When Amaka’s husband forgot their anniversary for the third time in a row, she did not talk to him. She didn’t cry either. She picked up her phone, opened Facebook, and posted a cryptic story: “Some people will forget what matters, but remember what benefits them. Lesson learnt.” Within thirty minutes, she had ten responses, not from friends or family who knew the full story, but from followers who had opinions, emojis, and plenty of advice. “Leave him now, sis,” one wrote. “Men will always disappoint,” said another. A popular relationship influencer even reposted it, adding a caption that said, “Protect your peace. Don’t settle for less.”
Her husband returned home with a box of shawarma and a smile, unaware that the battle had already begun and ended without him. He noticed her silence, asked if she was fine, and she said, “I’m good.” Her heart had shifted, not just because of his forgetfulness, but because she had started outsourcing emotional support from strangers who knew nothing about her home, her man, or her marriage.
This is not just Amaka’s story. It is the reality of many couples today. It seems many people have replaced heart-to-heart conversations with spouses, family, or counsellors with curated Instagram quotes, anonymous Twitter threads, and Facebook comments from people who have no skin in the game. Social media, once a tool for connection, has slowly become the new marriage counsellor. The problem is that social media doesn’t know your story. It doesn’t understand the context. It doesn’t see your spouse’s efforts when they try, their pain when they fail, or the full picture of what’s going on inside your home. It sees only what you post, which may often be the ugliest, angriest, and most filtered version. It offers bold conclusions from that one-sided story.
I remember a young couple who were on the brink of separation. She had started venting her frustrations on social media using quotes like, “If he wanted to, he would,” and “Never beg for love.” Her followers clapped for her, praised her strength, and pushed her towards independence. She began to imagine herself a strong, liberated woman who needed no man’s validation.
Meanwhile, Uche was confused. He was struggling with job loss, feeling like a failure, and doing his best to hide it. He couldn’t afford the date nights anymore. He wasn’t as expressive as before. He loved his wife and didn’t know how to say, “I’m scared,” without sounding weak, and that made him withdraw. Unfortunately, she mistook his withdrawal as a lack of love.
When they sat face-to-face, with no phones, no memes, and no likes, they truly heard each other for the first time in months. She cried. He cried. They began to rebuild slowly, awkwardly, but honestly. That healing didn’t come from social media, but from truth, silence, and real human connection.
The danger of looking to social media for marital advice is that it often offers one-size-fits-all answers to deeply personal problems. It makes us compare our messy, work-in-progress relationships to highlight reels of couples on vacations, with coordinated outfits and endless public displays of affection. It breeds silent resentment, makes you wonder, “Why is my husband not like that?” or “Why does my wife not do this?” It erodes gratitude. It fuels unrealistic expectations. In worse scenarios, it isolates you from your real support systems.
Some will argue, “I learn a lot from social media.” Yes, there’s value in online resources, if used wisely. There’s a thin line between learning and leaning. When social media becomes your primary place for emotional validation, decision-making, and marital direction, you are handing the steering wheel of your marriage to people who will not be there when the car crashes. Many of the people who dish out advice online do not know you. They do not see your spouse at their best. They do not understand your shared history, your private battles, or your unique bond. Yet, because they have a camera, a following, and a sharp tongue, we listen. We absorb. We apply.
Marriage is neither performance nor aesthetics. It is a covenant for a journey of growth, mistakes, grace, and learning how to be human together. If you want your marriage to thrive, you must talk more to your spouse than about your spouse. You must seek wisdom before validation. You must run to prayer before posting. You must learn to preserve the sanctity of your private battles.
There are elders in your church, trusted mentors, trained counsellors, who can offer wisdom grounded in love and experience. Social media will always be there, loud, opinionated, and often reckless. Your marriage is not a poll. It is not up for debate. Every time you run to the internet before running to God, to your spouse, or to trusted people who know your context, you open your marriage to voices that can divide, confuse, and mislead.
Not every problem needs a post. Not every disappointment needs an update. Not every opinion online is worth applying.
Someone once said that “A person who runs to the village square to settle every quarrel in his or her house will one day come back and find the door open to strangers.” Protect your home. Guard your conversations. Speak life, not sarcasm. Pray more than you post. Listen more than you scroll. If and when there’s trouble, choose real connection over virtual reaction. Social media will not be there when you’re lying beside your spouse at night, wondering how to find your way back to each other. If you can, put the phone down, look into each other’s eyes, and speak, not to win, not to shame, but to heal. You just might find out that what you’ve been searching for online was always there, in the quiet love you share.
Is social media your new counsellor? For further comment, please contact: Osondu Anyalechi: 0909 041 9057; [email protected]