I’m not even dating — and it made me think about how strong the expectation of marriage still is, even when your reality looks nothing like it. There also seems to be an assumption, sometimes unspoken, that having a man in the background somehow equates to stability or safety.

It’s not something I necessarily agree with, but I understand where it comes from. Different lived experiences shape how people see these things, and what feels protective to one person doesn’t always translate the same way for someone else.

My dad wants his three baby girls to be safe — and that isn’t an unrealistic expectation for a father. But his idea of safety often includes a man being there to protect us if something were to happen, like a break-in, or to take care of practical things like changing a tyre when needed.

I’ve actually had three flat tyres in a relatively short space of time, and each time it was men who helped me. I wasn’t dating any of them — it was simply the kindness of strangers in passing.

My parents are still married after 48 years together. Their wedding anniversary was a few days ago, and over time their lives have become so deeply intertwined that it’s difficult to imagine one without the other.

Reading I Don't brought all of this into sharper focus. It didn’t just challenge my thoughts about marriage itself — it reframed the history of marriage and women’s roles in society in a way that made me re-examine the assumptions I didn’t even realise I was carrying.

What surprised me most was the depth of history woven throughout. It also traced the history of marriage and women’s role in society in a way that reframed how I saw it entirely.

I found myself strongly agreeing with many of the author’s arguments, particularly around the structural realities of marriage and how those patterns continue to play out. At the same time, I still hold onto the idea that, in an ideal world — one built on honesty, communication, and mutual respect — marriage could work.

What the book challenged for me wasn’t just the concept of marriage itself, but the idea that my own experiences were somehow isolated or unusual. Instead, it suggested something far more confronting: that those experiences are not exceptions, but part of a broader pattern.

I was raised, like many women, on the idea that marriage and motherhood were the ultimate goal, not my goal but what was expected — something reinforced through media, culture, and storytelling from a young age. Reading this made me pause and question how much of that narrative I had internalised without ever really examining it.

It also left me with more personal questions than answers. Would I want to build a life with someone again? Could I trust enough to share that level of commitment? And how do those questions shift when you begin to see your past not as a one-off experience, but as something that fits within a larger context?

Interestingly, I didn’t go looking for this book at all. I found it while waiting at the library for my car to be repaired — a way to pass the time that turned into something much more thought-provoking than I expected.

This book didn’t give me neat conclusions. What it did give me was a different lens — one that I’m still processing. It’s also one I would recommend, and one I’ll likely purchase for myself if I come across a copy..