The Muslim women rejecting marriage and choosing to be single
They are pushing back against cultural and religious expectations — not due to a lack of suitors, but as a conscious choice for autonomy and a deeper connection to their faith
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Aisha’s nieces and nephews have a phrase for the life she’s built: “Doing an Auntie Aisha.” The 45-year-old from Oxfordshire has become an example in her family of a different kind of future, one without marriage. “My parents were brilliant — they were kind, caring, loving. We weren’t an affluent family, but there was a lot of love,” she says. Raised by a feminist mother and a doting father “whose daughters were his pride and joy”, Aisha never felt pressured to follow tradition. Now, her younger relatives openly admire her independence, some even declaring they want to follow in her footsteps.
Yet, for centuries, marriage has been considered a cornerstone of life for women, especially for Muslims. The idea that marriage completes “half of your deen” is a widely repeated hadith, reinforcing the belief that a woman’s role in faith, family and society is incomplete without a husband. Now, a growing number of Muslim women are pushing back against this expectation in heterosexual relationships — not due to a lack of suitors, but as a conscious choice for autonomy and, for some, a deeper connection to their faith.
“People assume there must be a broken relationship somewhere, or that something bad happened to me, or that I’m divorced. No, I’ve never been married,” says Aisha, who made the conscious decision to remain single in her 30s. For her, rejecting marriage was about preserving her sense of self. “I’ve seen people start diluting who they are when they get married. That just couldn’t be me.”
This shift to singledom reflects a broader global trend. Between 2002 and 2018, the number of single people aged between 40 to 70 in the UK rose by half a million. Data from the 2021 census for England and Wales shows nearly four in 10 adults have never been married or been in a civil partnership, up from three in 10 at the start of the century. In the US, nearly 40% of adults are unpartnered, compared to 29% in 1990, according to the Pew Research Center. And about half aren’t interested in dating or a relationship.
Yet there are still deeply engrained gender expectations driving stigma for single women. While single men are often celebrated as independent or career-driven, women are painted as undesirable, lonely or incomplete. The word spinster has long carried connotations of pity and failure, reinforcing this double standard.
Bella DePaulo, author of Single at Heart: The Power, Freedom and Heart-Filling Joy of Single Life, who has been studying single people for more than 30 years, has seen perceptions change, though progress is slow. “The number of single people keeps growing, and when so many people are not married, it is hard to keep insisting that there’s something wrong with all of them,” she says.
For Muslim women, however, the decision carries an added weight. Marriage is not only a cultural expectation, but often framed as a religious duty, making the choice to remain single particularly radical. “There were single women in the time of the Prophet (PBUH) who were warriors, business women, and never married,” says Sana, 24, who made the decision to be single five years ago. “Why is it such a big deal now?”
All the women I spoke to — despite being proud of their choices — insisted on anonymity, citing fears of judgment and a desire for privacy.
“I think we live in a very judgmental patriarchal society,” says Melia, 31, who’s been single since her mid-20s. “Women making choices that do not benefit the patriarchy are highly criticised. For me, I don’t fear criticism, I simply value my peace and my anonymity. The more I protect my inner self, the less I am opening up myself to other people’s opinions.”
Aisha, meanwhile, insists her choice to stay anonymous isn’t about shame. “I’m not embarrassed about my choices, but I’m a deeply private person,” she says.
Beyond anonymity, they all share the frustration of having their choices dismissed. “People assume I must be broken, damaged, or that something bad happened to me,” says Aisha. “They always ask, ‘Why are you single?’ as if it’s a tragedy. But I just tell them: ‘Your marriage isn’t that great either, is it?’”
Much of this resistance stems from ingrained cultural and religious expectations. Yet, despite the emphasis on marriage in Islam, these women remain deeply connected to their faith.
“I rejected Islam for a while because the version I was taught was patriarchal,” says Melia, an Algerian Canadian government worker. “But when I studied it myself, I realised it’s actually a feminist religion. It is a religion that elevates women, and makes a man who is married to a woman obligated to finance her life, whereas her money stays her money.”
Reclaiming Islam through a feminist lens was key to understanding her place within it, she says. “Historically, the religion was interpreted and translated by men in ways that benefited them, perpetuating the patriarchy.” Melia now follows Qur’anic interpretations, such as Qur’an: A Reformist Translation, that challenge traditional readings.
Her own upbringing, she says, was shaped more by cultural expectations than religious teachings. “I grew up in a very conservative Muslim household with many siblings. I’m the eldest so I had many responsibilities from a very young age, and marriage was seen as another duty,” she explains. “My parents’ marriage was arranged against my mother’s will. The house that I grew up in was a very patriarchal household, and not quite Islamic at all.” It was only through her own research that she began to separate faith from tradition.
Jelly, an 18-year-old law student from India, plans to stay single as she gets older. She pushes back against the idea that being single is un-Islamic. “Nothing in Islam says women are obligated to marry. Marriage is encouraged, but it’s not required. Staying single doesn’t make me any less of a Muslim.”
For most of the women, their decisions were based on a series of experiences, such as encounters with sexism or other people’s “toxic marriages” that made the traditional route seem less appealing.
“The final nail in the coffin was when a man I thought of as a potential future partner said: ‘Women should be grateful. They have it easy in life. They just sit in an office with pretty nails while we men do the real work’,” says Sana. “That conversation gave me the most disgusting taste in my mouth.” She references the misogynistic “red pill” movement trumpeted by Andrew Tate as being something she hears a lot of these days from men.
Jelly has decided to follow 4B, a radical feminist movement that originated in South Korea in the mid 2010s advocating for the rejection of marriage, childbirth, dating and sex. “My reason is quite simple. I don’t think there is a single man in this world that thinks normally of women. And even if there is, I doubt we’ll ever cross paths.”
For all these women, the decision has been affirming. “The most wonderful part was when I felt like I fully embraced choosing to be single,” says Aisha. “You know what it’s like when you’re in your 20s, you’ve got the stress of answering questions about marriage all the time, and you carry that. I just feel liberated from that and confident in myself now.”
Her contentment is reflected in Happy Every After, a book written in 2019 by behavioural scientist Paul Dolan, who says: “The healthiest and happiest population subgroup is women who never married or had children.”
“Romantic love isn’t the only kind of love in this world. In fact, I think it’s harder to live without platonic love,” adds Jelly.
These women aren’t asking for permission to be single, but they do want more acceptance.
Aisha, a devoted fan of the Brontë sisters, feels a kinship with the independent women of history who lived life entirely on their own terms. “My family jokingly call me ‘Princess Margaret’ from The Crown, but I like that,” she says. “I’m a bit different, a bit quirky.”
She dreams of one day learning flamenco dancing, taking up painting, and finally mastering the art of sewing. But financial independence comes at a cost. “If I had more time and financial freedom, I’d throw myself into all these things,” she reflects.
Still, the future feels like liberation. A partner isn’t part of her plan, and she doesn’t see that as a loss. So why should anyone else?
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