For over a decade, I could proudly claim independence, singlehood, and the freedom of being my own boss. But there’s a particular meme that never sat well with me:

“Everyone is getting married… Look, a country I haven’t been to.”

As if marriage somehow chains you to one place, as if adventure and exploration cease to exist the moment you say “I do.”

There was a time when I lived for the thrill—traveling, spending, partying. I remember those nights, the ones that seemed glamorous from the outside but were often laced with an unshakable emptiness. Like that one night, sitting on a beach at 2 a.m., a bottle of Jack Daniels in my hand—a gift from some guy who admired how well I could handle my liquor.

And then, I broke down.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was something deeper, something raw. A question that echoed in the vastness of the night: What am I doing with my life?

Was this it? Was this all there was to be and could be?

Yes, I was having fun. Yes, I was the queen of my world.

But what world, exactly?

A world where I only answered to myself. No responsibilities, no obligations beyond my own desires. Half my earnings went to fleeting pleasures, poured into glasses I wouldn’t even remember the next day. Travel, at least, had some meaning. It gave me stories, experiences, perspectives. And now, as a mother working from home with my ‘ausome’ son, I cherish those stories—they’ve become the ink of my writing.

Because at my core, I am a writer.

With or without a job. With or without marriage.

That never changed.

What does change is you—in every stage of life you enter, whether you choose it or it chooses you.

Yes, I traveled when I was single. But I have also traveled with my family. And believe me, it was a completely different experience.

No booze, just the sound of a baby crying on the plane. No reckless spending, but bags overflowing with tiny clothes and souvenirs for loved ones. No late-night parties, but late-night diaper changes. No careless spontaneity, but carefully laid plans that sometimes still went awry—missed flights, unexpected fevers, mini-emergencies that made us stronger.

And yet, fulfillment. A kind of happiness that those who equate freedom with drinking and solo adventures might never understand.

I feel independently strong together with my husband and son.

And despite the heavier load—financial obligations, responsibilities, the weight of compromise—we nail it every single time.

Yes, we argue. Yes, there are sacrifices. But there is also something greater than individualism: the ability to make decisions that go beyond just you.

And we still reward ourselves—sometimes with travel, sometimes with little indulgences, sometimes with just a good cup of coffee. Because let’s be honest, vodka is overrated and has no place in raising a family. And also—because I am now a Muslim. I have spiritual responsibilities, obligations far greater than my own whims.

So, I ask myself: How could the person I was before—single, self-absorbed, and fleeting—ever be more capable than who I am today?

We all have our justifications for the lives we live. We all craft our own narratives to make sense of our choices.

But let’s be real: The ability to sustain a relationship, to compromise, to set aside parts of yourself for something greater—these are the things that truly test a person. This is the kind of strength that no solo adventure can teach you.

Deciding to go to Turkey next month because you want to update your Instagram feed and prove how “single and proud” you are? Easy.

Deciding to delay that trip because your child’s school fees come first? That takes something deeper—commitment, selflessness, and a level of maturity that Instagram posts will never capture.

I understand why some people avoid marriage. Some have escaped toxic relationships, survived abuse, or seen infidelity destroy trust. And yes, cheating happens even outside of marriage.

But if you have never even tried to hold a real, committed relationship, then your “single and proud” flag is waving at an empty cause. Because marriage is responsibility. It is sacrifice. It is compromise.

It is life-changing.

And that’s why it’s scary.

So, if you’re going to boast about being single, I hope—truly hope—that you are doing something more than just traveling, partying, or being a small business boss. Because self-sufficiency is one thing.

But choosing to build, sustain, and nurture something bigger than yourself?

That’s a whole different level of strength.