Love, Marriage, and the Blueprint Our Children Inherit
What is love?
Not the word.
Not the idea.
But the lived experience of it.
What does it actually mean to love another human being?
And what is marriage, really?
Is it the ultimate expression of love?
A promise of forever?
A safe place to grow old together?
Or is it something we step into long before we truly understand what love asks of us?
Most of us get married because we believe in love. Because we want connection, intimacy, belonging. Because we want to share life with someone and be seen, chosen, and held in that choice.
Marriage begins as a declaration of love. A moment where two people publicly say, “You matter. I choose you.”
And yet, over time, something subtle often happens.
The meaning of love slowly shifts.
We are taught that marriage is the highest form of love. A sacred union. A symbol of devotion. And in many ways, it is. But beneath the romance, beneath the vows and celebration, marriage is also something else.
It is a contract.
A legal agreement.
A structure recognised by society and law.
It is wrapped in poetry and ceremony, yet grounded in rules, obligations, and expectations. And without realising it, many of us begin to relate through that structure rather than through love itself.
What once felt like connection becomes obligation.
What once felt like choice becomes duty.
What once felt like presence becomes performance.
Love slowly turns into something to maintain, measure, and protect.
And this is where conditions begin to appear.
Not always spoken.
Often invisible.
But deeply felt.
“I will love you if…”
“I will stay as long as…”
“This works only when…”
Marriage becomes not just a legal contract, but an emotional one. A silent agreement built on expectations of behaviour, loyalty, consistency, identity.
And when those expectations are not met, pain enters the relationship.
We call it betrayal.
We call it disrespect.
We call it unfaithfulness.
But rarely do we ask a deeper question:
What kind of love were we living in to begin with?
We often speak about unconditional love as an ideal, yet few of us truly explore what it means.
Unconditional, by definition, means without conditions.
Which also means without rules to break.
True love does not operate through control or fear of loss. It does not rely on surveillance, performance, or self-abandonment to survive. It is not held together by contracts, spoken or unspoken.
In unconditional love, there is truth.
And where there is truth, there is no need for betrayal.
Not because “anything is allowed,” but because nothing needs to be hidden.
Unfaithfulness does not arise from love. It arises from disconnection. From silence. From unmet needs that were never safe enough to be spoken. From relationships where honesty felt more dangerous than secrecy.
Rules create the possibility of breaking them.
Just like a fine exists only because a rule exists.
When love is built on conditions, it carries within it the seed of fear. Fear of losing, fear of failing, fear of not being enough. And fear eventually seeks escape.
But when love is lived as presence, honesty, and self-responsibility, there are no rules to break. Only truth to honour.
Because loving someone is not about keeping them the same.
It is about allowing them to change.
To evolve.
To shed old identities.
To grow into someone new.
We do not marry a finished person.
We marry a becoming.
True love is not measured by how well someone fits the role we imagined for them. It is measured by how safely they can become who they truly are beside us.
It is the ability to witness your partner change without turning that change into a threat. To stay present through uncertainty. To love without tightening your grip.
And while all of this is unfolding, something even more important is happening.
Our children are watching.
They are not listening to what we say about love.
They are absorbing how we live it.
They watch how we speak to our partner when things are easy.
And even more, how we speak when things are hard.
They learn whether love feels like freedom or pressure.
Whether it invites truth or demands compliance.
Whether it allows growth or punishes change.
And these silent lessons become their blueprint.
One day, they will enter relationships carrying what they witnessed. They will either recreate it or spend years trying to heal from it.
So maybe the real question is not whether you love…
But what your love does.
Does it create safety or pressure?
Freedom or fear?
Expansion or control?
And when you love…
How free are you to be fully yourself?
Because this is the love your children learn.
This is the love they absorb long before they understand it.
The love they carry in their bodies, not their minds.
The love they will one day recognise as familiar.
This is the love they will look for.
The love they will choose.
The love they will believe they deserve.
And long after they forget our words, they will remember how love felt in our presence.
