06/15/2026
There has been a topic that has been loudly calling my attention lately: Frog Farming.
In Alison Armstrong's book The Queen's Code, she describes frog farming as the unconscious habit of bringing out the worst in someone while believing we're merely reacting to who they are. She describes it as taking a prince and, through certain patterns of interpretation and interaction, turning him into a frog (though frog farming can happen in any relationship-not just romantic ones).
Over the past week in the Garden Center, several men have joked with me expressing variations of the same sentiment about not trusting themselves to make a correct decision and anything they do will be wrong according to their wives. They make these comments in jest but it actually made me sad and reflect upon my own relationship and how I've potentially been frog farming my prince.
I've spent much of my life being fiercely independent. If something needed to be done, I did it. If there was a problem, I solved it. If I needed help, I usually figured it out myself. For years, I wore that independence like a badge of honor and in many ways, it served me well. But lately I've noticing that that same strength has also come with a cost...
When someone repeatedly says, "I've got it," and rarely asks for help eventually others stop offering and as I've reflected on my marriage, I've realized there may have been times when my independence unintentionally drowned out opportunities for my husband to show up in ways that might have left him feeling capable and valuable. I truly believe most good men want to contribute, they want to help, they want to protect, provide, solve problems, and feel useful to the people they love. And perhaps many good women want that too, while simultaneously making it difficult for anyone to help because they've become so accustomed to carrying everything themselves.
In this season of my life, I've found myself craving more masculine energy in our relationship (more holding, more help, more decision making) while also recognizing some of the ways I've unintentionally suppressed it throughout the years. Not necessarily with criticism or control, but with competence.