I was never going to end up married. At this age (nearly 50), I look back and almost laugh that I ever thought I would — especially to a man.

Why did I think that when all signs pointed to the life I have today?

I didn't read Little Women until I was in my thirties, but I saw Gillian Armstrong's film adaptation in 1994, when I was 18 and just starting off in the world. Jo March became my instant hero. Doesn't that say it all?

I know that might confuse some because Jo quite famously marries an older professor, and in the book and movies, always ends the story by sharing a romantic kiss with him in the rain, standing beneath his umbrella. It's an iconic moment in classic literature.

But those who know about Louisa May Alcott's life will know that she was a happy spinster who wanted her darling Jo to be one, too. She loved being unmarried at a time when it was decidedly unfashionable to feel that way.

Though one of Jo's famous lines in the 2019 film adaptation is "I'd rather be a free spinster and paddle my own canoe," those words were actually uttered by Alcott about her own life. This empowering statement was given to Jo in the film by its director, Greta Gerwig, who I believe wanted to honor Alcott's life, as well as her original intentions for the story — which did not include Jo kissing an older man (or any man, at all) underneath an umbrella. That's why the ending of the 2019 film honors both the ending of the book and the ending that Alcott had envisioned.

That's right…Alcott never wanted Jo to marry.

Unfortunately, her publishers pressured her to wrap up this chapter of Jo's life with the promise of a wedding in her future, something all the good little girls of that time were expected to achieve.

In an act of defiance for being forced to write a storyline for Jo that she didn't want, Alcott decided to make Jo's future husband a much older, not particularly well-off professor who would not have been considered an attractive or aspirational match for the young girls who were then reading Little Women.

I didn't know this at the time I first watched the movie that made me love Jo so deeply. It was much, much later that this information came to my attention.

I remember laughing when I read it. I'd always seen so much of myself in Jo — even to the point where I imagined an older, slightly poor professor would be the ideal match for me.

But Jo was never supposed to fall in love or get married.

That was, I think, the first time I realized I probably wasn't supposed to, either.

I would have made a terrible wife. It seems odd for me to say that because, in practice, I was objectively good at it. If there had been an inspector following me around during the times I lived with boyfriends, I have no doubt I would have earned a near perfect score on the Wife Test.

I kept up menu plans and cooked all the meals. I did the laundry and changed the bed. I dusted and vacuumed. I made all the social plans. I took care of my boyfriends when they were sick. I did whatever they wanted in the bedroom.

I probably would have gotten bonus points, too, because I didn't care that they watched porn (I even bought Playboy subscriptions for one of them every year, back when there were still naked women on the pages), forgave them when they cheated on me, and never complained that they refused to rub my shoulders even though they expected me to rub theirs.

But if you looked closely enough, you would see that I was failing in the wife department. For instance, sometimes, people would assume we were married and would call me Mrs. ____. Oh, the way that would make the back of my neck burn.

I always knew I would never go by Mrs. I am my own person, not a mister's social appendage.

And goddammit, I was never going to take a man's name. I have my own name. Yes, I realize it was my father's name and that unless we make up a new one, we can't escape the patriarchal lineage of our names, but that doesn't change the fact that I have lived this name, and owned this name since the day I was born. It is mine and I am not giving it away simply because I live in a culture that expects me to fold myself into a man's family.

My exes were not too keen on that, I must admit.

You know what else I was bad at? Money. And not in the way you think.

I always knew I would never get married without a prenup.

I grew up with a grandfather who wasn't a feminist by any stretch of the word, but who loved his five granddaughters deeply. He told me, from childhood, to never get married without a prenup because, he said, women tend to financially struggle after a divorce. Further, he told me he had seen women lose the assets that they had brought into the marriage after a divorce and he did not want to see that happen to me, no matter how much or how little I might one day have.

He was a man before his time on that one.

What he told me made sense and became part of my expectations for a future spouse — especially if he was a man. I knew they would have to be okay with a prenup.

I had no idea until I was much older how offensive people would find my stance. My serious boyfriends found it off-putting and suspicious. My female friends and relatives felt a prenup was signing a paper that stated your intention to divorce, and that a classy woman would never suggest something so crass.

Strangely, though, the general opinion was that it would be totally normal for a boyfriend to propose a prenup — and that a good woman would sign one without question if requested to do so by her man.

One friend said, "You have to give up who you are when you get married — and that includes joining your assets into one big pot. Marriage makes you one person and that means you share in everything."

I respect everyone's right to conduct their relationships in any way that works for them, but I was horrified by that description of marriage. Giving up myself to become a half-person in a marriage sounded like a nightmare to me. I only wanted an addition to who I was — not a subtraction.

In all these years, I have never changed my mind about expecting a prenup if I were to ever get married.

I suppose, however, that I should mention that I am the only one of my grandfather's five granddaughters who did not get married. And none of the others signed a prenup before walking down the aisle…

I suppose that tells you where I'd actually land on the Wife Test.

Sometimes I think it's weird. How did this happen? I used to walk solemnly across my childhood bedroom with streams of toilet paper clipped into my hair, pretending to be a bride walking down the aisle, just like every other little girl probably does.

I always expected I would one day get married.

But I was also the little girl whose best friends were boys because I loved to do what they did: get dirty, try to outrun and out-bicycle each other, and spit on the ground, something mothers in my neighborhood did not find very "ladylike."

I was also the teenager who self-published a newspaper for family members, wrote novels in her spare time, recorded home videos as practice for her future side hustle as a director, and sketched clothes that she dreamed she would debut in a Paris fashion show during her spare time between writing and film projects.

Yes, I dreamed of romantic experiences with a husband, and had a list of potential baby names for our kids. But I also preemptively resented him, or at least the future demands of the domestic labor I knew would fall on my shoulders, for diminishing all the things I wanted to do and be.

Yes, I fantasized about being a stay-at-home mother with a houseful of kids and a husband with a good, steady, well-paying job that would keep the heat on and food on the table. But I also knew I would hide away in my study, working on my novels every chance I got because in that fantasy, I actually made more money than my husband, squirreling all of it away into a retirement account that I knew he would be so happy about when I finally shared the surprise.

I laugh now to think of it all. I clearly was not made to be a wife. What was I even thinking?

The signs were always there — up to and including the fact that the beginning of every relationship always filled me with grief for the life and self I knew I was about to lose.

Who finds themselves depressed when they get a new boyfriend? Only someone who probably shouldn't have one in the first place, I suppose.

Sometimes, I wish I was different. It feels like it would be easier, in some ways. It certainly would be nice to feel like I belong in this world that is filled with wives.

But mostly, I'm okay with it. I love to paddle my own canoe, too.

And I think some part of me always knew that. I had my one oar and that's all I've ever needed.

© Y.L. Wolfe 2026

Y.L. Wolfe is a writer and artist on a quest to wholeness in the transformative fires of middle age. You can find more of her work at ylwolfe.com.