Letting Go
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In the early ’90s, while my college roommate styled her hair, I shared my dream: “I want to be married and have kids by twenty-five.” I was puffing on a cigarette, thinking about the five years I had left.
Before I even met my first husband, I had my dream wedding planned out. I craved not just the title of ‘bride’ but also ‘wife.’ I envisioned myself caring for someone, stocking the fridge, and baking cookies for him.
When I finally met James at 23, everything fell into place. After a year of dating, the idea of marriage felt natural. With no games involved, we shared the same goals in life.
I excitedly discussed wedding ideas with my sisters, envisioning them in stunning gold dresses and carrying hydrangeas. I was ready to be a bride and couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle with a cascading veil, wine, cheese, and chocolate-covered strawberries at our fall wedding.
I got everything I wanted: the self-made veil, the rustic barn reception, and most importantly, a partner I could trust completely. I thought marriage was the ultimate path to happiness and fulfillment.
However, shortly after tying the knot and while shopping for flowers with a friend, she confessed her desire to escape her unhappy marriage. She looked at my pregnant belly and said, “That will never be you.” I confidently replied, “Never,” believing wholeheartedly that divorce was not in my future.
But after our son was born and I watched a poignant scene in a John Legend video about a couple arguing, I found myself crying. I was overwhelmed, blaming it on our recent move and the stress of motherhood. “That will never be us,” I kept telling myself.
As a child of divorce, I wanted to create a stable, secure environment for my kids. I longed for the comfort I missed as a child, and I believed marriage would provide that.
When we decided to separate after sixteen years, James revealed his unhappiness had persisted for a decade. I still cared for him deeply, much like a sibling, but I realized that a decade of unhappiness was far too long.
I had convinced myself that being married and having children was enough, ignoring the fact that we rarely connected or dated. I thought if I kept up with household chores and baked regularly, we could somehow rewind to when we were in love.
Since I removed my wedding ring, a new understanding has blossomed within me: “I am okay without being married” has transformed into “I never need to marry again.” My past selves would hardly recognize the woman I am today.
This doesn’t stem from a desire to be alone forever; I appreciate having a partner to share life’s joys with. I crave connection, passion, and companionship, but I no longer equate marriage with happiness. I once believed that a marriage certificate and changing my last name would bring me fulfillment, yet it didn’t.
I’m content being the sole decision-maker in my life. At forty-seven, I embrace my independence. The experience of raising three children alone and pursuing my career has allowed me to discover and appreciate my own strength.
I don’t need a proposal or written commitment to feel complete. I’d be perfectly happy in a loving relationship without the marriage label. Having experienced marriage, I understand the complexities of untangling my past life, and I’d rather avoid the legal hassles.
If I choose to commit to someone in the future, I would still celebrate that bond without needing to invoke “until death do us part.” Marriage doesn’t prevent loneliness or guarantee happiness.
It’s liberating to release the grip on what I thought would last forever. I find solace in the natural ebb and flow of life, knowing that I don’t need a “Mrs.” in front of my last name to be whole.
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In summary, my journey has taught me that true happiness comes from within, and I no longer feel the need to seek validation through marriage. I cherish my independence and my ability to thrive alone.