
I suffered, I really suffered, with all three of my husbands. And
I suffered, I really suffered, with all three of my husbands. And I tried damn hard with all three, starting each marriage certain that it was going to last until the end of my life. Yet none of them lasted more than a year or two.






"I suffered, I really suffered, with all three of my husbands. And I tried damn hard with all three, starting each marriage certain that it was going to last until the end of my life. Yet none of them lasted more than a year or two." These words from Ava Gardner encapsulate the agonizing reality of love, the hope that each new relationship will be lasting, and the eventual disappointment when those hopes are dashed. Gardner’s words speak to the universal struggle of human relationships—the longing for stability, the desire for companionship, and the painful truth that even the most sincere efforts may not always result in the lasting union we envision. It is the deep suffering of the human heart when commitment fails, and the disillusionment that follows, no matter how hard one tries.
In the ancient world, the idea of marriage was often intertwined with duty rather than romantic love. Consider the arranged marriages of ancient Rome, where alliances were formed between families for the sake of political or social gain. The emotions of the individuals involved, though not ignored, were often secondary to the pursuit of stability for the family or empire. And yet, even in this context, failure was not uncommon. Emperor Augustus, for example, struggled with his own personal relationships, including his troubled marriage to Livia—a union that, though politically advantageous, did not bring him happiness. Despite his great power, Augustus’ inability to achieve personal fulfillment in his marriage was a reminder that even the greatest of men were not immune to the heartache of failed relationships. Like Ava Gardner, they too suffered, despite their best efforts to make love and commitment last.
Gardner’s struggle with her marriages reveals something deeply human: the pain of trying and failing, of pouring one’s heart into a relationship, only for it to collapse despite the most earnest intentions. This is not a struggle that is unique to any one culture or time period. Throughout history, many have experienced the bitterness of disillusionment—when the ideal of love is not met with the reality of human imperfection. One need look no further than the love stories of the medieval knights or the courtly love of the troubadours, where intense longing, suffering, and idealized commitment were often met with tragedy or betrayal. Love was often an aspiration, but its fulfillment was rare, leaving many to question the very nature of romantic idealism.
Yet, there is also wisdom in this suffering. In Gardner’s words, we hear not just the lament of unfulfilled dreams, but a recognition of the effort that she put into her marriages. She tried damn hard—and that effort, though it did not yield the results she had hoped for, was not in vain. In ancient Greece, Socrates taught that the pursuit of virtue—in whatever form—was never without value, even if success was not guaranteed. Like Gardner, who worked tirelessly to make her marriages work, the pursuit of love, even in failure, is a virtue in itself. It is in the effort, the dedication, and the perseverance that we find our growth, even if the outcome is not what we imagined. Gardner’s suffering reflects the tragic reality that love requires sacrifice, but it also brings with it lessons that shape us into something greater, even through failure.
Consider also the life of Queen Elizabeth I of England, whose long reign was marked not only by political triumphs but by the personal suffering of being unmarried. Elizabeth, though never married, struggled deeply with the pressure to form an alliance through marriage, often negotiating with suitors from across Europe. Her refusal to marry was not for lack of wanting love or companionship, but rather because the political and emotional costs of marriage were too high. She, like Gardner, understood the complexities of love and marriage—how even the most well-meaning unions could bring with them immense personal sacrifice, loss, and disillusionment. Elizabeth’s story, like Gardner’s, is one of navigating the tension between personal desire and the larger demands of society.
The lesson in Gardner’s words is not one of resignation, but of acceptance. Love and commitment are not simple, easy, or always rewarding endeavors. They are filled with difficulty, disappointment, and suffering, but they are also where we find our truest selves. In the effort to love, even if the outcome is not what we hoped for, we gain wisdom, resilience, and a deeper understanding of what it means to be human. Gardner’s suffering shows us that while marriage may not always be the fairytale we envision, the struggle to find connection and meaning is a universal human journey.
As you reflect on this in your own life, ask yourself: How do I approach love and commitment? Am I willing to try, even in the face of potential failure? Understand that love is not about perfection or constant joy, but about growth, effort, and mutual respect. The wisdom of suffering in relationships teaches us that true love is not the absence of hardship but the willingness to endure, to try, and to grow. Let this be the guiding principle in your own relationships: commitment is not about avoiding pain, but about finding strength and wisdom through the effort of love, regardless of the outcome.
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