People get married for a wide array of reasons and have all sorts

The words of Emily V. Gordon — “People get married for a wide array of reasons and have all sorts of expectations of how marriage will change the relationship. And while it's true that turning the person you're dating into a legal partner does affect certain things, those who expect marriage to be a cure-all for all your relationship woes are sorely mistaken.” — are both gentle and wise, speaking to one of humanity’s oldest and most sacred institutions: marriage. Beneath their calm reason lies an eternal truth — that no ritual, no ceremony, no document can transform the heart overnight. The bond between two souls is not fortified by law alone, but by the daily labor of love, honesty, and patience. Her words echo the wisdom of the ancients, who knew that the strength of any union rests not upon vows spoken once, but upon promises kept forever.

In her reflection, Gordon dismantles one of the most enduring illusions of love — the belief that marriage can mend what was already breaking. Many enter into wedlock thinking that the title of husband or wife will soothe old wounds, replace uncertainty with stability, or somehow transmute friction into harmony. Yet she reminds us that the truth is far simpler and far harder: marriage does not create character, it reveals it. If the foundation of the relationship is weak, the weight of marriage will not repair it — it will expose the cracks. To believe otherwise is to build a temple on sand and wonder why it sinks in the first storm.

The origin of this wisdom lies deep in the history of human union. From the dawn of civilization, marriage was both a personal vow and a social contract, intended to unite families, secure alliances, and ensure survival. But over time, humanity began to weave into it the longing for spiritual fulfillment — to make of marriage not merely a bond of bodies or households, but a union of hearts. Yet even then, the wise among the ancients warned that the ritual itself held no magic. The Greek philosopher Socrates advised, “By all means marry: if you get a good wife, you’ll become happy; if you get a bad one, you’ll become a philosopher.” Beneath his jest lay the same truth Gordon speaks now — that marriage is not salvation, but reflection. It is the mirror in which we see ourselves most clearly, our virtues and our flaws magnified through the eyes of another.

Consider the story of King Henry VIII, whose six marriages were driven by ambition, passion, and the hunger for an heir. He sought fulfillment not in self-understanding, but in the endless reshaping of his unions, believing that by changing his partner, he could change his fate. Yet each marriage ended in sorrow — annulment, death, or heartbreak — because the unrest was not in the women he married, but in the man himself. His tale, though cast in royal grandeur, mirrors the mistake made by many in quieter lives: seeking in another the remedy for what must be healed within. No crown, no title, no ceremony can make whole what the soul refuses to face.

Gordon’s words also shine a light upon the expectations we bring into love — the unseen burdens we lay upon one another. She reminds us that people “get married for a wide array of reasons”: for love, companionship, family, stability, or even fear of loneliness. Yet the purity of marriage does not depend on why it began, but on how it is tended. If one enters marriage seeking to be completed, disappointment will soon follow. But if one enters it seeking to grow together, then even hardship becomes holy. True marriage is not a cure, but a craft — the daily art of forgiveness, humility, and renewal.

There is a quieter strength, too, in Gordon’s tone — the acknowledgment that even though marriage “affects certain things,” it is not transformation, but evolution. It deepens what is already true, and tests what is not. The couple who communicate will learn to communicate better; the couple who avoid truth will find avoidance harder to hide. Thus, marriage becomes not an escape from struggle, but the crucible in which character is forged. In this way, her words carry both comfort and caution: comfort in knowing that imperfection does not doom a union, and caution in knowing that the bond itself will not erase imperfection.

The lesson of her wisdom is simple yet profound: do not look to marriage — or any external bond — to heal what must be healed within. Love is not a panacea, but a partnership in which two imperfect souls choose daily to build something greater than themselves. If you wish for a strong marriage, begin not with ceremony, but with honesty; not with expectation, but with empathy. Ask not, “What will this union give me?” but “What am I willing to give to it?” For the ancients taught that love, to endure, must be both flame and discipline — passion tempered by purpose.

So, let us remember the wisdom of Emily V. Gordon: marriage is neither a cure nor a cage, but a journey — one that demands courage, awareness, and grace. Do not seek in your partner what only self-understanding can provide. Instead, build with them a sanctuary of trust and mutual respect, where both may grow freely, side by side. For in the end, love is not found in the vow itself, but in the daily act of choosing — again and again — to honor, forgive, and create together. And that, the ancients would say, is the truest and most sacred kind of union.