Nobody gives you a handbook on how to be married.

When you enter into it, no one really tells you where the lines fall. Who does what? Whose responsibility is whose? You just assume it’ll naturally sort itself out.

But it doesn’t. You have to work it out.

Some people insist on a strict 50/50 split of everything in a marriage. But nothing in life is that clearly defined, I don’t think. It’s not a dividing line down the middle of the house. It’s not, “You do that, I do this.” It’s about what’s fair. And what counts as “fair” changes.

When Sam and I first got together, I think we both probably assumed we were doing more than the other. Not in a dramatic way, just in a human way. You notice your own effort first.

What we’ve realised is that there are visible jobs and invisible jobs. Emptying a dishwasher is obvious. Remembering to book something three months in advance isn’t. Noticing when something needs replacing before it becomes a problem isn’t. The mental load is real.

Sam is definitely the organised one. He works from home most of the week at his desk upstairs, and he genuinely loves being in the house. Nothing makes him happier than pottering about. If there’s a cupboard to reorganise or a surface to clean, he’s in his element. He bought a steam cleaner recently and I’ve never seen him so delighted, thrilled by the clean lines on the floor!

He does most of the big weekly food shop. He’ll sort the online order. He notices when we’re low on something. And he never once says, “I do everything round here,” because he knows I do my bit too.

I plan every single holiday. Completely. He doesn’t really care where we go; he’ll say, “You just do it, this is your thing.” So I do. We decide together when we’re going, but I’ll sort the details.

Energy plays a big part in how we divide things as well. I start work very early, so by the evening I’m pretty useless. I fade. He, on the other hand, comes into his own at night. I’ll go to bed and suddenly I can hear a wash going on or towels being folded. We don’t divide things based on what looks equal on paper; we divide them based on who has the energy when.

Compromise is the bigger piece.

I sometimes say to my single friends, “I’m going to this thing tonight and it’s not really my thing,” and they genuinely can’t understand why I’d go. But that’s marriage. That’s loyalty. You don’t only turn up to the bits that suit you.

Likewise, I doubt Sam is desperate to help my mum to the loo when she stays with us. But he does it. And I’d do exactly the same for him.

Couples who want to make it work will go to great lengths to do so — even if that means neither of you gets exactly what you want all the time. Nobody should demand what they can’t give. I genuinely believe that.

My husband and I have the most mundane home life - I wouldn't change it for the world

We don’t keep score. There’s no running commentary of who did what. There are no secrets. We have our own bank accounts and we share joint expenses. It’s respectful. It’s straightforward. There’s no passive-aggressive tone about money or spending. It’s adult.

If one of us upsets the other, which is rare, we apologise. Quickly. We don’t turn small irritations into big, dramatic conversations. There’s no need. We’ve removed the ambiguity. We know what each other brings to the relationship.

And we give each other space. If he wants to go somewhere and I’m shattered, he’ll go with a friend. If I want to do something on my own, he encourages it. Being married doesn’t mean you stop being an individual.

Before I met him, I probably lived a bit week to week. Slightly chaotic. He’s steadier. More forward-thinking. But it works both ways. He can worry about things, being late, forgetting something, and I’m the calmer one. I steady that. He steadies me in other areas. My brain has genuinely never felt tidier. That makes me happier. Better at my job. Better at life.

A good marriage, I think, is mundane in the loveliest way. There shouldn’t be much drama. You don’t need a dividing line. You just know what the other does, you say thank you, you apologise when you need to, and you compromise.

Nobody hands you the manual. You build it together.

And if it’s fair, not 50/50, but fair, that’s when it works.

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