“I’m not married” is something I find myself saying far more often than I’d like.
It’s always met with surprise. Because why wouldn’t I be? I have two children, a home with my partner, a life that from the outside probably looks like marital bliss. We tick all the boxes. We just haven’t done the wedding.
And then comes the follow-up. “Hopefully he’ll pop the question soon”, or some variation of that, usually said with a smile, but always carrying the same assumption – that I must be waiting. That, ultimately, I’m hoping to be chosen and that the power lies with him.
And I get it, because if you’d told me that when I was a teenager – or even in my twenties – that I’d be an unmarried mother of two, I would have been horrified. I was convinced I’d be engaged at 23, married at 25, and have babies by 26. That was just what you did as an adult. That was my timeline, and it felt inevitable.
So when I became single at 27 and moved out of the home I shared with my boyfriend at the time, I felt heartbroken. I saw myself as running out of time. Being single didn’t feel like freedom, it felt like failure. Friends were getting engaged, planning weddings, moving in together, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d somehow got it wrong.
And that feeling lingered for years. Every heartbreak seemed to confirm my worst fear – that there must be something wrong with me. I was “still” single. Potentially “left on the shelf”.
So how did I get from there to here?
Now I’m in a happy, committed relationship, raising two children with a man I love, building a life that feels full and chaotic and real – and with absolutely no desire to get married. And when people hear that, they tend to land in one of two places: either I just haven’t met the “right” person yet, or he just hasn’t asked.
Being single for six years forced me to unpick so many of the ideas I’d always taken for granted. In decentring men, I started questioning the norms I’d grown up with, and the history behind them. And then when I actually started looking at the traditions properly, rather than just accepting them as normal, I realised… I don’t think I like any of it:
The white dress, supposedly symbolising purity. Purity? In 2026? Yuk. The idea of asking a father’s permission, and then being “given away”, as if you’re something to be passed from one man to another.
And then there’s the bouquet toss, where women are essentially expected to wrestle each other for a bunch of flowers as a sign they might be chosen next… while their partners stand on the sidelines in feigned horror at the idea of commitment.
Women are taught to dream of it. To build their lives towards it. It’s the fairytale, the big day, the “happily ever after”. Whereas men are often told they’re giving something up. Their freedom, their independence. The “ball and chain”. The “nagging wife”.
And the older I get, the more that starts to feel a bit like societal gaslighting.
Because when you actually look at what traditional relationships often involve, it’s not hard to see who benefits more. Women are still, in so many cases, the ones taking on the majority of the emotional labour, the mental load, the unseen work that keeps everything functioning. They become the organiser, the planner, the default parent, the one who notices everything and holds it all together.
And that’s before you even factor in the physical toll of pregnancy, birth, and recovery if you go onto have children.
Of course, not every relationship looks like that – but we can all agree that in heterosexual relationships the man is praised for “helping” – whether that’s doing his share of the housework or looking after his own children! Daddy Day Care!
There’s a reason research shows married men tend to be happier and live longer, while women don’t experience the same benefits, and childfree, unmarried women often come out happiest of all.
So for me, choosing not to marry now feels significant. Not because it magically changes relationship dynamics, but because it represents freedom from a system women were once unable to opt out of – and often unable to leave.
The idea of “forever” once felt so romantic, but it now feels like a huge and slightly unrealistic promise to make at a point in your life when you’re still figuring out who you are. We change so much over time – sometimes together, sometimes apart, and I’m not sure expecting two people to remain perfectly aligned forever is realistic.
When I strip everything back, I just don’t feel the need for marriage to validate my relationship. I feel loved. I feel secure. I feel committed.
Not because of a contract, but because of the life we’ve built.
And more than anything, I want my children – my son, and especially my daughter – to grow up knowing that there is so much more to life than being chosen, than becoming someone’s wife, than ticking off milestones that society tells you define your worth.
I want them to know they can choose their own version of happiness, whatever that looks like. And for me, that’s living an unmarried life.
This week I have been…
Reading… Now that I’ve finished writing my own book Bimbo, I’ve actually been enjoying reading again – and it’s felt really special to pick things up without analysing every sentence. One book I’ve loved, and that feels very close to my own heart, is Flesh by Charli Howard. In it, Charli explores how her body has been perceived through the male gaze, and the impact that has on how she sees herself.
As someone with big boobs who’s spoken a lot about the hyper-sexualisation of the female body and how it can shrink us, I found so much of it really resonated. It’s honest, uncomfortable at times, but also really empowering.
Watching… This week I took my son to see Matilda the Musical at the theatre, and it was honestly such a special moment. It was his first musical, and I wasn’t sure how he’d sit through it, but he was completely captivated from start to finish. He already listens to the soundtrack at home (on repeat…), so seeing it come to life on stage felt really magical for both of us.
There’s something so joyful about experiencing theatre through your child’s eyes – the excitement, the wonder, the little glances to check you’re watching it too. It’s made me really excited to take him to more shows and start building those memories together.
Listening… I’ve been listening to The Trawl podcast with Marina Purkiss and Jemma Forte, and I’m obsessed. It’s political, but in a way that actually feels accessible, engaging, and – importantly – funny. They break down what’s happening in the world without making you feel like you need a politics degree to keep up, which I think is exactly what’s missing from a lot of mainstream conversations.
It’s the kind of podcast that makes you feel more informed and more empowered, without feeling overwhelmed. If you’ve ever thought “I don’t really do politics”, this is such a good place to start.
Bimbo by Ashley James (£22, Century) is out now
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