I’d Rather Be Alone Than in the Wrong Arms

Marriage.

It’s something many little girls dream about—finding their prince charming, their soulmate. You imagine a beautiful wedding, a stunning dress, a fairytale moment.

But life goes on. You grow older. Wiser. And slowly, you wake from that idealistic dream.

Because after the cake, the celebration, and the photos—you have to go home with him. You have to build a life with a man. And then you realize: most of the men in your life aren’t even tolerable enough to spend a weekend with—let alone a lifetime.

As a woman of the 21st century, living in a free society, I’ve never been taught to tolerate a man just for the sake of it. Not like my mother. Not like my grandmother. I love them—but I refuse to repeat their pattern.

When I was younger, my parents worried about my education. But now that I’m twenty-four, apparently I’ve officially entered the “danger zone.” Suddenly, their biggest fear isn’t whether I’ll get a good job or finish school—it’s that I’ll grow old and die alone.

At twenty-four! Like I’m about to sprout gray hairs and start knitting sweaters for cats.

Well, I do have fourteen volumes of The Men I Survived, and you can’t survive without a few battle scars. So yeah—I’ve got some gray hairs. But I’m satisfied; I look like a wizard.

“Choose quickly!” they say, as if I’m browsing shoes on sale and need to grab a pair before they’re gone.

Let me be clear: a man is not a pair of shoes.

You are choosing your husband. Your life partner. The future father of your children. Marriage, to me, is a one-time vow. And you must choose with care. The right partner can make your life heaven. The wrong one—hell.

So dear Papa,
You chose an arranged marriage.
But I will choose love.
Or nothing.

To my readers who have followed my series, The Men I Survived—
You might think, Poor Donna.

But don’t.

Each experience, no matter how disastrous, taught me something vital. These weren’t just heartbreaks—they were mirrors, showing me what I wanted in a spouse—and what I would never tolerate again.

These experiences were crucial.

I now know:
I want a provider.
I want clarity, not mystery.
I want to be the princess—not the prince.

I am healing. Healing my inner child. Healing my inner feminine.
And I will never again become masculine just to make a man feel comfortable.

I’ve lived through the chaos.
Now, I’m creating peace.

And peace means more to me than a diamond ring, a wedding dress, or a venue.