I couldn't think of anything worse than being in an unhappy

Simon Cowell’s words fall with the weight of lived experience: “I couldn’t think of anything worse than being in an unhappy marriage. It worries me because I’ve seen it destroy people.” This is no idle reflection, but a warning shaped by the sight of broken souls and wasted years. In the manner of the ancients, we may hear in his voice not cynicism but a call to truth: that the bonds of union, if poisoned by misery, become shackles heavier than iron. To bind oneself in such sorrow is to walk willingly into a prison where joy withers, and where the spirit is ground into dust.

The phrase unhappy marriage calls forth a haunting image: two travelers bound together on the road of life, yet moving in opposite directions. Instead of harmony, there is discord; instead of comfort, torment. The hearth grows cold, the laughter fades, and the union—meant to be a sanctuary—becomes a battlefield. Cowell has seen this with his own eyes, as many have: the once-vibrant faces of friends dulled by bitterness, their dreams eroded by years of silent despair. He speaks of such unions not as abstract tales, but as tragedies he has witnessed firsthand.

Throughout history, the ancients warned against such unions. In the Greek tale of Medea and Jason, what began as passion and devotion curdled into betrayal, mistrust, and destruction. Their marriage, once a beacon of daring love, descended into ruin so complete that it left death and despair in its wake. It is a tale that reminds us: when the foundations of trust and respect are cracked, the entire edifice collapses, burying both souls beneath its rubble. What Cowell fears, the Greeks dramatized, and the lesson is the same—misery in union corrodes the very essence of life.

But let us not only turn to legend. In more recent times, countless lives bear testimony to this truth. Consider those who remain in marriages not from love but from fear—fear of judgment, of loneliness, of breaking tradition. Many endure silently, their spirits shrinking with each passing day. And indeed, as Cowell notes, it does not merely wound; it destroys. It saps health, drains hope, and casts shadows that can fall even upon the children of such a home, who grow beneath the weight of unspoken pain.

The wisdom here is not a condemnation of marriage itself, but a reminder of its sacred nature. A marriage is meant to be a shelter, not a storm; a bond that uplifts, not one that corrodes. If entered lightly, or endured without care, it becomes a poison. Yet, if chosen wisely and nurtured daily, it is among the greatest blessings of mortal life. The ancients spoke of the yoke of marriage: a burden indeed, but one that, when borne together with love, becomes light and joyful.

Thus the lesson comes forth: better solitude than chains; better honesty than pretense; better to walk alone in dignity than to wither in the company of one who brings only sorrow. To young hearts listening, the teaching is this—choose with wisdom, and tend your bond with diligence. Do not rush into lifelong vows for the sake of appearances, nor linger in despair for the fear of change. The true oath of love must be founded on respect, joy, and shared purpose. Without these, the promise is hollow, and life becomes long suffering.

Practically, let each soul guard against the fate Cowell describes. Seek partners not only of beauty or wealth, but of character. Speak honestly of your needs, your fears, and your hopes. If love falters, do not allow silence to fester—speak, heal, or, if healing fails, part with courage rather than endure decay. For a life of truth, even in solitude, is greater than a life chained to bitterness.

In Cowell’s words is the voice of one who has looked upon ruins and chosen to sound the alarm. He reminds us that the worst fate is not to be alone, but to be together in misery. If we heed this wisdom, we may strive to build unions that are strong and radiant, and when we cannot, we may have the strength to walk away—so that our lives, and those who share in them, are not destroyed, but uplifted.