My partner and I don't want to get married, but sometimes, if we're traveling or there's a health emergency, it's easier to let people assume we are

• I've never felt the need to define my relationship with titles or by getting married.
• Even so, I find it challenging not to conform to society's definitions.
• Language matters, and sometimes, I let people make assumptions.

In Sweden, where my father's family is from, there is a concept called sambo. It is a word that means, loosely, partner, but more specifically it means to live or be together before or, importantly, instead of marriage. In Scandinavian culture, this is a very typical lifestyle choice. It's so usual, so mundane, there's a neat word just to describe it. Its definition is a sign that there's no need for superfluous explanation or justification of a decision to simply be together without the legality.

My partner and I have been together for nearly 10 years and live unconventionally despite our monogamous commitment. We've overcome all of the usual hurdles of long-term relationships and have landed on a situation that works for us. I value that neither of us considers the paint-by-numbers, white-picket-fence-or-bust approach to love to define our story.

We've never wanted to get married

Despite their antiquated origin, the wedding industry is booming. For some, they make a lot of sense and are beautiful celebrations of love. While we never felt the urge, I do see the appeal.

Everyone knows what the terms husband, wife, and spouse mean. They denote a certain seriousness, beyond reproach. When you veer from the conventional vernacular, people tend to require explanation.

Our decision not to walk down the aisle doesn't denote a casualness about our partnership. It actually causes us to talk more about what love is without convention, and means we've had more conversations about what makes us, us. We've been able to forge our own path and build something unique to our circumstances, something that will stand well on its own without the foundations of societal norms. We choose each other, every day, not because of paperwork or the State of New York or taxes.

With extended family, it becomes more complicated. My partner's mother is someone I introduce as my partner's mother, not my mother-in-law. My partner's son is his son, not my stepson, despite the love and length of our direct relationship. My sister is my sister, not his sister-in-law, and so on.

Sometimes I mourn the directness, the cleanness of lines of those relationships. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to simply use the terms most familiar, the ones considered common denominators of definition that would link me to the people I now consider family. But to what end? And at what cost?

Marriage has never felt like a natural step for me, nor an honest desire. Instead of adding to my life, I always felt like I would lose something by taking that step, some part of my individuality that I've always wanted to maintain.

Sometimes, it's easier to let people assume

That said, there are moments when people assume, and I don't correct them. When we've been faced with health emergencies or while we're traveling, sometimes I catch myself in an allowance that isn't quite a lie but is also not quite the truth.

Last year, my partner and I went away for our annual autumn trip to the Hudson Valley. After checking into the hotel, I had a migraine but realized I forgot my pain medication. When he asked the front desk about a first aid kit, he said, "My wife has a migraine."

I noted this linguistic choice but didn't need to ask about it; I knew why he made that choice. Wife holds more weight than girlfriend. Those terms, that relationship — they carry an importance, a seriousness that's so understood it doesn't need to be qualified. I wish that our commitment held enough of that weight, by the sheer nature of the fact that it's ours, but I understand that we're not there yet, societally.

What is love without convention? Even if progressive society gives allowance for new rules, it hasn't caught up with new language, which still matters more than I'd care to admit. I hope someday we all allow ourselves — and others — whatever definitions feel right, and that it's palatable and can be translated outwardly as well.

I'm proud that he is not my husband, and that I'm not a wife. I'm proud of whatever it is that we are because it's unique, specific, and just ours.

But when I have a headache in the Hudson Valley? Sure, I'll let people think I'm a wife.