One of the biggest misconceptions people have about me is that I don’t want to get married.

I don’t know when that narrative began. Maybe it was because I stopped answering questions. Maybe it was because I smiled through every wedding I attended. Maybe it was because, after a point, it became easier to let people assume than to explain.

But assumptions have a strange way of becoming someone else’s truth.

The truth is much quieter.

I do want to get married.

I always have.

Not because I think marriage completes a person. Not because society says a certain age should look a certain way. And certainly not because I need a grand wedding or pictures that look perfect on Instagram.

I want the life that comes after the wedding.

I want a partnership.

I want someone to build an ordinary life with.

There is something so beautiful about ordinary love. The kind that isn’t dramatic enough to become a movie but is steady enough to become a lifetime. Sharing responsibilities. Talking about nothing and everything. Grocery shopping on a Sunday. Celebrating tiny victories. Having someone who witnesses your life not just the highlights, but the ordinary Tuesdays too.

That’s the dream.

Yet every year, that dream feels as though it quietly moves one step further away.

People I grew up with are married now. Some have children old enough to start school. People younger than me are beginning families, buying homes, and celebrating anniversaries. My social media feed has become a timeline of milestones, and while I am genuinely happy for them, every celebration gently reminds me of the chapter I haven’t reached.

People often think happiness and sadness cannot exist together.

They can.

I can be genuinely excited for a friend while grieving something I deeply long for.

Those emotions don’t cancel each other out.

They coexist.

What makes it harder isn’t the waiting itself. Waiting is part of life. We all wait for something.

What hurts is being misunderstood while you’re waiting.

When people believe you don’t care about marriage, they stop seeing the quiet hope you’ve been carrying. They don’t notice the conversations you have with God after everyone has gone to sleep. They don’t see the moments when another wedding invitation arrives and, for just a second, your heart whispers, “I wonder when it’ll be me.”

I’ve learned that silence is often misunderstood.

People mistake it for confidence.

Or indifference.

Or choice.

Sometimes silence is simply exhaustion.

After answering the same questions for years—“Any good news?” “Still not married?” “Why are you being so picky?” you stop explaining yourself.

Not because the desire disappeared.

Because constantly defending your heart becomes tiring.

There is another part of this journey that no one really talks about.

Time changes the way you wait.

When you’re twenty-three, waiting feels exciting. There is possibility everywhere. You imagine your future with curiosity.

When you’re twenty-six, people start asking questions.

By your late twenties, those questions become advice.

Then concern.

Then comparisons.

Then silence.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, you begin questioning yourself.

Did I do something wrong?

Did I wait too long?

Did I miss the right person?

Or is this simply how my story is meant to unfold?

I don’t have answers.

I wish I did.

Some days I am full of faith. Other days I feel tired of telling myself to “trust the timing.” Faith isn’t always loud. Sometimes faith is choosing not to give up even when your heart is disappointed.

If you’re reading this and your life feels delayed too whether it’s marriage, a career, becoming a parent, or any dream that seems to happen effortlessly for everyone else I hope you know this:

A delayed chapter is not an unwanted one.

Just because your story is taking longer doesn’t mean you never wanted it.

And just because you’ve stopped talking about your dream doesn’t mean you’ve stopped praying for it.

So the next time someone seems “okay,” remember that peace and silence are not always the same thing.

Some people have simply become very good at carrying hopes they can no longer explain.

As for me, I still believe in love.

I still believe in companionship.

I still believe there is beauty in growing old with someone.

And until that chapter arrives, I will keep living the one I am in, not because it is the story I would have chosen, but because it is the story I have been given.

Maybe one day I’ll look back and understand why my life unfolded differently.

Until then, if you see me smiling at another wedding, know this:

I’m not smiling because I don’t want what they have.

I’m smiling because love deserves to be celebrated, even on the days your own heart is still waiting.