* Jeffrey, 29, always imagined marriage as a true partnership where both people shared responsibilities across the board. But when job loss, pressure and resentment entered the chat, he wondered if he’d rushed into marriage before building the kind of financial stability he thought it required.
This is a look into Jeffrey’s marriage diary.
I knew I didn’t want to be the man carrying a marriage alone
Before marriage, I had a very clear idea of what I wanted it to look like. For me, it had to be a full partnership emotionally, physically and financially. No one person should carry the load of the relationship while the other relaxes. Even when I was dating, I made sure the women I got involved with shared that same mindset. I wasn’t the kind of guy who played around or dated for fun. Every relationship had to be intentional.
I remember the girl I dated before I met my wife. On the surface, it looked like we were aligned. We were dating, and she seemed comfortable splitting bills on dates, helping out when we spent time at each other’s places, and acting like a teammate. I thought we were good.
Then one day, her father called me. He said something like, “In Islam, there’s no such thing as shared responsibilities. A man must take full responsibility and pray to Allah to provide. If you aren’t ready for that, don’t waste my daughter’s time.”
To be fair, the man made valid points, but I reminded him that I never hid my stance. From day one, his daughter knew I wanted a marriage where both parties were active contributors. After the call, I confronted her. She claimed she never discussed the details of our relationship with her parents. So, how did they find out? Even worse, she tried to make me see reason with her father’s perspective.
That was it for me. I knew we’d have serious problems if we got married. I ended things. It took time, but I eventually met someone who shared my views on marriage and partnership.
Marriage doesn’t follow any manual, not even the one you create yourself
Right after we got married, I created a spreadsheet. It had everything: finances, chores, weekly tasks, even sex. I divided the load as fairly as possible. My wife was fully on board, and I thought, “Great. We’ve cracked it.”
But life humbled me quickly. It didn’t take long to realise that marriage doesn’t follow any structure, no matter how detailed your plan is. Things started to shift. One person would get overwhelmed at work, and the other would have to step up at home. Or unexpected bills would land, and our money plans would scatter. The system just couldn’t hold up against real life.
Worse, I caught myself keeping score. I’d say things like, “I paid for this, so you should cover that.” It stopped feeling like I was helping my wife out of love — it became about doing my “share”. And that shift was dangerous. I started questioning whether I was acting like a husband or an accountant.
Now, I’m learning to give without calculating, to act out of care instead of obligation. It’s not easy. But we’re figuring it out, one glitch at a time.
Losing my job made me question everything
One of the lowest points in our marriage came when I lost my job for three months. It was a brutal period. I had some savings, but it still shook me. That’s when I realised that marriage is expensive, no matter how “ready” you think you are. Very expensive.
We maintained our 60/40 split, but every contribution I had to make felt like it was dragging me closer to the poverty line. I’d drop ₦15k–₦20k weekly for soup and think, “If I were single, I’d coast with ₦5k for the entire week.”
My wife wants comfort in the house. If we drank garri just for the fun of it, she’d carry a face and assume we were suffering. She’d feel the same if I suggested we stretch our pot of soup across more days. That made me angry. In those moments, I kept thinking, “If I wasn’t married, I wouldn’t have to deal with this pressure.”
I remember staring at my account balance every day, calculating how far the money would carry us if the rejection emails didn’t stop. There wasn’t any “deep” resolution or breakthrough. I got another job eventually, and things levelled out. But even with a job now, I still remember how close I felt to snapping.
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I used to fear poverty. Now, as a married man, that fear has tripled
Before marriage, I was already scared of financial instability. Now? That fear has tripled. I worry a lot about not having enough. And the funny thing is, I didn’t even grow up poor. We were comfortable, but not rich. So this fear doesn’t come from trauma. It comes from pressure — the pressure to show up and be the kind of provider I think a husband should be.
We don’t even have kids yet, and I’m already paranoid. I can’t imagine what I’ll feel like when we start a family.
Thankfully, my wife understands me. She’s told me several times that my anxiety doesn’t come from laziness or irresponsibility. It comes from a deep desire to care for my family and do right by them. That helps sometimes. But even with that, I still feel uneasy whenever things don’t go according to plan.
If I could go back, I’d wait till I was super rich
If there’s one thing I wish I could tell my younger, unmarried self, it’s this: Wait. Wait until you’re so financially stable that you can handle any unexpected blow without feeling like your world will collapse. Because the truth is, love won’t stop the bills from coming.
One of the hardest things I’ve had to do was keep up with our 60/40 split even when I had no job. I don’t know if it counts as a compromise, but I kept pushing myself to contribute even when I was digging into savings I should’ve protected. My wife didn’t tell me to stop. But to be fair, I didn’t act like I needed her to. I still carried on like everything was fine.
I sometimes wonder, “Would she have eased up on me if I’d just admitted I needed help?” Maybe. But I also felt like I had something to prove. If I championed partnership, I couldn’t be the first to slack. It was a difficult time. I got angry every time I dipped into my savings, but I kept going.
Love isn’t enough, but it’s the reason I stay
People say love isn’t enough to sustain a marriage. They’re right, but I also believe it’s the glue that holds everything else together. When you’re knee-deep in frustration or anger, it’s love that pulls you back to clarity.
A few months ago, I got home and found out our generator had been running even though there was light. The security guard said we’d had power for over an hour. My wife was inside, watching TV with the volume high. I was furious. She knew how much I hated refuelling the generator, and it felt like she just didn’t care.
She didn’t like how I spoke to her, and we barely exchanged words for the rest of the night. But the next morning, I remembered I was the one who introduced her to the show she was watching. I got excited about it first, and she was watching it to share that excitement with me.
That memory brought me back. I apologised, and we moved on. That’s what love does. It reminds you why you’re in this thing together. It’s like when your teeth bite your tongue, you don’t yank them out. You deal with the pain and carry on because it’s still your mouth. Still a part of you.
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