I Refuse to Treat Marriage as a Status Quo

I think one of the saddest things society ever did was convince people that marriage is a finish line.

Somewhere along the way, love stopped being something sacred and slowly became something performative. Nowadays, marriage became less about finding a soul you can safely unravel beside and more about proving you were chosen. Proving you are desirable, successful, worthy and unrealistically complete.

And maybe that is why so many people are quietly suffering inside relationships they once begged the universe for. I don’t think marriage should ever become the status quo. Not because I hate love. In fact, I think I have loved too deeply to ever speak carelessly about it. I have spent years believing in it. Building my life around the idea that if you loved someone hard enough, patiently enough, selflessly enough, eventually it would lead somewhere permanent.

I was with someone for nine years. That is almost a decade, and nine years is a long, long time.

It is long enough for someone to become stitched into your identity. Long enough for your future to unconsciously shape itself around their existence. Long enough for your memories to stop separating into “mine” and “theirs.” When you spend almost a decade loving someone, you do not just lose a relationship when it ends. You lose familiarity, routine, history and most importantly, a version of yourself that only existed around them.

And I think that experience changed the way I view marriage entirely.

Because when something that lasted that long still falls apart, it forces you to confront uncomfortable questions. Questions nobody prepares you for and questions that sit quietly in your chest at night.

What if love alone is not enough?

I had these questions in my mind unanswered for a really long time. What if commitment does not guarantee permanence? What if being chosen once does not mean being chosen forever?

I think after losing a love that consumed such a huge portion of my life, there were moments where it genuinely felt like the universe was trying to tell me that maybe I was simply not worthy of being loved fully. Not worthy of the kind of love that stays, the kind that chooses you gently and consistently and the kind that does not make you question your value every time someone leaves.

And I know I am not the only person who has felt that way. I think there are so many people walking around carrying quiet heartbreaks that reshaped the way they see themselves. People who gave years of loyalty, softness, patience, effort, only to still end up abandoned, betrayed, or forgotten. People who now struggle to separate rejection from self-worth.

I think about how men must’ve felt, too.

I think society rarely talks about how heartbreak affects men emotionally because they are often taught to suppress grief instead of processing it. A man can spend years loving someone, building his future around her, silently carrying responsibilities and pressure, only for everything to collapse while the world expects him to “man up” and move on quietly. I think there are men who secretly question whether they are lovable too, but hide it behind work, humor, detachment, or silence because vulnerability was never made safe for them.

And then there are women who start believing they must earn love through endless understanding and sacrifice. Women who stay too long because they think loyalty alone can save a relationship. Women who slowly shrink themselves trying to become easier to love.

The similarity? Both end up carrying invisible wounds. And maybe that is exactly why I no longer think marriage should be treated like a societal requirement or a life achievement people unlock by a certain age. Because marriage is not proof that someone loved you correctly.

Some of the loneliest people I have ever seen are married. Some people spend decades together yet never truly feel understood by each other. Some people stay because leaving feels scarier than surviving emotional emptiness. Some stay because they built a life too intertwined to separate. Some stay because society celebrates endurance more than happiness. And somehow we still call it romantic simply because they lasted.

But I think there is a difference between lasting and loving well. I think what people truly crave is not marriage itself. I think people crave emotional safety. To feel chosen even during difficult seasons. To know someone will handle their heart carefully instead of carelessly.

That is the kind of love I believe in now. Not the kind built on pressure, timelines, or fear of loneliness. Or the kind where people marry because everyone around them already did. Even worse, the kind where someone stays simply because they invested too many years to walk away.

I want a love that feels intentional. The kind where two people continue choosing each other long after life stops feeling cinematic. One where love does not have to be begged for, questioned, or proven through suffering.

Because after everything, I think one of the hardest realizations to swallow is this:

You can love someone with your entire heart and still not be loved the way you deserved.

And for a while, that realization made me feel defective. Like maybe I was too much in some ways and not enough in others.

At some point, I found myself asking the universe if I am not meant to be loved, that’s fine. Just stop letting me want it. Take away the part of me that sits up every time someone is gentle with me, like a stray animal that believes the next hand won’t hurt. Because if love keeps passing me by, then do something merciful. Take the wanting out of me. Because hope is not beautiful when it has nowhere to live.

But after sitting down with my thoughts, I think sometimes people leave not because you were unworthy of love, but because they lacked the capacity to hold it properly. And maybe marriage should only happen when two people are emotionally capable of protecting each other’s hearts with maturity, gentleness, honesty, and consistency. Not because society expects it. Not because time is running out. Not because loneliness became unbearable.

But because in a world where love has become so careless, they found something sincere enough to preserve.

Despite everything, I still consider myself someone who is deeply in love with love itself. Not the performative version of it and not the social validation attached to it. But the quiet, sincere kind. The kind that softens you instead of hardening you.

And maybe that is why, despite all the heartbreak, I still cannot bring myself to become cynical. Because somewhere deep down, I still believe there is something beautiful waiting for me someday. A love that feels like peace instead of confusion. A love that stays gently.

And honestly, I cannot wait to welcome that feeling again when it finally finds its way back to me.