When Love Isn’t the Point: Marriages of Convenience Then and Now
My husband and I didn’t get married because we were starry-eyed soulmates destined by the cosmos. We weren’t twenty-somethings chasing butterflies. By the time we found each other in our mid-30s, we were survivors of bad relationships and our own mess. We got married because we wanted a family. Period.
It wasn’t “love at first sight.” It was more like, you too, huh? The last two standing at the party—everyone else already coupled up, moved on, or hiding out on dating apps trying to pretend they weren’t terrified of connection. We weren’t each other’s fantasy. We were each other’s best bet to not lose our minds as parents. And there’s no shame in that. In fact, there’s something liberating about admitting it.
In this article:
What Is a Marriage of Convenience?
A Brief History of Strategic Pairing: Love Wasn’t Always the Goal
Modern Arrangements for Contemporary Couples
Parenting Without the Romance Narrative
The Pros and Cons of Keeping It Practical
Love What You Got, Don’t Start a Riot
What Is a Marriage of Convenience?
A marriage of convenience is any marriage formed for practical, rather than emotional, reasons. That could mean:
Financial stability
Immigration status
Social approval
Simply not wanting to die alone
Staying in a marriage even if the love has faded,
Co-parenting goals
It’s not just about green cards or hiding in the closet (though yeah, those count too). It’s about marrying for function instead of fireworks. Sometimes, it looks like mutual benefit; other times, it looks like quiet desperation.
A Brief History of Strategic Pairing: Love Wasn’t Always the Goal
Romantic love in marriage is a relatively recent expectation in marriage. For most of human history, marriage was business. Land, livestock, and legacy. Love, if it happened, was a bonus.
Arranged marriages still thrive in plenty of cultures, and while they get a bad rap in the West, plenty of those couples report high satisfaction. A lot of them work; not because they’re magical, but because they start from a place of clarity, not delusion.
Same goes for lavender marriages in the early to mid-20th century —LGBTQ+ folks pairing up in straight marriages to avoid social ostracization or career ruin. These were strategic, protective, and often compassionate. They weren’t passion projects. They were survival mechanisms. And they served a purpose.
Fast forward to now, and what do we have? A dating pool filled with:
Romantics chasing “the one” like it’s a job title
Forty-somethings “not looking for anything serious”
Bitter parents juggling real life and emotional baggage
People clinging to old traumas like comfort blankets
Narcissists, gaslighters, psychopaths, and more
At some point, you stop looking for a soulmate and start looking for a quieter kind of convenience. A reliable companion who won’t screw up your credit. Not sexy. But solid.
Modern Arrangements for Contemporary Couples
Our marriage is this last kind. We got together as the wild partiers who never quite fit into neat boxes or followed a linear path. Each of us had spent the better part of twenty years doing all the things you're not supposed to do—drugs, drinking, and chasing chaos. That wild streak didn’t vanish; we just redirected it into parenting energy and dark humor.
We didn’t have glittering careers or five-year plans. Nonetheless, we were both looking to finally "settle down" for family life. Neither of us came with kids, which felt like a clean slate. We had both dated people who were parents, and while we were open to joining someone else’s second act, we also knew it would be easier—for us—to build from scratch. No custody exchanges or navigating co-parenting dynamics. Just us, figuring it out from the ground up.
Most importantly, we didn’t judge each other for the past because we both had one. Our bond was rooted in that shared wildness; it bonded us. We both knew what it was to walk through fire—and not be afraid of the ash left behind.
That understanding made it easy to be radically honest. No pretending. No filtered version of ourselves. Just two real people choosing to build something with what we had.
This kind of partnership doesn’t make for a good rom-com, but it’s quietly revolutionary. It’s what happens when you get to your thirties, realize everyone’s a little broken, and finally understand that the settling in settling down is just accepting humanity—your own and someone else’s.
Parenting Without the Romance Narrative
We didn’t have a baby to fill a void or fix something broken in our relationship. We had a baby because that was the goal from the beginning. And it turns out, that’s a solid reason to raise a kid with someone.
And when our son came, we didn’t scramble to find ourselves—we already knew who we were. Flawed but functional adults doing the best we can to not to screw up this tiny human.
We didn’t feel the need to go out and relive a party phase we missed. Because we didn’t miss it—we lived it. Hard. The club nights and questionable life choices? We checked that box. Now the idea of a “wild night” is maybe watching a movie that starts after 11 PM.
The Pros and Cons of Keeping It Practical
Pros:
No false advertising. You know what you signed up for.
Shared resources. Bills get paid. Groceries get bought.
Built-in support system without the pressure of being everything to each other.
Room to grow individually without constant emotional enmeshment.
Co-parenting feels more like project management—with heart.
Cons:
It can be lonely. Especially when everyone else seems to be chasing or performing passion.
People think you’re broken if you’re not dripping with PDA or posting anniversary slideshows.
You miss the high sometimes—but not the crash.
If one person secretly wants more, resentment brews quietly.
You don’t get anniversary cards that say “To My One True Love.” You get ones that say, “We Make a Good Team.” Which… fair.
Love What You Got, Don’t Start a Riot
Some days, I miss the rush. That addictive pull of passion and being consumed by another person. But I don’t miss losing myself in someone else.
What I have now is someone who takes out the trash, mows the yard, prepares meals, and knows what it means when I say, “Daycare called again.” And even though we fight, and he frustrates me, and we drive each other up the wall like any other couple—I see someone who is still here. Someone I’d rather do this hard life with than go it alone… even if it’s only barely better some days.
Maybe that’s not cinematic. Maybe it doesn’t get a soundtrack. But it’s enough for this season of life; when we are dedicated to our family, home, and collective futures. That first year of marriage and having a baby is absolutely brutal, but we made it without divorcing.
