Why I Don’t Want to Live Alone with My Partner
“The nuclear household is a Catholic invention,” I tell my girlfriend, testing the waters before my real confession: “I want to live with my friends forever.”
Easy to want; harder to realise.
According to the Office for National Statistics, just 2.9% of British household arrangements involve multiple unrelated adults, and only 1.0% consist of multiple families living together. The vast majority of couples live as pairs.
There are good reasons for this. Living as a pair can encourage intimacy, allowing individuals to share every aspect of their lives and plan their futures together. Many consider their partner to be their closest friend, and see no reason to add new suspects to the mystery of the unclean dishes. Research also suggests the nuclear family is linked to better outcomes in education and health for children (though a closer look points to stability, resources, and loving parenting as the crucial variables).
So, if living with your partner is your choice, I understand. What troubles me is that for many, there appears to be no real choice. In this supposedly free society, with nobody standing in our way, why do we all reach the same conclusion about how to live?
Perhaps there is overwhelming evidence that the nuclear family is the optimal arrangement, such that all couples eventually succumb to its logic. But history tells a different story. Diverse family structures have thrived across time and place, from communal child-rearing in hunter-gatherer societies, to separate male and female housing in the South American Mundurucu tribe, to the Hawaiian concept of ‘ohana, where family transcends consanguinity. Extended households also remain the norm in many parts of Southern Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. What, then, explains the nuclear family's enduring status in the Western world, and why do other arrangements seem untenable?
A History of the Nuclear Family
In reality, the nuclear family did not arise organically, but was forged to serve specific social, economic, and religious functions that do not necessarily align with individual wellbeing.
The process began more than a millennium ago, as the Catholic Church enforced stringent marriage restrictions that forced people to seek partners beyond their immediate communities, dismantling kinship networks and weakening community bonds. In the Medieval era, wars and plagues led to higher wages and the erosion of feudal ties, creating a context in which small, independent nuclear units were inherently advantageous. Later, industrialisation and urbanisation provided additional incentives by replacing established trades with factory work and compelling individuals to relocate for employment.
A psychological transformation also took place, as Victorians responded to the atomism of modernity by refashioning marriage-as-contract into marriage-as-companionship. This "sentimentalisation" of marriage, while making it more personally fulfilling, also made it more emotionally demanding. As relationship therapist Esther Perel notes, we now expect our partner to fulfil roles once distributed across an entire community: lover, best friend, co-parent, financial partner, intellectual equal, and therapist. Maybe bringing more people into the mix would be doing them a favour.
Today, the nuclear family’s status is cemented by ever-increasing property prices, making two salaries a practical necessity for homeownership. Legal barriers stack the odds against non-conformists even further, as mortgages are easier to secure for couples than friendship groups. This is an ironic vote of confidence from a society where 40% of marriages end in divorce.
Nodus Tollens
What has this history wrought? When I look at my parents’ generation, I see isolation. Couples become lonely after their children leave and close friends live hours apart. This situation is exacerbated by a changing job market that, mirroring the industrial revolution, forces communities to scatter. As youth, parenthood, and retirement become increasingly distinct stages, what remains is a life that, for all its beautiful moments, can lack the coherence and continuity that comes from being embedded in an evolving community.
Would another family structure be better? The answer will depend on who you are, but philosopher Martha Nussbaum’s “Capabilities Approach” offers a useful way of approaching the question. She argues that the goal of a just society should be to ensure all individuals possess the “capabilities” to achieve a flourishing life, such as the opportunity for good health and the ability to form meaningful social connections. By applying this framework, we realise that the family is not a natural, pre-political entity, but a socially and legally defined institution whose form is open to our collective choice and influence. If other living arrangements are better for us, then society should, at the very least, remove barriers to their formation.
I am not alone in this perspective. Alternative models are gaining traction in the UK, often due to dissatisfaction with traditional living arrangements. Cohousing, for instance, is growing in popularity, with over 65 groups having developed such projects in 2024. Motivations frequently cited by residents include the desire to build a stronger community, reduced costs and environmental impact, and a safer environment for children.
The Importance of Choice
Whether the nuclear family is best for people remains an open question, answerable only through exploration. This logic applies not just to living arrangements but to all defining choices, from marriage and children to your career and values. When we are alive to new ways of acting and being in the world, we find that what appears natural is often merely customary. How likely is it that, for each of these choices, the inherited norm also happens to be the best fit for your particular personality and circumstances?
All institutions should be open to democratic reconsideration, adaptable to diverse and evolving aims. Perhaps one person dreams of living with their partner as soon as possible, growing together in harmony, watching their children eventually move on. They might not see an “empty nest” but a coherent return to self-focus and the freedom to pursue new projects in retirement. Personally, I dream of a life deeply interwoven with loved ones, living amongst friends while our children grow up together, and approaching the end of my life surrounded by conversation and laughter.
Both visions, and countless options between them, seem like plausible ways to seek a good life. Whatever dream you hold for yourself, wouldn't you rather have a choice?