In fifth or sixth grade, a bunch of kids in my class played “pretend weddings” on the playground. One of the boys wanted to “marry” me, and if my memory serves me correctly, though I did have a crush on this boy, I declined the “proposal.” Maybe I was onto something.
Let’s skip ahead some decades. My husband and I have the kind of relationship most people hope for: good communication, shared responsibilities and real joy in each other’s company. But despite how well we seem to fit together, I can’t escape this unsettling thought: What if marriage, as a concept, just isn’t for me?
It’s not about my husband; we are best friends who love and support one another. It’s more about this societal framework that, despite its intentions, can feel confining and, at times, overwhelming. Things like “settling down” by a certain age, the idea that marriage is a crucial milestone to personal fulfilment or success, and the notion that marriage “completes” a person. I find myself questioning whether the traditional structure of marriage aligns with who I am and what I truly want out of life, although it’s apparent that I’m still struggling with that, too.
Here’s the kicker: I have been married for 12 years, so it’s not like I’m experiencing a rare case of delayed cold feet. And frankly, I intend to remain married. This is more like a “Who am I and what am I doing here?” existential crisis. And more than ever before, I think about why I got married in the first place or followed this path in life, just because I was “supposed to.”
It could easily be a midlife spell that has this marriage question banging around in my brain lately. It’s certainly not a sudden light bulb moment, as this thought has often crossed my mind. But one day turns into the next, and the fact that I am married doesn’t much factor into what to make for dinner or upcoming weekend plans. And then the thought pops up again. Oh, right. I’m married. Weird. Why?
Growing up, especially as a girl, getting married seemed to be one of those things expected of me. I didn’t question it much and figured one day I’d be married — it was just a matter of when. Well, “when” came at age 36, when I married my now-husband after five-plus years of dating. I’m approaching 50, so we’ve been together for a while now. Plenty of time for me to have grown comfortable with being a “Mrs.”
Like nearly everyone, I want to be loved. To me, that means caring and commitment. And in our society, commitment and marriage go hand in hand. I knew I didn’t have to be married to be happy, but I longed for the feeling that someone else couldn’t be without me. That was how I’d felt most of my life — a desire to be desired. And with my family and friends (and, essentially, most people I saw in real life, on TV or otherwise) going with the “get married” flow, I didn’t think taking a different track would be embraced.
So, there I was one day, happily accepting a proposal in our New York City studio apartment and preparing to plan a wedding. I felt a sense of relief and sort of pride announcing the engagement, showing off the ring and the whole bit.
Part of me was waiting for this time of my life, wondering when I’d be engaged and married. Another part of me couldn’t really care less. I didn’t intend to start a family in the traditional sense, and in this case, I was actually joining one; my husband has children (now adults) from his first marriage.
The wedding came and went. Tons of preparation, and one evening that went by in a flash. Was it nice? It was. Would I have instead spent the time and money on something else? Definitely. I reflect back on being more stressed than joyful during that time. There was too much pressure to achieve perfection. Too many opinions and obligations to juggle. Eloping would have been ideal, but dealing with the wrath of inevitable disappointment from family wasn’t worth the alone time.
“Growing up, especially as a girl, getting married seemed to be one of those things expected of me.”
The funny thing is, I love watching weddings on TV and in movies, and I am thrilled to hear about someone I know (or even some celebrity) getting hitched. As a little girl, I remember repeatedly flipping through my parent’s beautiful wedding album pages. I was just mesmerised by the whole fairy tale of it all. Maybe that’s what it is: a fairy tale that we’ve been fooled into falling for. From the perfect proposal to the oft-expressed validation that we have solidified our place in society, marriage can make everything else we’ve done seem underwhelming.
I am married. And things are going fine. Naturally, we have our ups and downs like any other couple, but we make a real effort to be kind and considerate of one another and continue to make plans together for the future. Yet, I have never felt particularly special because I am a married person. It isn’t lost on me, however, that I’ve never had to fight for my freedom to marry, and I don’t take that for granted. Not all folks are so eager for their family members to marry if they disapprove of their values or partner, for whatever reason.
Since I have not always felt entirely comfortable with the traditional expectations of marriage, I’ve found ways to navigate it that feel authentic to me. I believe my husband feels and does similarly. We’ve learned to prioritise our needs and desires while valuing the importance of partnership and compromise. We do things our way because that’s what works for us.
I suppose we all question our life choices, whether they’re career- or relationship-based, or anything else we could have done differently. With marriage being one of the biggies, it only makes sense to check in every now and then to see if we’re still all in, if we need something different or if we have regrets.
For me, marriage has been an adventure of self-discovery and growth. I appreciate the love and companionship I’ve gained in my relationship and am excited to see what the future holds. Maybe I’ll learn I am better off being married than single in the long run after all. But then again, perhaps the real lesson is in learning that the answer — whether marriage or solitude — matters far less than the journey itself.