I don't know what it takes to make marriage work, but I'm going

In the tender yet unyielding words of Stephanie Mills, the soul singer whose voice carried both strength and vulnerability, we hear this timeless confession: “I don't know what it takes to make marriage work, but I'm going to keep trying until I get it right. I haven't given up on love or marriage.” These words are not the boast of certainty, but the vow of perseverance. They speak not from the high towers of triumph, but from the sacred ground of struggle—where love is tested, lost, and reborn. Mills reminds us that love is not a single victory; it is a journey of the heart that demands courage to begin again, even when the past has broken us.

The ancients would have understood her words well. They knew that love, like life itself, is an art of persistence. It is not a treasure stumbled upon, nor a flame that burns forever on its own. It must be kindled again and again by the patient hands of those who refuse to let it die. In Mills’ confession, there is humility—the admission of not knowing—and yet there is also a warrior’s spirit: the will to continue. For she teaches us that to not know and still to try is the highest act of faith. In that faith lies the secret to every lasting bond between two souls.

Stephanie Mills, whose own life was woven with triumphs and trials, knew that love could wound as deeply as it could heal. Her marriages, her heartbreaks, her devotion to her craft—all were part of the same quest: to understand the meaning of connection. She sang of longing and resilience, her voice trembling with both pain and hope. Her words came not from perfection, but from experience. And in that experience, she found wisdom—that failure in love is not the end of love, but a lesson in how to love better. Her persistence is a quiet defiance against the cynicism of the world, a declaration that the heart can rise again from its own ashes.

Consider the story of Eleanor Roosevelt, whose marriage to Franklin D. Roosevelt was marked by both greatness and deep personal sorrow. She discovered betrayal, loneliness, and disillusionment, yet she did not surrender to bitterness. Instead, she transformed her pain into purpose, becoming a voice for justice, humanity, and compassion. She once said, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.” Like Mills, she did not give up on love—not romantic love alone, but love as a force for good. Through endurance, she turned her wounds into wisdom and her heartbreak into service. This is the path of those who understand that love’s perfection lies not in its constancy, but in its resilience.

The truth hidden within Mills’ words is that love is a lifelong apprenticeship. There is no final mastery, only deeper understanding. Marriage is not a formula to be solved, but a living bond that grows, falters, and renews itself. To “keep trying” is to accept that love changes form, that hearts must be tended like gardens—sometimes pruned, sometimes replanted, always nurtured. The bravest lovers are not those who never stumble, but those who rise after every fall, their hands still open, their spirits still willing.

Her words also speak against the despair of our age—the ease with which we abandon, the haste with which we flee discomfort. Mills calls us back to the ancient discipline of endurance, to the belief that love, though fragile, is worth the fight. She urges us to be humble enough to admit our failures, yet strong enough to try again. For in each attempt, we come closer to understanding the sacred truth: that to love another is to see oneself reflected, challenged, and transformed. Each failure polishes the soul; each act of trying is an offering to the divine within us.

So let the lesson be this: Do not give up on love. Whether it blooms in romance, friendship, or the quiet devotion of service, love is the pulse of life itself. When it falters, do not curse it—repair it. When it fades, do not mourn it—rekindle it. And if it ends, do not close your heart—learn from it. Keep trying, as Mills vowed to do, until your love—imperfect yet sincere—becomes a song that only your soul could sing.

For love, like the dawn, comes again and again to those who wait in faith. And the one who refuses to give up on love has already won the truest victory—the victory over fear, over pride, over despair. In this way, Stephanie Mills’ words become an anthem of the heart, echoing through time: you need not know the way to love perfectly; you need only keep walking toward it.