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One day recently I found myself standing in our pantry between the pancake mix and enchilada sauce, telling my husband as I choked back tears, “I just felt embarrassed.” (Or something close to that. You know how I am about details.) But let me backup and explain as most of my normal “pantry conversations” involve either: “Where did I put that?” or “Now what did I come in here for?”

Earlier that day my husband gently and tactfully addressed something I had done that morning. I thought I did a pretty good job hearing him out (not something I always do well) and trying to under...