There’s a statistic that’s disconcerting in its starkness: in Spain, approximately half of the young population will never get married. It’s not that they’ll get divorced or marry later; they simply won’t walk down the aisle. Period.
In the 1970s, it was almost an anomaly not to be married before the age of 30 (85% of men and 90% of women were married); today, it’s rare to have married at that age. As a result, single-person households have skyrocketed. And this phenomenon is spreading across much of the world, making loneliness the new norm in industrialized countries.
I’m not going to tell anyone they have to get married. Far from it. But the new generations are not only opposed to marriage as an institution, but also to sharing their lives as a couple. And behind that there are not only cultural, demographic, and economic reasons, but also psychological ones.
Again, marriage isn’t a mandatory milestone in adult life; cohabitation or even living alone are perfectly valid options. The problem is choosing them for the wrong reasons: fear of commitment, a distorted view of marriage, emotional illiteracy, and so on.
The couple as a renunciation
In many cases, young people don’t reject marriage itself, but rather the image they’ve formed of it, which they associate with an act of renunciation. “If I start a relationship, I’ll lose my freedom,” many say, and they mean it, with that silent fear that grips you when you talk about long-term commitments.
That ghost doesn’t arise from nowhere; it’s usually born at home or from the role models they saw while growing up: parents trapped in unhappy relationships, endless arguments about trivialities, unequal sacrifices… Although it may not seem like it, all of this is seared into their memory.
They assume that marriage or cohabitation is a social contract that is more obligatory than supportive, that demands unequal sacrifices, and that often reproduces patriarchal patterns or rigid roles that do not fit with current expectations of equality and autonomy.
Added to this is the cultural aversion to commitment. A kind of collective mantra has taken hold: life is short and the world is full of choices, so any promise seems like a life sentence.
In liquid relationships, as defined by Zygmunt Bauman, everything is temporary, flexible, and easily replaceable. Young people experience love and affection, yes, but it comes with an implicit expiration date.
Thus, the couple ceases to be a long-term project and becomes more of a tacit agreement for temporary cohabitation. It’s no longer “until death do us part,” but until they get bored or it no longer suits them (whichever comes first). From this perspective, a solid commitment is perceived as outdated, rigid, and even dangerous to personal freedom.
And while we’re at it, let’s also talk about the growing issue of emotional illiteracy, the inability to recognize and manage one’s own emotions, as well as to communicate our desires and needs assertively.
If there’s a generation that shuns emotions like the plague, then relationships are perceived as a risk, a minefield where any move can cause tremendous damage. Many young people, having never learned to regulate their emotions or express their needs in a healthy way, run from the idea of a deep commitment, simply because they’re afraid of losing control of their emotional lives.
What does a healthy relationship look like?
I’ve always been a firm believer in the idea that “it’s better to be alone than in bad company.” I also don’t believe in the myth of the soulmate and I think that before loving someone else, you must have learned to love yourself. However, I also believe that having a mature relationship where you love and are loved is one of the most wonderful experiences you can have.
A healthy marriage or relationship doesn’t mean giving up personal projects, asking for permission, or losing your freedom. Of course, you wouldn’t go skiing for a weekend in St. Moritz or disappear for a month on a spiritual retreat in Sedona without telling anyone, but a relationship isn’t about asking for permission, it’s about communicating and negotiating.
Obviously, it’s necessary to coordinate goals, values, and logistics because if you each go your own way, only running into each other by pure chance, you’ll become two strangers living under the same roof. However, important decisions are made together, not imposed.
This coordination is learned through trial and error and by respecting each other’s individuality. Therefore, a mature relationship is more about synchronizing desires and expectations. Life as a couple isn’t a bureaucracy of the soul; it’s more like a continuous dance of choice.
And I say “continuous choice” because in a mature relationship, both partners know they are free to leave whenever they want, but at the same time, they are certain that they will both fight for the relationship. They won’t abandon each other at the first sign of trouble.
And perhaps that ambivalence is another thing that younger generations find so difficult to understand, as they are trapped in a kind of dichotomous thinking in which you are either free or you submit.
A healthy marriage is like a choreographed dance: neither partner dictates all the steps, but both listen to the music, feel the rhythm, and adjust their movements as needed. Not out of obligation, but for the sheer joy of it. And those who don’t understand this will never be able to experience it.
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