When Fikayo* (28) got married at 22, she thought it would look like the fairytales she grew up watching abroad, the kind filled with movie dates, shared laughter, endless kisses, and a best friend who doubles as a life partner.
Seven years later, she’s learning that marriage is less about romance and more about growing up, choosing peace, and finding yourself all over again inside a partnership.
This is a look into her marriage diary.
I thought marriage would be like a romantic friendship
I always thought marriage would be fun. Like two best friends doing life together — vibing, playing, working, cooking, travelling, everything. I pictured us going to the cinema, sharing popcorn, laughing at the same jokes, going out to eat, and just being that couple everyone looks at and says, “God, when?”
That’s the kind of marriage I grew up seeing around me. I spent a significant part of my childhood abroad, and the culture there influenced how I perceived love. Husbands and wives seemed like best friends. They did everything together — from school runs to Saturday shopping — and still looked genuinely happy doing it.
Even the movies and books I consumed sold that same idea: that your partner should be your best friend. Someone you’re excited to be around all the time. Of course, I knew it wouldn’t always be rosy, but I honestly thought marriage would look close to that picture. You know, easy, light, and full of companionship.
That’s the image that stuck with me for years, and it didn’t change until I actually got married.
Marriage forced me to grow up in ways I didn’t expect
I think the biggest surprise for me was realising how much growing up happens after marriage. People talk about growing up before marriage — how you should mature, get ready, be stable — but nobody tells you how much more growth marriage forces out of you.
For me, it came gradually. I didn’t even notice I was changing until I started reacting differently to things that used to get under my skin. I used to be someone who always had a comeback, who couldn’t let things go. But marriage made me start choosing peace over proving a point.
One particular incident stands out. One morning, I needed transport fare to get to work. I had money in another account, but I forgot to withdraw. So I asked my husband for cash. Normally, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But we’d had a fight the previous night, and he was still upset.
He said something like, “Let your disrespect get you the money you need.” That hurt me deeply. Growing up, I never lacked anything. My dad always made sure I was comfortable. So, hearing my husband say that because of a small argument, and refusing to help me, just threw me off.
I knew he had cash, so I opened his wallet and took the money. He got angry, twisted my arm a bit, and snatched it back. I just stood there crying. It wasn’t about the money anymore; it was about how quickly things could go south in marriage.
I called my dad crying, expecting him to comfort me. Instead, he said, “Well, you chose to marry a starter.” That was his way of saying I should deal with my choice. He sent me some money later for transport but added, “I won’t buy you a car. When you can, buy one yourself.”
That whole incident humbled me. It was the first time I realised that marriage isn’t just about love or vibes. It’s about emotional intelligence and knowing when to fight, when to keep quiet, and when to choose peace.
Marriage has taught me that trust shouldn’t be 100%
This might sound strange, but one thing I’ve learned is that you can’t trust anyone 100%, not even your spouse. Of course, you love and respect them, but full trust? That’s something you reserve for yourself.
Marriage has its seasons. Sometimes your partner’s actions or decisions will test your patience and make you question everything. It’s not about being paranoid; it’s about learning to keep a part of yourself grounded, even when everything else feels uncertain.
I’ve realised that blind trust can lead to resentment. You start feeling betrayed when your partner doesn’t meet expectations they never even knew existed. So now, I trust my husband — but I also trust myself to handle life if things ever go left. That balance keeps me sane.
Our differences in intimacy almost broke us
One of the hardest things to navigate in marriage has been intimacy. My husband isn’t a very physical or romantic person. He can go months without intimacy and be completely fine. Meanwhile, I’m the opposite. I crave closeness and affection, not just sex, but touch, laughter, shared moments.
In the beginning, I took it personally. I thought maybe he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. I’d say hurtful things like, “Are you sure you’re even a man?” It was wrong, but I was frustrated. I felt lonely.
Over time, I learned to communicate better. Instead of attacking him, I started asking questions. I found out it wasn’t about me; it’s just how he’s wired. Once I understood that, I stopped turning it into a war. Now, if I need affection, I tell him. If he’s not in the mood, I don’t take it personally.
It took years to get here, but that’s one of the biggest lessons marriage has taught me: that communication is more powerful than complaint.
I got married too early because of pressure
If I could advise my young and unmarried self, I would tell her to be patient before leaping into marriage.
I got married at 22, barely a few months after graduating. I was 23 when I had my first child. Looking back, I know I wasn’t ready. But where I come from, you don’t really have much choice.
My dad’s side of the family has this tradition — once you’re finishing university, the next thing they expect is marriage. My mum and aunties were constantly bringing it up, and I didn’t want to be the odd one out.
One day, out of frustration, I opened my Instagram and messaged all the guys who had been sending me direct messages. I told myself I’d marry whoever replied first, and my husband did. We started talking, dated for six months, and got married.
I’m not saying I regret marrying my husband, but I wish I’d taken my time. Maybe if I’d married at 25, I would’ve had more experience and emotional maturity. I could’ve travelled more, learned more, maybe even made better decisions.
Because I was so young, I had to learn everything the hard way. I had to learn how to run a household, manage finances, and communicate effectively without losing my identity. It’s been seven years of growing up while being someone’s wife and mother.
I’ve lost some parts of myself, but I’m learning to adapt
Before marriage, I was the fun one in my circle. I loved going on outings, trying new restaurants, having movie nights, and making spontaneous plans. I wasn’t a party girl, but I loved enjoying life in a classy way.
My husband gave me the impression that he was like that, too. He was in the Navy before we got married, travelled a lot, posted fun photos online, so I assumed we’d be perfect together. But marriage revealed that he’s actually a homebody. He’d rather stay indoors than go anywhere.
At first, that frustrated me. I wanted us to do monthly date nights, weekend trips and other fun activities to keep the spark alive. But he saw it as unnecessary. He made it seem like I liked going out too much.
Eventually, I stopped forcing it. Now, I find my joy in small solo moments. Sometimes, after work, I stop for ice cream and eat it in the car before heading home. Or I take my boys out to a park on weekends. I’ve learned that I don’t have to depend on him for every happy experience. He’s a loner, and I’m learning to be at peace with this version of him.
Still, there’s a part of me that misses my old self. The carefree girl who loved planning outings and surprising her partner with little things. I miss her, but I’ve made peace with this version of my life.
The biggest compromise has been letting him always have his way
My husband is twenty years older, and it shows in how he handles things. He’s set in his ways. Once he decides something, that’s it.
Early in the marriage, I used to argue and try to present my point of view, but it always came across as disrespectful. I got tired of trying to explain myself.
Now, I just say “okay” and move on. Sometimes I still quietly do what I think is right, but I don’t argue. I’ve learned to choose peace, even if it feels like silence.
Is it worth it? Not really. Because sometimes, I feel unseen, like my voice doesn’t count. But for the sake of our two kids, I’ve learned to let things go. Peace, even if one-sided, feels better than constant war.
Friendship keeps a marriage going, not just love
If you asked me seven years ago, I’d have said love is everything. But after all I’ve experienced, I know love alone isn’t enough to sustain a marriage. You need friendship, understanding, and respect.
Love fades sometimes. There are days when you’re angry, tired, or disconnected. But if you’re friends, you’ll find your way back.
My husband isn’t perfect, but he’s still my biggest supporter. He’s the reason I started my NGO. He helped me build the foundation, encouraged me to apply for grants, and even stayed up late helping me prep for exams. That’s the part of him I cherish deeply.
But I still crave a little more softness, more intentional effort, more companionship. I wish we did more together, not because we have to, but because we want to.
Marriage has taught me that you can love someone deeply and still wish for more. And that’s okay. Because at the end of the day, it’s the friendship that holds everything together when love feels quiet.
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.
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