I am now 65 years old, and this is my story since the day I married.
I got married at 23. Not because I was pregnant or under pressure, but because, back then, we believed in marriage as a lasting commitmentnot something you simply give a try to see how it goes. We both worked, and although we barely knew each other in the day-to-day, we assumed the rest would come with time.
Those first years were tough. We had to learn how to live together, always teetering on differenceshow to run the house, about money, habits. There were arguments, long silences, tense days. There was no violence or infidelity, but there were differences that, today, many couples wouldnt tolerate even for a year. I myself often doubted if I could take it.
When our first child was born, I realised marriage was more than just love. It demanded responsibility, exhaustion, and sacrifice. He worked long hours and most of the household fell to me. Sometimes I felt invisible; sometimes just drained. Yet, whenever I considered leaving, I thought about what it meant to break up a homenot just for me, but for our children.
We went through hard financial times. There were months when we could barely make ends meet. I gave more than I thought possible. He had his bad days, his moods, his silence. There were mistakes made, harsh words said, moments when we both felt hurt. And yesI forgave many, many times. Not because I was weak, but because I chose to remain and build with what I had, not with some perfect fantasy.
We had more children. Raising them wasnt easy. We argued about upbringing, about money, about family, about fatigue. But there was also stabilitya table always set with food, the kids finishing school, illnesses conquered, birthday parties celebrated. Nothing perfect, but solid.
Now, I hear so many young people saying theres no need to hold onto anything, that you should leave at the first sign of trouble. I get ittimes have changed. But I also think that, had I left after the first argument, disappointment, or exhaustion, I wouldnt be here sharing this story.
I didnt stay out of fear. I stayed because I believed commitment matters, even when its uncomfortable. I dont romanticise suffering, but I wont deny that patience and conscious forgiveness are what kept this marriage going for decades.
When the children left home, a quietness settled in. We argue less now, but we arent one of those couples you see in films. We are two people who have shared a life, who know each other deeply, who have seen each other at our worst and still chose to stay.
Was I happy all the time? No.
Did I make mistakes? Far too many.
Do I regret forgiving? Not at all.
