The divorce stories are getting younger, sharper and more sophisticated. People who speak fluent psychology, quote attachment styles and can diagnose “narcissists” from three reels on Instagram are walking out of marriages at a rate that terrifies even themselves. We are educated, exposed and empowered yet our unions are fragile, short-lived and often emotionally exhausted long before the legal dissolution.
Our grandparents knew almost nothing about “red flags” and “boundaries,” yet their marriages somehow survived decades of poverty, droughts, in laws, polygamy and cultural shifts. They did not post hugs online, never staged proposal videos, rarely used pet names, and had no “date nights” sponsored by airlines. Still, their marriages endured the slow grind of life in a way many modern Christian unions do not. The question nags: were they better, or just quieter in their suffering?
Today, a spouse is dismissed in a sentence: “He’s a narcissist, I left that morning.” “I don’t like the imposter syndrome she carries, I’m out.” Labels that took psychologists years to define now become exit buttons. Narcissism as a personality trait is not new, but our vocabulary for it is. Our parents endured difficult personalities too, but they described them with different words: “mwenye kichwa ngumu,” “too proud,” “has a temper.” The difference may not be the existence of hard people, but the threshold of what we are willing to endure and the number of doors we perceive as open when things get tough.
Endurance, however, is a dangerous word if we do not interrogate it. “Until death do us part” sounds noble during the vows, but what is dying, exactly? Is it the physical body of the spouse, or the death of love, trust and safety? Enduring a partner’s humanity their flaws, moods, growth pains – is part of covenant. Enduring violence, humiliation or the slow murder of one’s soul is something else entirely. The older generation’s endurance gave stability, yes, but it also buried a lot of silent pain that erupted in their children’s emotional lives.
Then there is submission, that word that can start a war in a room full of women. Our grandmothers often submitted because there was no alternative script; survival depended on compliance. Today, a woman with her own income, education and social capital hears “submit” and sees a threat to her identity. If submission is taught as erasing your voice, talents and personhood, of course it will feel like slavery. If, however, it is framed as mutual yielding a dance where both partners bend so neither breaks – it starts to resemble teamwork more than chains.
On the other side, some men have exploited old ideas of submission to avoid adulthood. Why carry responsibility if culture excuses your laziness and infidelity? When a man never grows emotionally, spiritually or financially, the empowered woman beside him does not interpret submission as virtue; she experiences it as self-betrayal. It is easier to preach about “modern women who don’t submit” than to confront growing male irresponsibility and emotional absenteeism. Leadership without sacrifice will always feel like oppression to the one being led.
Beneath all the noise lies a simpler truth: our structures for handling conflict are weak. We either romanticize marriage into a heaven with no fights, or endure in silence until resentment calcifies into contempt. Very few couples are taught how to argue without destroying each other, how to seek mediation early, how to confess and repair. Instead, issues are swept under carpets until those carpets become volcanoes. When eruption finally comes, everyone is shocked yet the signs were there, ignored, belittled or spiritualized away.
Ignorance was not a blessing; it was a form of survival. Enlightenment is not a curse; it is a tool that can heal or harm depending on how we use it. The real crisis may not be knowledge but the lack of wisdom to balance endurance with dignity, submission with mutual respect, empowerment with humility, and exit with genuine attempts at repair. The question haunting our generation is no longer, “How did they stay so long?” but “Do we still know how to stay at all and when, wisely, not to?”
Dr. Yusuf Muchelule is a Senior Lecturer & a Consultant.
