Art of Asking: Favors, Flaws, and the Marriage That Breathes

The Gentle Art of Asking: Favors, Flaws, and the Marriage That Breathes

By Don Elium, MFT:

“He knows I hate it when he leaves dishes in the sink.” “She never puts the keys back in the same place.” “We’ve been over this. A hundred times.”

There comes a point in every marriage where patterns feel carved in stone—those little habits that don’t quite disappear, even after therapy, agreements, and a dozen hopeful recommitments. You want something to change or be easier, and you’ve tried. They’ve tried. But life happens. Energy runs thin. And you find yourself standing at the edge of the same old sink.

So what then? Give up? Blow up? Keep score?

Actually—ask.

Not demand. Not guilt. Please don’t rehearse your closing argument from the bench of righteous frustration.

Could you ask for a favor?

Favors, Not Fixes

In the Gottman framework, we often say that 69% of marital conflict is perpetual. That means it’s not going away. These differences in personality, upbringing, temperament, or neurology don’t get “solved”—they get navigated. And here’s where the art of asking comes in.

A favor isn’t a fix. It’s a request for support that acknowledges both of your limitations.

When one partner says, “Can you try to remember to lock the side door at night? I know it’s not easy for you to remember, but it helps me sleep,” they are inviting care. They are not pretending it’ll become a flawless habit. They ask for love to override wiring and grace to float into imperfection.

Favors work where ultimatums fail because they make room for the truth:
Some habits will never be fully broken. Some needs will never be fully met. But love can stretch.
When You Ask for a Favor, You Say:

“I know you, and I’m not here to change you.”

“This matters to me, even though it might be small.”

“You matter enough to me to ask kindly.”

“We’re on the same team.”

And on the flip side, when you do the favor, even if you forget the next night, you’re not just helping with the keys, dishes, or lights. You’re participating in emotional generosity, a key trait in high-functioning couples

How to Ask in Gottman Style:

Soften the Startup.

Instead of: “Why do you always leave the side door unlocked?”
Try: “Hey love, I know the side door’s tricky to remember sometimes… would you mind helping me feel safer by double-checking it before bed?”
Accept Influence.

If your partner responds, “Sure, and maybe you could help me remember in case I forget?” — say yes. Marriage thrives when partners let each other’s needs shape their behavior.
Honor the Effort, Not Just the Outcome.

• Did they remember three nights in a row? Celebrate that. 
• Did they forget the fourth? Don’t erase the first three. Reinforce progress, not perfection.

Make Peace with the Repeat.
Sometimes, you will need to ask again. This is not failure. It’s maintenance. A good marriage isn’t a contract you sign once—it’s a conversation you keep choosing to have.

Use Gentle Humor If That’s Your Language.
“I’ll trade you one locked side door for two lights off in the guest bathroom.”
A little levity can disarm defensiveness, but only if both people feel safe.

What If They Say No?

Then you listen. A favor is not owed. And sometimes your partner doesn’t have it in them that day. The key is to let the “no” be part of the relationship—not the end of the goodwill.

You can always revisit it later with curiosity: “Hey, I noticed you said no the other day. Is that something that feels hard for you right now?”

Final Thought

You don’t need a flawless partner. You need a willing one.

And they don’t need a flawless you. They need someone who can ask gently, not because they’re weak, but because they believe in a connection stronger than resentment.

The Gottmans call these moments “bids for connection.” A favor asked softly becomes a bid. And in healthy couples, these bids aren’t just received—they’re honored. Even when the sink still has dishes. Even when the side door gets missed.

Because the marriage that breathes is not the one that perfects—it’s the one that keeps reaching, gently, through the cracks.