Growing up in a traditional Sikh household, there were certain rules that ‘good girls’ had to follow.
Dating was discouraged and talking to boys was something you avoided unless there was a clear purpose. My parents wanted to protect me, and in many ways they did. But that protection also meant I lived a very sheltered life. I focused on my studies, stayed close to home, and followed the expectations placed on me without questioning them too much.
In my community, a woman’s reputation was everything, with a strong emphasis on remaining a virgin until marriage. It was seen as a sign of respectability, discipline, and good upbringing. Girls who dated or had relationships before marriage were often judged, whispered about, or labelled. So I stayed away from relationships, avoided romantic situations, and convinced myself that waiting for marriage was the safest and most honourable path.
Looking back now, I realise how much fear guided this decision. I wasn’t necessarily choosing this lifestyle freely – I was trying to avoid disappointing my family and community.
After years of avoiding the opposite sex, adulthood brought with it a sudden pressure to find a suitable match and get married. By the time I hit my late 20s, there was a real urgency for me to ‘settle down’ as my parents fretted about my future day and night while fielding nosy questions from relatives.
In a last-ditch effort to find my husband, I signed up for a matrimonial service through our local Gurdwara (Sikh place of worship). It was considered a respectable way to meet a partner, and many successful marriages had started that way.
Soon after, I met a man who seemed suitable on paper. He had a stable job, a good family background, and the approval of our families – all essential criteria for an arranged marriage.
We were introduced to each other and had a few formal ‘meetings’ that provided little opportunity to get to know each other on a deeper level. When I expressed my concerns, everyone reassured me that compatibility would grow after marriage. I wanted to believe that.
Deep down, though, I had doubts. There was a quiet voice inside me telling me something didn’t feel right. I remember feeling uneasy before the wedding, but I pushed those anxieties aside. I told myself that nerves were normal and that marriage required compromise. I didn’t want to cause disappointment or create conflict within my family.
So I went ahead with the marriage. I knew from the start it had been a mistake.
The connection I had hoped would grow simply wasn’t there. Instead of feeling secure and loved, I felt uncomfortable and emotionally disconnected. The reality of married life was very different from what I had imagined.
One of the most difficult parts for me was the experience of intimacy. I had ‘saved’ myself physically and emotionally for my husband because I believed that was what marriage was about. I believed that sex would feel meaningful, special, and rooted in love. Instead, it felt forced and unfamiliar, something I was expected to do because I was married, not because I felt emotionally ready or connected to my partner.
That realisation was painful. I felt a deep sense of regret, not because intimacy itself was wrong, but because I had shared something so personal with someone who wasn’t right for me. I had spent years protecting my values and waiting for my perfect match, only to discover that the relationship lacked the emotional foundation I needed.
I began to feel trapped. Every day, I questioned my decision. I struggled with the idea that I had ignored my instincts and rushed into a marriage that didn’t feel right from the start. The more time passed, the clearer it became that this relationship was not going to improve.
After one year, I made the difficult decision to leave and file for divorce. It was one of the hardest choices I have ever made – but also one of the most freeing. Walking away from that marriage allowed me to reclaim my independence and begin rebuilding my life.
Part of this journey has seen me return to an unexpected place; along the way, I decided to choose, once again, to wait for the right person before sleeping with them.
Some people might call it being a ‘born-again virgin,’ and in a sense, that is how it has felt for me.
Ending my marriage forced me to reflect deeply on what intimacy means to me. I realised that it is not just a physical act, but something emotional, personal, and meaningful. After experiencing a relationship where that connection was missing, I became even more certain that I did not want to share that part of myself casually or without trust and emotional safety.
So after my divorce, I made a conscious decision to protect myself – emotionally and physically – until I met someone who truly felt right. That decision has not always been easy, especially in today’s dating culture, where expectations around intimacy can feel very different from the values I grew up with. There is often an unspoken assumption that physical closeness should happen quickly, sometimes within the first few dates. Instead, I believe intimacy should grow naturally from connection, respect, and genuine compatibility.
Dating again in my 40s has been a learning experience. It can feel intimidating to start over at this stage of life, particularly when many people carry emotional histories, responsibilities, and past relationships. I have also noticed that the dating landscape seems more complicated now, with mixed intentions and different expectations about commitment. At times, that can make it harder to feel safe opening up to someone new.
I have heard stories from other divorced women about the challenges of navigating mid-life dating – including encounters with people who are not always honest about their circumstances or intentions. Those experiences have made me more cautious, but they have also strengthened my sense of self-respect and clarity about what I want.
For me, waiting is not about fear or judgment of others. It is about honouring my own boundaries and recognising my worth. I believe intimacy should be shared with someone who values commitment, honesty, and emotional connection – not simply convenience or momentary desire.
Some people may see this choice as old-fashioned or unrealistic, especially in midlife, but I am not interested in casual relationships or temporary excitement. I am looking for a love that is meaningful, steady, and lasting.
Yes, waiting can sometimes feel lonely. It can feel like the odds are stacked against you when you are searching for a genuine connection in a fast-moving world. But I still believe the right person is out there. Meeting him may take time, patience, and resilience, but I would rather wait for the right relationship than settle for the wrong one.
I share my experience because I know many women face similar pressures. They are taught to be obedient, cautious, and patient, often at the expense of their own personal growth. They may feel afraid to explore relationships or express their desires openly.
To those women, I want to say this: It is okay to take your time. It is okay to date and learn about yourself and enjoy life and being intimate with someone if that’s what makes you happy.
It is okay to make decisions based on your own happiness.
Waiting for the right person is not a mistake. The mistake is ignoring your own voice when something doesn’t feel right.
Looking back, I am grateful I had the strength to leave an unhappy marriage and begin again. While I cannot change the past, I can choose how to live the rest of my life – with honesty, courage, and the freedom to make my own decisions.
