He Loved Me, But Not Enough to Choose Me - Reality of Indian Marriages
Riya Kumari | Jun 11, 2025, 15:05 IST
( Image credit : Pexels, Timeslife )
I was just never the priority. And that hurts more than not being loved at all. This isn’t rare. It’s just rarely spoken. Because we’re taught that love is enough. But love without choice, without effort, without presence—is just noise. You don’t leave because there’s no love. You leave because it’s always reserved for someone—or something—else.
It wasn’t a lack of love. It was the constant reminder that everything else came first. His mother. His job. His group chat. His “me time.” His mood. And somewhere between his to-do list and his to-avoid list, I disappeared.
Love in Installments: Always There, Never Enough
When we first got married, he held my hand like he meant it. Said all the right things, remembered my favorite dessert, laughed at my jokes like I was the funniest woman alive. I thought: Wow. I really scored a good one. Spoiler alert: I did. Just not for myself. Because slowly—no, strategically—I got demoted. Every marriage has three people: you, him, and mummy. And every time I pointed out how her opinions controlled our decisions? I was “overreacting” and “too sensitive.” No, I was just tired of competing in a race I never signed up for.
First came The Queen Mother. I’m not anti-family. But tell me why I need to check with his mother to decide what colour bed sheets we’re buying? And why is she in our living room more often than we are? She hated that I wore jeans at home. He told me to “just adjust” because “she’s old-fashioned.” Darling, I married you, not your family WhatsApp group admin.
Work Is Worship, But Apparently Only for Him
Then there was The Career. God bless his hustle, but he made me feel like his receptionist with emotional benefits. I cooked, cleaned, scheduled, proofread, reminded him of birthdays, followed up on the plumber, and still had time to send him memes. He, on the other hand, “had a long day.” Every day.
His way of spending quality time was scrolling LinkedIn while I gave him foot rubs. When I asked for a dinner date, he looked at me like I’d asked for a trip to Jupiter. If he helped with anything, it was a favour. If I asked for help, it was “nagging.” Apparently, the marriage license came with a job description. Mine, not his.
Bro-Code: Unbreakable. Wife-Code: Optional
You think marriage is sacred? His friendships were sacred-er. He could plan spontaneous Goa trips with the boys but needed 3–5 business days to decide if we could go out for momo.
They dropped by unannounced. He never asked. Never checked. Just opened the door and handed me the responsibility—like I was the receptionist of our home. Snacks, drinks, small talk. While he played host, I played waitress.
If I questioned it, I was “being rude.”
If I disappeared into the bedroom, I was “not social enough.”
You can’t win when the rules don’t apply to him. If I went out with my friends without telling him, it was “disrespectful.” But when he did it, I was “overreacting.” Cute, right?
Romance? That’s for Instagram Reels, Apparently
Here’s the thing. I didn’t need Paris. I didn’t need diamonds. I needed him to want to do something. Anything. When I dressed up on weekends, he didn’t notice. When I asked him to take me out, he said: “We just went out last month.” Last month, people. And when I finally gave up asking and wore pajamas three days in a row, he said I was “not like before.” Excuse me, but if you wanted “before,” you should’ve married the version of me who still thought you’d actually make the effort.
I’d dress up—he’d say, “Where are you going?” like the concept of me feeling good was suspicious. When I asked for small gestures, he’d say, “It’s not about outings, it’s about connection.” Cute. Except there was zero of either.
The Joke’s Always on the Wife
Oh, and the marriage jokes.
“I’m basically in jail now.”
“All women want is to control men.”
“She probably won’t let me come.”
He’d say it in public, with that smug smirk, while I sat there trying to smile like I wasn’t dying inside. He thought they were harmless. I thought: Then why do they hurt so damn much? He’d joke about marriage being a trap. Smile knowingly when his friends complained about their “nagging wives.” I wasn’t being respected—I was being tolerated. Which, frankly, is worse. Apparently, he wanted the comfort of a partner, but not the involvement of one.
He never hit me. Never screamed. Never cheated (I think). But he chose everything over me. He loved me like a comfortable couch. Something nice to come home to, but not something you think about all day. And I stayed. Until one day I realized—I wasn’t being loved, I was being used. For convenience. For ego. For appearances.
In Indian marriages, women leave not because there’s no love. They leave because they’ve been made to live on crumbs and call it cake.
Love in Installments: Always There, Never Enough
Jeans
( Image credit : Pexels )
When we first got married, he held my hand like he meant it. Said all the right things, remembered my favorite dessert, laughed at my jokes like I was the funniest woman alive. I thought: Wow. I really scored a good one. Spoiler alert: I did. Just not for myself. Because slowly—no, strategically—I got demoted. Every marriage has three people: you, him, and mummy. And every time I pointed out how her opinions controlled our decisions? I was “overreacting” and “too sensitive.” No, I was just tired of competing in a race I never signed up for.
First came The Queen Mother. I’m not anti-family. But tell me why I need to check with his mother to decide what colour bed sheets we’re buying? And why is she in our living room more often than we are? She hated that I wore jeans at home. He told me to “just adjust” because “she’s old-fashioned.” Darling, I married you, not your family WhatsApp group admin.
Work Is Worship, But Apparently Only for Him
Working man
( Image credit : Pexels )
Then there was The Career. God bless his hustle, but he made me feel like his receptionist with emotional benefits. I cooked, cleaned, scheduled, proofread, reminded him of birthdays, followed up on the plumber, and still had time to send him memes. He, on the other hand, “had a long day.” Every day.
His way of spending quality time was scrolling LinkedIn while I gave him foot rubs. When I asked for a dinner date, he looked at me like I’d asked for a trip to Jupiter. If he helped with anything, it was a favour. If I asked for help, it was “nagging.” Apparently, the marriage license came with a job description. Mine, not his.
Bro-Code: Unbreakable. Wife-Code: Optional
Cook
( Image credit : Pexels )
You think marriage is sacred? His friendships were sacred-er. He could plan spontaneous Goa trips with the boys but needed 3–5 business days to decide if we could go out for momo.
They dropped by unannounced. He never asked. Never checked. Just opened the door and handed me the responsibility—like I was the receptionist of our home. Snacks, drinks, small talk. While he played host, I played waitress.
If I questioned it, I was “being rude.”
If I disappeared into the bedroom, I was “not social enough.”
You can’t win when the rules don’t apply to him. If I went out with my friends without telling him, it was “disrespectful.” But when he did it, I was “overreacting.” Cute, right?
Romance? That’s for Instagram Reels, Apparently
Date
( Image credit : Pexels )
Here’s the thing. I didn’t need Paris. I didn’t need diamonds. I needed him to want to do something. Anything. When I dressed up on weekends, he didn’t notice. When I asked him to take me out, he said: “We just went out last month.” Last month, people. And when I finally gave up asking and wore pajamas three days in a row, he said I was “not like before.” Excuse me, but if you wanted “before,” you should’ve married the version of me who still thought you’d actually make the effort.
I’d dress up—he’d say, “Where are you going?” like the concept of me feeling good was suspicious. When I asked for small gestures, he’d say, “It’s not about outings, it’s about connection.” Cute. Except there was zero of either.
The Joke’s Always on the Wife
Indian couple
( Image credit : Pexels )
Oh, and the marriage jokes.
“I’m basically in jail now.”
“All women want is to control men.”
“She probably won’t let me come.”
He’d say it in public, with that smug smirk, while I sat there trying to smile like I wasn’t dying inside. He thought they were harmless. I thought: Then why do they hurt so damn much? He’d joke about marriage being a trap. Smile knowingly when his friends complained about their “nagging wives.” I wasn’t being respected—I was being tolerated. Which, frankly, is worse. Apparently, he wanted the comfort of a partner, but not the involvement of one.
He Loved Me. But Not the Way I Needed to Be Loved.
In Indian marriages, women leave not because there’s no love. They leave because they’ve been made to live on crumbs and call it cake.