I am sixty-five now, and this is the story of my life since the day I got married.
I married at twenty-three. Not because I was pregnant or forced by circumstance, but because, back then, we believed marriage was a solemn commitmentsomething you didnt just try out. We both worked; in the rush of everyday life, we barely knew each other, but thought the rest would come with time.
Those first years were anything but smooth. We learnedsometimes painfullyto live together, teetering on the edge of disagreements. Managing the house, money, habits; nothing came easily. There were arguments, extended silences, and days thick with tension. No violence, no infidelitybut differences so stark that many couples today wouldnt endure them for a year. I wasnt always sure I could bear it myself.
When our first child arrived, I realised marriage was more than love. It was responsibility, exhaustion, losing pieces of yourself. He worked long hours, and most of the housework fell on me. Sometimes I felt invisible. Sometimes simply worn out. Whenever I thought of leaving, I imagined the impacton me, but especially on our children. A broken home wasnt just my story.
We weathered hard economic times. There were months when we barely scraped by. I gave more than I thought possible. He had his faultshis temper, his silence. There were mistakes, words that stung, moments we wounded each other. And yes, I forgaveagain and again, not from weakness but because I chose to build with what we had, not with some ideal.
We welcomed more children. Raising them wasnt easy. Arguments about parenting, money, relatives, fatigue. Yet there was also steadinessa table always set with food, diplomas earned, illnesses conquered, birthdays celebrated. Nothing perfect, but ever resilient.
Now, I hear young people say you shouldnt cling to anything, that at the first sign of trouble you should walk away. I understandthe times have changed. But I also believe had I left at the first quarrel, disappointment, or tiredness, I wouldnt be here today to tell this story.
I didnt stay out of fear. I stayed because I believed in honouring commitment, even when its uncomfortable. I dont romanticise suffering, but I acknowledge that honest, repeated forgiveness is what held this marriage together for decades.
When the children moved out, quiet settled in. We quarrel less now, but were not some fairytale couple. We are two people who have shared a life, who know each other painfully well, who have seen the worst and still chose to stay.
Was I happy all the time? No.
Did I make mistakes? Plenty.
Do I regret forgiving so much? I do not.
