I’ve thought about how to explain this for a long time. Honestly, I don’t think there’s a soft way to say it.

I’m not scared of marriage.
I’m scared of marrying the wrong person.

That fear didn’t come from nowhere. It came from watching, listening, and growing up. It came from seeing women around me do everything “right” and still end up overwhelmed, unhappy, or stuck. It came from realizing that the life we were promised through marriage doesn’t always match the reality women actually live.

And once you see that, you can’t unsee it.

Growing up, marriage was presented as the ultimate goal. You go to school, you behave, you don’t “waste time,” and eventually you marry. After that, everything else is supposed to fall into place. Respect. Stability. Family. A future.

But somewhere along the way, I noticed that marriage doesn’t automatically create those things anymore — especially for women.

I’ve watched marriages where love slowly turned into survival. Where financial pressure exposed cracks no one wanted to talk about. Where women quietly became the emotional backbone, the financial support, the planner, the peacemaker, the everything. And still, they were told to be grateful because at least they had a husband.

That’s when I started asking myself uncomfortable questions.

If marriage means carrying more weight than I can handle, why am I rushing toward it?

Motherhood, strangely enough, feels more honest to me.

Not easier — just clearer.

No one pretends motherhood is simple. You know it will demand your time, your energy, your body, your money, and your heart. There are no romantic lies attached to it. You don’t enter motherhood expecting someone else to magically fix things for you.

You prepare. Or at least, you try to.

And I like that honesty.

If I decide to become a mother, I know what I need to do. I can save. I can plan. I can build a support system. I can choose the timing carefully. I can take responsibility for that decision fully.

Marriage asks you to trust that another person will grow with you. They will support you. They will show up consistently — even when life gets hard. That’s not guaranteed. And pretending it is doesn’t make it true.

The pressure to marry hasn’t disappeared, by the way. If anything, it gets louder with time.

People ask questions they think are harmless.

• Don’t you want a home?
• Who will you grow old with?
• You’re getting older you know?
• A child needs a father?

At first, I tried to explain myself. Now, I don’t bother.

Most people asking these questions won’t be there when things fall apart. They won’t help you raise a child. They won’t cover your bills. They won’t sit with you in silence when you’re lonely inside a marriage that looks perfect from the outside.

So I’ve learned to keep my choices private.

Another truth we don’t say out loud enough: settling is expensive.

I’ve seen women marry because time was running out. Because family pressure became too much. Because being single felt like failure. And I’ve seen the cost of that decision — emotionally, mentally, financially.

Confidence fades when you’re constantly compromising.
Dreams shrink when you’re expected to stay small.
Your voice softens when peace is valued more than honesty.

Watching this taught me that being married is not the same thing as being supported.

This is also why conversations around co-parenting are no longer shocking to me. They’re not reckless. They’re practical.

Some women aren’t rejecting men — they’re rejecting confusion. They want clarity. Responsibility. Presence. Not promises that disappear when things get hard.

It’s not romantic, but it’s real.

Exposure has changed everything for our generation. We know more now. We know about fertility. We know about options. We know women who are raising children on their own and doing it well. We know that delaying marriage doesn’t mean putting life on pause.

That knowledge gives you courage.

And despite what people assume, this isn’t about rejecting family. I want a family. I want love. I want companionship. I want a home that feels safe and warm.

I just don’t want those things at the cost of my peace.

Marriage should add to my life, not drain it. It should feel like partnership, not endurance. Until that relationship exists, I’m okay with waiting.

What I’m truly afraid of isn’t being single.

It’s being trapped,

1. Trapped in expectations I didn’t choose.
2. Trapped in roles that erase me.
3. Trapped in silence disguised as stability.

So yes, I’m delaying marriage. But I’m not delaying life. I’m not delaying purpose. And I’m not delaying motherhood out of fear.

If anything, I’m choosing carefully.

This isn’t rebellion. It’s awareness.
It’s not bitterness. It’s honesty.
And it’s happening quietly — one woman at a time.