When Togetherness Exists Only in Words
Have you ever felt like you are married, yet you don’t truly have a partner?
There is a ring on your finger, a status in front of others, but deep inside… it still feels like you’re alone.
I feel it almost every day.
I stand on my own. I strengthen myself.
I earn money to meet my own needs.
Even for something as simple as feeling cared for, I find it more often from my own family, not from the person I call my partner.
At first, I tried to calm myself down.
“Maybe this is just a phase.”
“Maybe I’m being too sensitive.”
I kept trying to find the brighter side of this marriage. But the more I tried, the more the shadows appeared. From my partner’s behavior to his family’s treatment. It’s like searching for light at the end of a tunnel, only to find darker shadows waiting.
I once thought: isn’t marriage supposed to make life feel lighter?
But in reality, I feel more exhausted in this marriage than when I was living on my own.
There are times I want to walk alone, but it feels wrong.
There are times I want to walk together, but the path never seems to exist.
Conflict after conflict arises, until I question myself: Is this normal? Do all couples go through this?
I don’t have the answer. I’ve never been married before; I don’t know what marriage is supposed to look like. But one thing I know for sure: the marriage I’m in feels far different from what I see in others.
I know we shouldn’t compare our lives to others.
But what if what I see here is the absence of a true partner?
What if this isn’t just about differences, but about losing direction altogether?
I’m not someone with deep religious knowledge.
But at the very least, I know that a wife is meant to be honored. She is meant to be seen, to be valued. Yet in this household, I don’t feel any of that. I don’t feel respected.
Sometimes, regret doesn’t come at the beginning.
It arrives once you’re already inside the decision.
Just like me, now.
In April 2023, I had just ended a relationship with someone who had been by my side for nearly five years. I never imagined it would end so abruptly. The heartbreak was unbearable, yet from that pain, I learned something: I must never love someone else more than I love myself.
After that chapter closed, I chose to step away from anything that reminded me of him. I wanted to heal. I started searching for the things I truly enjoyed. I learned to embrace solitude, to be grateful for the little things, and slowly, I began to feel whole again.
Five months later, in September, I felt stronger. I opened my heart to someone who appeared unexpectedly. He wasn’t a stranger. I had known him since high school, though back then, only from afar. Time passed, and at 24, he reappeared through social media. We started talking, exchanging stories. I felt comfortable with him, though I remained cautious. I had promised myself: I would never love someone excessively again.
Two weeks after we began speaking intensely, he confessed his feelings. By then, I was already at a stage where I wanted something serious. No more playing around. His decision was clear: he wanted to marry me.
Yes, marriage.
A huge decision I made far too quickly.
My thoughts were simple at the time: whoever I married, it would always be about adapting. Everyone has strengths and flaws. With time, I would get used to it. As for feelings, I held onto my principle never to love someone too much.
My friends opposed it. They called me reckless. They said marriage isn’t that simple, and they doubted I had truly healed from my past wounds. I was upset. Deep inside, I thought they just didn’t want me to be happy. They couldn’t possibly understand what I felt.
But my family was different. After seeing me broken from the last relationship, they chose to support whatever decision I made. They just wanted to see me stand again.
So, I went ahead.
He was kind, gentle, attentive. He always put me first. From the outside, he appeared responsible. And all of that convinced me.
Early 2024, we got married.
And that’s when reality began to unfold.
All of my judgments were wrong.
All of my friends’ doubts were proven right.
I thought I could endure as long as there was no infidelity or physical violence. But it turns out, wounds in marriage don’t only come from big betrayals.
Being unseen, unprioritized, and uncared for those, too, can become silent ticking bombs.
And without realizing it, I started losing myself all over again.
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