why I might never get married

(And why that’s not a tragedy)

There’s something about being a single woman in her late twenties, back in her hometown, that seems to trip an invisible alarm. Suddenly, everyone—from your friend’s mom to the woman doing your nails—wants to know if you’re dating anyone and if marriage is “on the horizon.” At first, it seems like harmless small talk. But by the fourth or fifth time, I start to wonder…

Is that really the most interesting thing about my life right now?

I sure hope not.

Now, I know it usually comes from a good place. People just want to see you happy. But I can’t help but bristle at the quiet pressure behind the question. And worse, the look I get when I say, “I’m not sure I’ll ever get married.” The pause. The pity. The eyes that say “oh no… she’s lost hope.”

I don’t usually explain myself, because honestly, I don’t feel the need to. But since the question’s come up more than a few times lately, I figured I’d answer it here (And maybe I’ll send this to my nail lady while I’m at it. 😉)

What I Mean When I Say I’m Not Sure I’ll Ever Get Married

Marriage, to me, has never been the goal. It’s not that I’m against it. If it’s part of my path, beautiful. But chasing marriage just to arrive at a milestone? That feels like the wrong finish line.

If I simply wanted to be married, I could be. I’ve had opportunities. But saying yes to something that doesn’t feel aligned? That would be a disservice to both me and the other person.

I’m immensely grateful for each of these relationships. I was loved well, grew, healed, and am better for having known and loved them. They helped shape the clarity I now have and helped me realize what I’m actually seeking.

Because what I’m really interested in is divine partnership.

What exactly does that mean?

To me, it means a deeply connected, aligned relationship where both people are committed to growth, presence, and purpose. It’s not about romance, it’s about evolution.

What divine partnership looks like in practice:

• Mutual respect and admiration: You see each other clearly, hold space for each other’s light and shadows—without trying to fix or control.

• Emotional and energetic alignment: You feel safe with each other. Calm, even when things are messy.

• Growth over comfort: You challenge each other to rise, not by applying pressure, but through inspiration.

• Shared emotional responsibility: You don’t outsource your healing to each other. You hold space, but you also take ownership of your own triggers, needs, and growth.

• Purposeful love: The relationship feels like it’s part of something bigger. There’s shared meaning, not just shared time.

• Unshakable honesty: You communicate openly and directly, especially when it’s hard. And you do so with kindness and clarity.

• Freedom within commitment: You support each other’s independence and individuality—there’s space to be fully yourself without fear of abandonment or resentment.

• Sacred reciprocity: Giving and receiving in equal rhythm. Not scorekeeping—just presence.

• Discovery over assumption: You stay deeply curious about one another. It’s not about checking boxes or memorizing facts; it’s about continually uncovering, noticing, and witnessing who the other person is becoming.

• Joy as a spiritual practice: Laughter, play, delight—these aren’t bonuses. They’re part of the bond. Your relationship is a source of lightness as much as it is depth.

For this kind of connection to exist, both people have to believe in it. You have to believe in soulmates— not necessarily in a fairytale sense, but in the idea that two people can meet, truly see each other, and choose to build something sacred together.

A divine partnership should feel like coming home to yourself but in someone else’s presence. Like being grounded and lifted at the same time.

This, to me, is the highest standard of love. It’s rare.

And it’s worth holding out for. Worth never settling for.

If it takes fifty years, so be it.

I’m not waiting, I’m living. Fully, joyfully, on purpose.

My singleness is not an in-between. It’s not a waiting room. It’s a garden. A choice.

I’m single because I’m selective. Because I know what my peace is worth. Because my life is already rich—with purpose, with creativity, with deep friendships and unshakable joy.

I’m not writing this to justify my life. I’m proud of it. I just want to offer a different narrative—one we don’t hear often enough. One where fulfillment isn’t tied to a wedding date. One where it's okay to strive for something other than what society tells you to.

I’m not rejecting marriage. I’m rejecting the idea that life begins only when someone chooses you. Life begins when you choose it. When you build something so rooted, so rich, so wildly alive, that only the truest kind of love could ever keep up.

walk boldly,

Caroline