“They said he was responsible. That I’d grow to love him. But no one warned me that regret lives in silence… and I sleep next to it every night.”
My name is Amara. I’m 27 years old, and I’ve been married for two years now.
But if I’m being honest, I’ve felt like a widow since the wedding day.
This is the story of how I was pushed into a marriage I never wanted, all in the name of “family honor” and “doing the right thing.”
And how every day since, I’ve been quietly breaking inside.
🎓 It Started After University
I had just graduated from UNILAG with a degree in Mass Communication. I had plans—big ones. I wanted to travel, work in media, live a little before settling down.
But then, one December, I came home for the holidays and everything changed.
“Amara, there’s someone we want you to meet,” my mother said casually as I was eating jollof rice.
“He’s a good man. Based in the UK. His people are coming next weekend.”
I laughed, thinking it was a joke.
But it wasn’t.
🧓🏾 The Pressure Came Like Rainfall
My parents—especially my father—started acting like it was a done deal. I was lectured every night:
“You’re not getting any younger.”
“Do you want to disgrace this family?”
“Do you think men like Chuka come every day?”
Chuka was 38, a UK-based businessman who had come back to Nigeria “to find a wife.”
He drove a Benz, smelled like foreign cologne, and said things like:
“You’ll never have to suffer with me. I just need a peaceful woman.”
Everyone clapped for him.
But in private, I could barely hold a conversation with him. We had nothing in common.
He didn’t even know what my dreams were. He just wanted a wife.
👰🏽 The Wedding That Didn’t Feel Like Mine
They picked the date.
They picked the dress.
They picked the venue.
They picked my future.
I sat in makeup on my wedding day with tears in my heart.
I looked beautiful, yes—but I felt like a prisoner in lace.
When the pastor said, “Do you take this man…?” I paused. My heart wanted to scream, “NO!”
But I looked at my father’s face. The guests. The expectations. The shame it would bring.
So I said:
“Yes.”
And just like that, I signed away my freedom.
💔 The Marriage That Broke Me
From the very first week, I knew I had made a mistake.
Chuka was emotionally unavailable. He would travel for weeks without notice. He spoke to me like I was a maid. He had no interest in my opinions, only my obedience.
He once told me:
“Your dreams don’t matter anymore. You’re a wife now. Focus on that.”
I became a glorified cook and baby-making machine.
My opinions were always “too emotional.”
My needs were “too much.”
We didn’t talk—we only existed.
At night, I’d lie beside him and stare at the ceiling, wondering, “Is this what my life will be for the next 50 years?”
😔 But I Couldn’t Tell Anyone
To my parents, I was living “the dream.”
They would say:
“You’re in a big house.”
“He’s not beating you.”
“Other girls are praying for this kind of life.”
But what’s the point of a mansion when your heart lives in a prison?
I began to shrink. I stopped dressing up. I stopped writing. I even stopped praying.
I didn’t feel like myself anymore—I felt like property.
🧠 What I’ve Learned From This Pain
Never marry to please anyone—not your parents, not society, not the church.
Financial stability is not the same as emotional safety.
A man who sees you as an object will never value your soul.
Silence doesn’t mean happiness. Some of us are screaming behind smiles.
📖 To Any Young Woman Reading This…
Please.
Don’t let anyone force you into marriage in the name of “time is going.”
Don’t let pressure steal your peace.
If a man cannot respect your voice, he doesn’t deserve your body.
Marriage is not a trophy. It’s not an achievement.
It’s a lifelong decision.
And regret is heavier than any wedding gown.
I am learning to live with my choices. But I pray you never have to.
