We all grew up listening to and reading fairy tales that have happy endings, like a wedding. But for some reason, they don’t often talk about what happens after the wedding, so we are left thinking that people are incredibly happy. However, not everyone manages to become truly happy in a marriage, so some people choose to be alone.
We at Viral Inspiral think that there are a lot of women with a similar story like the one from this article. So, most of our female readers could find her thoughts very familiar.
My name is Elena, I’m 34 years old, I have a small daughter, and I am divorced. Not because my husband left me, but because I chose to get divorced.
My mother always told me, “Every girl should get married at least once.” I believed it because my mother is married and she has me.
The people that surrounded me believed that a married woman equals a successful woman: she has the most important thing a woman needs: a husband. The women who were not married were called by this embarrassing moniker “single mother.” Implying that she couldn’t even stay married, and that she has a child outside of marriage. In a way, it was humiliating.
The attitude toward women who were married and for some reason were left alone with a child was a little bit better. People felt sorry for these women, because nobody gets divorced when they are happy.
When I was a teenager, I already felt that something was off about this: I didn’t sense any infinite love or happiness between my parents. It’s hard to deceive a child. I could see that they lived together out of a habit. Just like relatives, like very close people, but not like people who passionately love each other.
I did get married when I was almost 30 years old. My husband was a good person. However, I didn’t get the satisfaction I expected from getting married, even though I had completed “the most important task in every woman’s life.” I just had this feeling that I had made a wrong turn.
It was so torturing. And for several months after the wedding, I had depression. I didn’t realize it at the time, but now I know that was definitely it: nothing made me happy, my regular good mood was always just plain bad, and I didn’t care what I looked like. I just wanted to cry all the time or lie on the bed and stare at the wall. It’s strange, right? I did what I was supposed to, didn’t I?