I don’t want to get married—I don’t need extra complications at my age.
I’m 56 years old and have been living with a man I love for two years now. However, he repeatedly brings up the question, “Why don’t we get married?” I find myself growing increasingly uneasy, not just because I don’t want to, but because I’m afraid. At this stage in life, after weathering many storms, one doesn’t dream of weddings as magical events. We seek stability, warmth, and simplicity. Marriage implies responsibility, bureaucracy, property rights, the displeasure of grown children, and endless “what ifs.” I’m exhausted by those “what ifs.”
His name is Alex. He’s five years older than me. We met by chance at a wellness retreat where I went to recuperate after a severe illness. Initially, everything was light and fun: long walks, late-night conversations, short trips to nearby towns, and shared humor. Then real life began. He moved into my three-bedroom flat, which I inherited from my parents. My son is grown and working in London, while my daughter is a student living with me. Alex is also divorced with two daughters from his first marriage, both of whom are in school and living with their mother.
We share our lives, handle household duties together, and take trips to the countryside, all while maintaining our financial independence. He has his pension and car, while I have my flat, a plot outside the city, savings, and a car purchased with my income. Alex supports his daughters, sometimes more than necessary, and I also assist my daughter, although I encourage her independence.
Our lives are well-organized. We avoid arguments and give each other space. But Alex wants the official mark of marriage, and I don’t.
It’s not a lack of love for him, but because I’ve been married before. It ended painfully with arguments, division of property, courtroom dramas, and humiliation. My ex-husband tried to take my flat, which I had saved for years, under the guise of being wronged. It took me years to trust again.
Now Alex asks, “Why won’t you be my wife?” He doesn’t understand, and I struggle to explain without hurting his feelings.
I don’t want my home, my efforts, and my life to be at risk of division if our personalities clash. We’re not children anymore. We won’t be having children together or building a new life from scratch. Everything is already in place. Why disrupt it?
Moreover, my children never voiced objections to Alex, but I notice my daughter keeps a polite distance from him, and my son doesn’t comment on him at all. I’m certain that if we marry, questions will arise: “Does he now have claims on the flat?” “Will mom change her will for him?” My children already face enough challenges. I’d like to eventually sell the flat, buy a cozy single-bedroom place for myself, and give the remaining money to my children, so they can secure a mortgage or rent decent housing. Marriage would complicate everything, turning it into joint property.
I don’t want more paperwork or legal battles if things go awry. I just want to live with the man I love, assured he is with me not for residency, not for my flat, and not from a fear of loneliness.
Recently, Alex has been acting differently—withdrawn, often accusing me of not loving him. He’s become touchy, sarcastic, and claims I approach things “with calculation.” Hearing this hurts, because I’m with him out of love and a desire to be together. I just don’t want to marry.
We’re not starry-eyed twenty-year-olds believing a marriage certificate changes anything. It doesn’t. It only adds complexities. At our age, love is not about weddings, rings, or surnames. It’s the supportive hand in tough times, the person beside you quietly watching TV in the evening, bringing you peace of mind.
Yet Alex thinks without a marriage license, I’m not serious. I wonder if true maturity is about loving without contracts and obligations.
I’m unsure where our story will lead. Maybe he’ll leave, feeling hurt, or perhaps he’ll understand. But I refuse to budge from my stance. I’ve lived too much to lose myself in a relationship again. I crave quiet, respect, and inner peace, not disputes, property splits, or a formal “husband.”
I don’t need a status—I need a person. If he can’t see that, maybe he isn’t the right one for me after all.
