I am now 65 years old, and this is the story of my life since I got married.
I married at the age of 23. Not because I had to, or for any particular urgency, but simply because, back then, we believed marriage was a serious promise, not something to dabble with just to see how it goes. Both of us were working, and although we hardly knew each other in the hustle of daily life, we thought wed figure it out as we went along.
The early years werent easy. We learned to share a life teetering on the edge of disagreements about keeping the house, about money, about habits. There were arguments, long silences, days full of tension. There was no violence or cheating, but there were differences that many couples today wouldn’t tolerate for more than a year. To be honest, I wasnt sure if Id endure either.
When our first child was born, I realised marriage isnt just about love. Its about responsibility, exhaustion, giving up parts of yourself. He worked long hours and most of the household chores fell to me. At times I felt invisible. Sometimes just drained. Yet every time I thought about leaving, I pictured what it meant to break up a familynot only for myself, but for our children.
We went through some hard financial times. There were months when we barely scraped through, counting pounds to make ends meet. I gave more than I thought possible. He had his flaws, his stubborn temper and his silent spells. There were mistakes, words that hurt, moments when we wounded each other. Yet I forgave, again and again. Not out of weakness, but because I chose to stay and build with what we had, not with some ideal.
We had more children. Raising them was no easy feat. We argued about discipline, money, family members, and fatigue. But there was also soliditya table with food on it, exam certificates, illnesses overcome, birthday parties celebrated. Nothing perfect, but we persevered.
Nowadays, I hear young people saying theres no reason to hold onto anything, that you should leave at the first sign of trouble. I understandthey live in a different world. But I think, if I had walked away at the first argument, the first disappointment, or the first bout of tiredness, I wouldnt be here today to recount this story.
I didnt stay out of fear. I stayed because I believed that commitment matters even when its uncomfortable. I dont romanticise hardship, but I wont deny that continual, conscious forgiveness is what has kept our marriage together all these years.
When the kids moved out, a quietness descended. We dont argue as much now, but were not a couple from the movies either. We are two people who have lived a shared life, who know each other to the core, whove seen one another at their worstand still chose to stay.
Was I happy the whole time? No.
Did I make mistakes? Plenty.
Do I regret forgiving? Not at all.
