Marriage: Humanity’s Most Endorsed Illusion

When Endurance Meets Legal Fiction

I used to believe in marriage. Not the fairy tale version, but the pragmatic kind: shared goals, mutual respect, joint hustle. What I didn’t account for was how often that contract gets rewritten in silence. How “forever” becomes a holding pattern, not a commitment.

Saw a photo recently being passed around and re-engineered it. This one hits harder. It’s dark, but it paints a brutally honest picture of the disparity too many overlook.

My marriage didn’t implode—it eroded. Slowly. Under the weight of expectation, religion, silence, and misplaced blame. I moved into the garage long before I moved out of the house. And when I filed for divorce, she didn’t even respond. Just… silence. So I defaulted her. Which, ironically, sums up how the relationship had felt for years—me doing the work, her not showing up. Literally and metaphorically.

But here's the kicker: the court didn’t care.

I followed the process. Filed the default when she ghosted the paperwork, just like she’d ghosted the marriage. I showed up. Filed the forms. Played by the rules. But instead of closure, I got a judge who gave her a gentle slap on the wrist and kicked the whole thing down the road. As if her silence was just a scheduling conflict, not a pattern.

No accountability. No acknowledgment of the months of silence. Just a system that bends over backward for the unresponsive party while the one carrying the weight gets told to wait longer.

And that’s where it hit me: even the legal system mirrors the dysfunction. The party who disengages gets protected. The one who stays in the fight gets buried in red tape.

It’s laughable. But not in a funny way. More like watching a tragic play where the audience claps for the villain because they didn’t read the script.

You could argue that marriage is humanity’s most elaborate prank. A socially-endorsed trap that pretends to be about love but is really about legal entanglement, tax brackets, and guilt-based compliance. The vows are poetic, but the fine print is brutal.

We don’t prepare people for the reality of monogamy. We package it as “mature,” when in truth it often suppresses exploration, individuality, and growth. And when it fails, the system punishes both parties—not just legally, but socially. There’s no reset button. Just paperwork, lawyers, and narratives spun by one party to justify the pain.

But I’m not bitter. I’m just honest. Marriage wasn’t a mistake—it was a mirror. It showed me what I could tolerate, what I couldn’t fake, and what it actually takes to build something that lasts. Spoiler: it’s not God, date nights, or couples therapy. It’s mutual willingness to evolve—individually and together. And when that stops, so does the marriage.

If you have kids, the illusion gets even crueler. The legal system hasn't caught up with reality—especially for divorced parents genuinely trying to do right by their children. You're forced to pay support to an ex who doesn’t need to provide a shred of proof on how that money’s spent. No receipts. No accountability. Just a monthly invoice stamped "Because the court said so."

Meanwhile, the parent going above and beyond—covering car payments for an older teen, carrying their insurance, showing up to the hard conversations and life milestones—is the one dragged through mud and tarred with accusations. The one actually parenting gets treated like a problem to be solved, not a partner in raising decent humans.

And who loses in this rigged equation? The kids. Always the kids.

The court doesn’t care about nuance. It doesn’t reward generosity. It doesn’t ask if the money goes to food or to spa days. It just wants to check the box and move on. Meanwhile, the parent doing the heavy lifting bleeds quietly behind the scenes—financially, emotionally, and reputationally.

So no, I don’t believe in marriage anymore. Not in the way we sell it. But I do believe in connection. Raw, messy, real. I believe in building something without contracts or costumes. Something you don’t have to endure, just experience.

So what's my advice? Don’t get married. Unless you're eager to sign up for a rigged game dressed up in white lace and Pinterest boards. You won’t be celebrating love—you’ll be feeding a bloated industry built on curated illusion, transactional loyalty, and the mythology of "forever". It's not about connection anymore—it's about compliance, consumption, and appearances. And when it breaks? The cleanup crew is the legal system, the therapists, the mediators, all charging by the hour to help you undo the dream you were sold. So you're screwed on both ends—first by the fantasy, then by the fallout. You get taxed going in, billed going out, and judged in between. No refunds. No apologies. Just a slow unraveling dressed as a life event.

Do you agree?
How long were you married before the inevitable happened?
Still married? For how long?
Drop your thoughts below—curious to hear what others think.