It was a rainy Saturday morning in Surulere when I visited my old friend, Nneka. We had not seen each other in years, and I had heard whispers that her once beautiful marriage was going through a rough patch. I hesitated before calling, but she had sounded so eager, so hungry for companionship, that I could not ignore the tug in my heart.
Her home was quiet. The kind of quiet that does not mean peace, but tension. Her husband, Chuka, greeted me politely and disappeared into their room. It was obvious something was wrong. I waited until we sat on her veranda with steaming cups of Lipton tea before I asked, “Are you okay?”
She sighed and looked into her tea as if it held the answers. “I am tired,” she said quietly. “I am just tired of not trusting the person I am supposed to build my whole life with.”
That word, trust, hung in the air like the heavy clouds above us. Many homes are like that. They look beautiful from the outside but rot quietly inside, not because of infidelity or abuse, but because the one thing holding the foundation together has cracked, which is trust.
When Nneka and Chuka got married seven years ago, they were the toast of everyone around them. He was the dependable, church-going type. She was warm, driven, and full of laughter. They had the kind of chemistry that made others smile. Marriage is not held together by chemistry. It is held together by something far more invisible but more powerful, which is trust.
It started with small things. Chuka would make decisions without informing her, ranging from changing jobs, sending money to family members, or accepting business proposals without her knowledge. “I did not want to bother you,” he’d say. “You know I have it under control.” It made her feel excluded. It chipped at her confidence in him.
Then came the passwords. His phone became more guarded. His behaviour was more calculated. The warmth turned into suspicion. “I am not hiding anything,” he’d insist, but when transparency is replaced by secrecy, even the most loving heart begins to question.
Nneka, on her part, began to withdraw. She stopped telling him about her business deals, savings, or even her fears. “What’s the point?” she told me. “When I speak, he does not really listen. He only hears what he wants.”It was not that Chuka had an affair or that Nneka was planning to leave. It was simply that they had lost their bridge. The moment trust disappears in marriage, everything else; communication, intimacy, and respect become hard to hold onto.
In my over 45 years of marriage counselling experience, I have come to realise that trust is not just about being faithful. It is about feeling emotionally safe with your partner. It is knowing that your spouse would not humiliate you, exclude you, or hide from you. It is knowing that even when you are not around, they are still carrying the weight of your name with honour.
Trust is often tested by everyday pressures, which could be family interference, financial secrets, insecurity, and societal expectations. Many men were raised to believe they must always be in control, while many women were taught to keep secrets as a form of survival. Many couples are married but living like business partners with no depth or vulnerability. It is more about responsibilities. Trust demands more. It asks for openness, even when it’s uncomfortable. It asks you to lay down your weapons and say, “I choose you, even when I am afraid.”
As Nneka spoke that day, I did not give any advice. I listened all through. Trust is not something you fix in a day. It is rebuilt, one consistent act at a time. I sat with Chuka later that evening. He looked tired, too. He was not angry but worn out. “She thinks I don’t care,” he said. “Everything I do is for us.” “Do you tell her that?” I asked. He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “No. I just expect her to know.”
Therein lies the problem for many couples. We assume that love is enough. If you pay the bills, cook the meals, or pray together, trust will automatically remain. Trust does not survive on assumptions. It thrives on reassurance, not just with words, but with actions that match.
It is in the way a husband tells his wife about a financial risk before taking it. It’s in the way a wife shares her insecurities without fear of being judged. It is in choosing transparency over secrecy. Involving your spouse in decisions, even when you think you can handle it alone. It is in the little things like keeping promises, being where you say you will be, and showing up when it matters. It is also in the hard decisions. Like telling your mother she cannot speak to your wife, anyhow and even choosing your marriage over your ego.
Rebuilding trust also requires humility. Saying sorry not with excuses but with empathy. Listening not to defend, but to understand. Trust says, “Even if I don’t fully agree, I honour your feelings because they matter to me.”
When Chuka and Nneka finally had their honest conversation, it was not smooth. There were tears, accusations, and long silences. What both of them admitted was that they missed each other, physically and emotionally. They missed the days when they could talk without filters, when they felt safe in each other’s presence.
They started small. Chuka shared his phone password, not because Nneka asked, but because he wanted to send a message: “I have nothing to hide.” Nneka told him about her business struggles, not to seek permission, but to invite him into her world again. Slowly, their bridge began to rebuild.
Marriage is hard work. Trust, once broken, is fragile. It does not return overnight. It comes back in layers. It is in repeated honesty, kindness, and choosing to trust again, even after you have been hurt.
For every couple reading this, do not let the silence fester. Do not let distrust become the language of your home. If you sense a crack, don’t ignore it. Talk about it. Pray about it. Work on it. Trust is the air your marriage breathes. Without it, everything suffocates.
Nneka and Chuka still had days where they struggled, but they talked often, checked in, and confessed quickly. They apologise without delay, and most importantly, they protect the bridge they have rebuilt with fierce intention.
That could be what every marriage needs. A daily decision to guard the trust you have been given. Whether you have been married for ten months or ten years, ask yourself an important question today. Is my partner safe with me? Can he or she trust my words, silence, or presence?
If the answer makes you uncomfortable, it could be time to start rebuilding. One honest moment at a time
For further comment, please contact: Osondu Anyalechi: 0909 041 9057; [email protected]