My Father’s Paradox and The Gift of a Wrong Turn

Reflections on Love, Marriage and the Journey to Finding Myself

I grew up thinking my father was a progressive; an independent thinker, who challenged religious dogmas and societal norms. He encouraged us to question everything; to seek knowledge and wisdom beyond the boundaries of conventional thinking. He pushed for us to scale the highest intellectual peaks. But as I reflect on our relationship, I notice a striking paradox. There was a disconnect in the ways he wanted us to relate with the world and the ways he wanted us to relate with him.

My father was that man who wanted us to question the world but not his own ideals. There was an unspoken expectation: respect, obedience, and allegiance. A generational divide, perhaps, or simply human complexity. He dreaded societal judgment yet, inadvertently imposed its expectations on us. It was as if he was fighting some inner battles. I could see it in the ways he talked about marriage as a box that had to be checked, yet resented the very idea of it and the responsibility that came with it.

Though well-intentioned, my father’s words never aligned with my heart. Not once did he make marriage sound appealing. “Marriage is a responsibility,” he’d say. “You must learn to compromise, to prioritize your partner’s needs.” There was no mention of love and understanding. The unspoken message was clear: marriage required subjugation and surrendering my opinions.

Yet, he worried I wasn’t cut out for marriage. “You’re too opinionated,” he’d say, as if having my own mind was a flaw. He never spoke about marriage as a choice, but as an inevitability, a checkbox on his paternal to-do list. “Get your daughters married” — as if our happiness and fulfillment depended on it. It was as though failure to secure his daughter a spouse would make him a failed father. And there I was, committed to not making him a failure.

But I could sense a disconnect between his words and his true feelings. He certainly didn’t believe that marriage was the key to my success. That would have been a betrayal of his own reality. This paradox left me wondering whether marriage was a prison or a partnership. At heart, I was a lover; a hopeless romantic. I certainly wasn’t in pursuit of any relationship marked by duty and strife. This inner turmoil sparked a realization: I must define marriage on my own terms. Love, companionship, and mutual respect — these would be my guiding principles.

One evening, when I was just fifteen-years-old, my father said to me “You have approximately ten years left to live under my roof. I will not have you become a spinster in my home.” His words felt like a ticking clock, a countdown to a predetermined destiny. I would presume that it was on one of those days when he had been overwhelmed by the pressures of marriage and parenting. My failure to secure a spouse by twenty-five would mar his reputation.

Looking back, I wonder if my life’s pace was just a coincidence or something deliberately scripted. I recall the milestones: primary school at 5, secondary school at 9, university at 16, and a law degree by 21. Each step, a deliberate checkmark on life’s to-do list.

But amidst this whirlwind, I unknowingly adopted a mental timeline. A roadmap for adulthood, carefully outlined. Marriage at 22, motherhood at 23, career takeoff, and achieving all my goals before 30 — my vision for a “perfect” life.

Then came the day I told my father about the man I wanted to marry. I was 22, fresh from my law school triumph. I expected pride and enthusiasm. Instead, he hesitated. “You’re too young,” he said, “Get your postgraduate degree first.” His words caught me off guard. This was certainly not coming from the same man who had put me under this pressure.

For the first time, I disagreed with my father. Our timelines no longer aligned. His once-clear expectations now seemed fluid, unpredictable. I felt a tug-of-war between my own aspirations and his revised plans. This clash awakened me to the reality: my life’s script wasn’t mine alone. I had internalized societal norms, my father’s hopes, and my own ambitions. The realization was terrifying. But in my childish mind, I had no interest in challenging the timeline I had created. I was committed to following the script, nonetheless.

I struck a deal with my father. I would pursue a postgraduate degree before marriage. It was the middle ground I sought, a compromise to ease his concerns. I thought it would be a win-win — he’d get the academic achievement, and l’d get my partner. And so, at the age of 24, I finally married my husband — a love marriage I never imagined would begin to crash as soon as it began.

The honeymoon phase had barely ended when cracks began to show. The love that once felt unshakeable started to tremble. I had entered into marriage with a shallow understanding of love and partnership. I was not equipped to identify what I wanted and what I did not. I had romanticized flowers but neglected the roots. I had misread the signs and ignored the red flags. And as I navigated this unexpected terrain, the shock and disillusionment gave way to a profound realization: my real journey wasn’t about finding love and partnership; it was about finding and understanding myself. The former, as I‘ve come to realise, is only a possible destination.

Now, eight years later, I have embarked on a more intimate journey into my own self, having shed the weight of a wrong turn. I’ve walked away from the marriage that once promised forever, but ultimately revealed its fatal flaws. I’ve dismantled the timeline I’d meticulously built for myself. And as I reflect on my father’s paradox, I realize that it was both a gift and a puzzle. It taught me to seek truth and wisdom, but also to confront the contradictions within myself. This new journey is a gift I cherish; raw, honest, and sometimes daunting. It’s ultimately mine and mine alone.