I’m not looking to get married—I don’t need extra complications
I’m 56 years old and have been living with a man I love for the past two years, and things are peaceful between us. However, he frequently brings up the question, “Why don’t we get married?” The thought of marriage makes me uneasy, even though I don’t just not want it; I fear it. At this stage of life, having weathered many storms, the dream of a wedding as a magical event fades. What I desire is simplicity, warmth, and stability. Marriage introduces responsibility, bureaucratic hassles, property rights, potential disapproval from adult children, and endless “what ifs”. I’m exhausted by those “what ifs”.
My partner’s name is Alex, and he is five years older than me. We met by chance at a wellness retreat, where I went to recover after an illness. Initially, everything was lighthearted: long walks, late-night discussions, trips to nearby towns, and sharing a sense of humor. Then reality set in. He moved into my three-bedroom flat, which I inherited from my parents. My son is an adult and works in London, while my daughter is a student living with me. Alex is also divorced, with two daughters from his first marriage who live with their mother.
We share our lives, handle daily responsibilities together, spend time in the countryside, yet each of us maintains our own financial independence. He has his own pension and car. I have my flat, a plot of land in Essex, savings, and a car bought with my own money. Alex supports his daughters, sometimes excessively, while I also support my daughter while encouraging her independence.
Everything works well for us. We don’t argue or have clashes. We maintain our personal space. Yet, Alex wants a marriage certificate. I don’t.
It’s not that I don’t love him. Having been married once before, I endured a messy breakup filled with arguments, property disputes, court proceedings, and humiliation. My ex-husband tried to take the flat I had saved for years to purchase, pretending to be the victim. It took years for me to learn to trust again.
Now Alex asks, “Why won’t you be my wife?” He doesn’t understand, and I struggle to explain without hurting him.
I worry about the potential division of my home, my hard work, and my life’s savings if things don’t work out. We’re not in our twenties; we won’t start a new life together. Everything is already established. Why dismantle and rebuild?
Then there are my children. They’ve never spoken against Alex, but I notice my daughter keeps her distance, though she’s polite, and my son doesn’t comment at all. I’m convinced marriage would spark concerns. “What if he claims rights to the flat?” “What if Mum decides to transfer something to him?” Life’s challenging enough for them as it is. I hope to sell the flat eventually, buy myself a cozy one-bedroom place, and give the remaining money to my children. It could help them get a mortgage or rent a decent home. Marriage would complicate this, turning it into joint assets.
I don’t want a pile of paperwork or future court battles if things go wrong. I simply want to live blissfully with my beloved, knowing he’s not with me for my address, my flat, or out of fear of being alone.
Lately, Alex has changed. He becomes withdrawn, accuses me of not loving him, and often acts hurt and sarcastic. He suggests I’m with him out of calculation. It’s painful to hear this because I’m with him out of love and the desire to be together. I just don’t want marriage.
We’re not starry-eyed twenty-year-olds who believe paperwork changes everything. It doesn’t. It only adds complications. Love at our age is not about weddings, rings, or last names. It’s the hand you hold in tough times and the presence beside you watching TV in silence, feeling at peace knowing they’re there.
Yet, Alex seems to think I’m not serious without a formal commitment. Increasingly, I wonder if true maturity means loving without contracts and obligations.
I don’t know how our story will end. He might leave, feeling hurt, or maybe he’ll understand. But I won’t change my stance. I’ve lived too much to lose myself in another relationship. I seek tranquility, respect, and inner peace, not disputes, property division, and a formal “husband.”
I don’t need a status—I need a person. If he doesn’t get that, perhaps he isn’t the one I’ve been waiting for.
