Marriage: A Boon or a Curse for Women?

I am not married.

Maybe that’s why I have always looked at marriage from a third person’s point of view. I never had my own experience to judge it by, so my understanding came from watching the lives of others and listening to their stories.

It was a Sunday, and I was all alone in my paying guest accommodation in Sydney, scrolling through Instagram, when a post caught my attention. It was about a three-day meditation retreat in Australia which was Level 2 and pre-requisite is to complete Level 1 which I have completed before. I was immediately interested in joining, but there was one problem that the retreat centre was in a location with no public transport, and I didn’t have a vehicle. I called the organiser to explain my situation and ask if transportation could be arranged. They kindly assured me that they would provide transportation free of charge, so I didn’t have to worry. With that reassurance, I went ahead and registered for the retreat.

On the day of the retreat, I reached the designated pick-up point. After a short wait, an elderly couple pick me up. They warmly welcomed me into their car, and together we began our journey to the retreat centre. Even before the retreat had begun, I was touched by the kindness and generosity of complete strangers.

As we drove towards Hunter Valley, the scenery slowly began to change. The busy city roads gave way to peaceful countryside, with endless stretches of lush green vineyards, rolling hills, and open fields. The fresh country air, the silence, and the beauty of nature instantly made me feel relaxed. Hunter Valley is one of Australia’s most beautiful wine regions, known for its picturesque landscapes, charming vineyards, and peaceful atmosphere. It felt like a place where time slowed down, allowing you to disconnect from the noise of everyday life. Even before the retreat began, I could already feel a sense of calm settling within me.

As we arrived at the retreat centre, I was surprised to see that more than a hundred people had registered for the program. People from different countries had come together with a common purpose. Many had come with their families, including young children, while others, like me, had come alone. The organisers welcomed everyone with warmth and kindness, instantly making us feel at home. As soon as we arrived, we were served delicious sattvic food while the volunteers prepared our accommodation for the next three days. The atmosphere was peaceful, friendly, and filled with a quiet sense of belonging, making me feel that I had come to the right place.

Most of the people there already knew each other. They were families, friends, and members of the same meditation community who regularly attended programs together. I was probably one of the very few newcomers. The only thing that connected me to them was that I had completed the Level 1 course, although with a different teacher. Even though I was surrounded by strangers, I never felt alone. Everyone welcomed me with genuine warmth, kindness, and smiles that made me feel comfortable from the very beginning. It didn’t matter that we had never met before; they treated me as though I was already a part of their community.

I was finally assigned my room. To save some money, I had chosen a shared room and was paired with a girl from China. Unfortunately, we never got a chance to meet before the program began. By the time I went to keep my luggage in the room, she had already arrived, left her belongings, and gone to the meditation hall. I placed my luggage, freshened up, and headed to the hall as well.

Once everyone had gathered, we introduced ourselves briefly. After the first meditation session, the organisers made an important announcement. It was time to begin the silence. We were asked to switch off our mobile phones and refrain from speaking to anyone for the next three days. From that moment onwards, no conversations, no greetings, and not even a single word. It was a complete silent retreat where the focus was entirely on meditation, self-reflection, and experiencing the power of silence.

Being silent without speaking was never a challenge for me. Over the years, I had naturally learned to avoid unnecessary conversations. Living in a woman only paying guest accommodation had taught me that sometimes staying away from unnecessary drama is the best way to protect your peace. So, keeping to myself had already become a part of my lifestyle.

Staying away from my phone wasn’t difficult either. In fact, I enjoyed not having to check notifications or spend time on social media. I was happy to be in an environment where there were no gadgets, no conversations, and no distractions just meditation, nature, and silence.

On the second day, during one of the breaks, I was sitting alone in the garden, reflecting on the sessions from the previous day. It was essentially a continuation of the Level 1 meditation program that I had already completed. One particular activity stayed with me. We were divided into random groups of three and asked to introduce ourselves and share a struggle we had faced in life. It could be about anything our family, career, relationships, or any experience that had shaped us.

At that moment, I had no idea that this simple exercise would leave me questioning something much deeper about marriage and the lives of women.

For this activity, I was paired with two men, one in his fifties and the other around my age, in his mid-thirties. Each of us was assigned a letter: A, B, and C. I was B, so the conversation would begin with C, followed by A, and finally me.

It turned out to be one of the most genuine conversations I had ever had with complete strangers.

They began sharing their life stories from childhood, growing up, their struggles with education, finding their first job, working hard to build a career, earning a stable income, buying a house and a car, starting a business, and eventually settling down with their wives and children. There was no competition or exaggeration, just honest stories of perseverance and life.

When it was my turn, I shared my journey too. I spoke about my childhood, my education, the challenges I had faced while building my career, and the struggles of running my own business. As I spoke, I realised that my journey wasn’t very different from theirs. I had faced many of the same hardships, worked hard to build my life, and overcome my own share of failures and setbacks.

By the end of the conversation, both of them smiled and said they were proud of me.

What touched me the most was that they never judged me for being single. There wasn’t a single question about why I wasn’t married or whether I regretted it. Instead, they appreciated me for who I am and for everything I had achieved through my own determination. They encouraged me and admired my journey. By the end of the discussion, the conversation had naturally become more about me. They were curious to know more about my life, my work, and the experiences that had shaped me. They kept asking questions, and I happily answered each one. It didn’t feel like I was talking to strangers anymore, it felt like a conversation between people who were interested in understanding one another. Unfortunately, our session had a time limit, and before we knew it, the facilitator asked us to return to our seats. We smiled, thanked each other for sharing our stories, and went back to our places, carrying with us a little more understanding of one another.

As I sat there recollecting, my mind went back to my Level 1 meditation course, where we had done the same exercise. That time, I had been grouped with two women 70+ and another younger than me in her early thirty. Just like this session, each of us was assigned a letter A, B, and C to decide the order in which we would speak. However, there was one small difference. Instead of following the letters, the facilitator asked the person with the longest hair to begin, followed by the next longest. Since I have always kept my hair short, I naturally became the last person to share my story.

The elderly woman in our group began sharing her story. She spoke about the difficult years of her married life, the physical and emotional abuse she had endured. Even in her seventies, she said she was still carrying the emotional scars of the way she had been treated by her husband. As she spoke, she broke down in tears. Sitting there, the other participant and I could only listen with heavy hearts.

When it was the second woman’s turn, her story was different, yet painfully similar. She had married the man she loved, only to discover later that he was emotionally abusive. She spoke about the manipulation, the mental and physical abuse she had experienced, and the courage it took to finally walk away. She had divorced him and was now raising her son as a single mother, doing everything she could to build a better life for both of them.

Then it was my turn.

As I listened to their stories, I realised that my life had taken a completely different path. I wasn’t married, so I had no experiences like theirs to share. I spoke about my childhood, my education, my career, my business, and the struggles I had faced in my own journey.

But after I finished, the conversation was no longer about my career or the challenges I had overcome. It became entirely about my marriage. They both even forgot the struggles they are facing in their life. Both women encouraged me to get married.

I listened quietly, but with confusion in my mind.

One woman was still living with years of emotional and physical abuse. The other had survived a painful marriage, fought her way out of it, and was rebuilding her life as a single mother. Yet both of them sincerely believed that I should get married.

At that moment, I didn’t think too deeply about it. People advising me to get married was nothing new. I smiled, listened, and let the conversation end.

It was only much later that I found myself returning to that moment and asking a question.

Why do women who have suffered so much in marriage still encourage other women to marry?

Till today, I still haven’t found the answer to that question.

As I reflected on both conversations, I noticed an interesting pattern.

When I sat with the two men, most of their stories revolved around building a life, education, finding a job, earning money, buying a house, starting a business, and taking care of their families. Their greatest battles seemed to be outside the home; in the world they were trying to conquer.

When I sat with the two women, their stories took a different direction. They hardly spoke about their careers or financial achievements. Instead, they spoke about surviving their marriages—emotional pain, physical abuse, broken trust, divorce, and the struggle to rebuild their lives.

For many men, the biggest challenge seemed to be building a life. For many women I met, the biggest challenge had become surviving the life they had built through marriage. I am not saying this is true for every man or every woman. There are men who silently suffer, and there are women who are happily married.

During the remaining two days of the retreat, I found myself observing the married couples around me. We were all maintaining silence, so there were no conversations to distract me. I simply watched people’s actions.

After each meditation session, everyone would collect their mats and belongings before returning to their rooms. I noticed that in many couples, it was the wife who folded both her mat and her husband’s, while he simply walked beside her carrying little or nothing.

During meal breaks, I observed something similar. While some couples shared responsibilities equally, in many others, it was the wife who served food for both of them, carried the plates, waited until her husband had finished eating, collected his plate, and then washed the dishes before leaving.

The same pattern appeared when children were around. More often than not, it was the mother who interrupted her own meal or rest to attend to them.

These were only my observations over three days. They may not represent every marriage. But they were enough to make me pause and ask myself a question:

If marriage means that one partner consistently carries a greater share of the invisible responsibilities, then who truly benefits from that arrangement?

And another question followed

Is this what people mean when they tell every woman that she should get married?

The more I reflected on those, the more I realised that asking whether marriage is a boon or a curse is probably asking the wrong question.

I have met women whose marriages are filled with love, respect and companionship. For them, marriage is undoubtedly a blessing.

I have also met women who silently endure emotional abuse, physical violence, disrespect and loneliness. For them, marriage has become a burden they carry every single day.

So perhaps marriage itself is neither a boon nor a curse.

It becomes one depending on the people who build it.

A marriage where both partners respect each other, grow together and support each other’s dreams can be one of life’s greatest blessings. But a marriage where one person’s happiness depends on the other person’s sacrifice slowly turns into a prison rather than a partnership.

Over the years, I have noticed something else. We often celebrate weddings. We admire the jewellery, the photographs, the decorations and the celebrations. But we rarely ask whether the two people entering that marriage are emotionally ready to build a life based on respect, equality and understanding.

Perhaps that is why some marriages become a blessing while others become a lifetime of silent suffering.

So, is marriage a curse or a boon?

My answer is simple.

Marriage is neither.

The people inside the marriage decide what it becomes.

I am not against marriage. I genuinely respect those who choose to marry, and I believe a good marriage can be one of the most beautiful relationships in life. What I hope for is not fewer marriages, but healthier ones where love is stronger than control, respect is greater than ego, and neither person has to lose themselves to keep the relationship alive. If marriage is to be called a blessing, then it should be a blessing for both partners, not just one.

One thing has always bothered me.

It isn’t the advice from strangers that stays with me. It is the advice from the people closest to us the people we call family and friends.

When a woman says she doesn’t want to get married, why is her decision so difficult to accept?

Why is the first response almost always, “Who will take care of you?”

That question makes me wonder something deeper.

Why do we automatically assume that the responsibility of caring for a woman belongs to a man she hasn’t even met yet?

Why don’t we, as families, ask ourselves the same question?

If we truly love our daughters, sisters, cousins, or friends, why do we believe that our responsibility ends the moment they decide not to marry? Why is care seen as something that must come from a husband rather than from the people who already claim to love her?

If a married daughter can return to her parents during difficult times and be welcomed with open arms, why should an unmarried daughter ever be made to feel like she has no place unless she finds a husband?

The real question is why we have built a society where marriage is considered the only guarantee of care, companionship, and security.

Is marriage the only way to live a meaningful life?

Or should every woman have the freedom to choose the life that gives her peace whether that includes marriage or not?

To,

Family and Friends,

Respect her decision and protect her. Don’t ask “who will take care of you?” Instead ask, How can I support you?”. She may not want marriage at this point of time but no one predicts the future despite of her decision she deserves love , care , safety and respect from YOU.

With Love

Nethravathi Venkatappa