'When are you getting married?'

It is a truth universally acknowledged that if a couple in their late twenties have been in a relationship for a few years, that everyone will ask them on a very regular basis when they are getting married.

I'm well aware that people are either just making small talk and are (most likely) being very well intentioned in their questions on this topic but why does everyone feel the need to ask me this? And, come to that, why does it make me feel paranoid that the subtext of this question is that you aren't viewed as a being part of a successful couple until you decide to get married? In fact, it seems that the longer the relationship continues without an engagement or marriage, the more alarmed people seem to be about the fact that you're not engaged or married already. No matter how happy and stable your relationship may in fact be in reality, it seems the fact that you're not legally bound together by a ceremony must mean that something must be wrong.

Perhaps the crux of my issue with this (and my motivation for this blog post) are two-fold: one is that I get asked this question much more frequently than Nick does; in fact, Nick only gets asked this question when he and I are both asked together. Which apparently means that people think that as I am a woman, I must naturally want to get married more than Nick – as if marriage is the happy 'be-all-and-end-all' ending and sole purpose and achievement of a woman's life. Being a successful marriage is an achievement, but no more of an achievement than being in a successful relationship. IT seems to me that marriage isn't the end of a story, but a new chapter in the middle of an already existing one.

The fact that this question appears to be inextricably linked to my gender, also comes with the connotations that people seem to perceive that Nick, as a man, is successful in his relationship, perhaps by virtue of being in one; yet as a woman, despite this relationship being the very same one, I am less successful as I have not yet convinced Nick to ask me to marry him. I have more than once been offer 'tips' on how to get Nick to propose, as if to correct all the things I must be doing wrong. Maybe, if I was better woman, say if I met him at the door every night with a martini, wearing lingerie after having cleaned the house and cooked him a meal, he might have proposed already...

The second crux of this issue for me is that I am conscious how easily this question turns me into one of those stereotypical girlfriends who perhaps nags her boyfriend about this topic (usually after a drink, I must admit). To the extent that now, if this question is asked to the both of us it immediately becomes awkward. An innocent question posed during the polite dance of small talk, to my own horror and through what feels like my own doing, morphs into this horrible self-perceived monster of proof – that everyone thinks we're not married because there's a problem. Whether people actually believe this or not, it's something I find myself feeling for a split second before I remind myself that it doesn't matter what others think, only what we know to be true.

When we do decide to get married, it will be on our own terms. Also, yes I'm well aware that it's a leap year in 2016, but, as Nick replied to someone who mentioned this recently (he knows me!) I'll be damned if I'm conforming to a cliché of female stereotypes.

Women always find their way to the sink...

How to be a woman in 2015: this statement has increasingly become something my brain debates with itself about, especially during the last two and a half years  – for life stage reference, these years are when I've been in a 'domestic partnership' (new Facebook status label...!) with my co-pilot of life, Nick.

The crux of my feminist considerations are domestic-centric; even writing that sentence immediately puts me on the defensive, against the literary image that a woman's sphere was limited to the home . . . but in reality, I begin here only due to the simple human fact that 'home' is where I live; it is the forge of my life and relationship, and it's as good a place as any, from a personal perspective, to spark my internal negotiations.

A few years ago, when I was living in a flat alone in Bristol, it was very easy to be an independent woman. Things were clear cut, simple, almost black and white: I lived alone, I had a career I loved and then at weekends, I saw my boyfriend who lived in London and we each alternated travelling to see each other.

After three years of doing this, our relationship had progressed so we wanted to spend more time together, plus we were fed-up of the travelling back and forth late on a Sunday evening! Even though love and cutting down travelling-time are strong foundations for any move, I was determined that if I was going to move away from a city and a job I adored, I was going to move for a self-centric reason, namely a new career opportunity, which happened to bring me closer to my boyfriend but only by happy geographic coincidence. This was a condition I placed upon myself not because I was worried that our relationship would not survive close proximity (I didn't consider this as a possibility once), but because I did not want to be one of those women who uprooted themselves from everything they knew just for 'a man', albeit one I love immeasurably. I had spent two and a half years writing Disney Princess books and I was determined not to become one (unless it's Merida. Or Elsa.).

Moving in together is one thing, but learning to live together is quite another thing. Beyond the amusing arguments and situations which arose when we first moved in (how to time how we both get ready for work in the morning without sleepily bumping into each other whilst brushing our teeth, what time do we set the alarm in the morning, that the kitchen 'jar' shelf absolutely can't have peanut butter next to curry sauce or the rationale of keeping vases next to the teabags), we eventually got down to the nitty-gritty of life: when both of us were working long hours each day, who does what?

Actually, it ended being very easy, we split everything between us (and still do).  My Dad told me that as time progressed, the 'little Utopia' we'd built would slowly subside without us realising, until the point came that I would find that, because sans a 'y' chromosome, I'd discover that the inevitably equilibrium would be settle with me doing all the housework. How is that fair, I snapped in repost, when Nick and I work equally hard, each at our careers, that for him at the moment he crosses the threshold, he can expect only to relax and unwind, but the moment I do the same action, I can only expect to clean and cook – all based upon traditional roles from years ago, when women also didn't work full-time. The change in society which has given the freedom for a woman to have a career should also be followed by a domestic change. Aren't Nick and I both adults, with equally responsibility within the place we both live? A wry smile crept across the faces of my audience, as if my views were naive and unachievable, they knew that now and it would be something I'd learn in time.

Traditionally, how a home was 'set-up', was based on the home of your parents, who teach you how to act in all things. I take much advice and many life lessons from my family, but when it comes to this, I can not – me being an independent woman is a running family joke (or rather loving tease). It has meant though (perhaps a consequence of the fact that I have stubbornly protested too much), that when I once mentioned that I ironed Nick's shirts, I doomed myself to never live this down. It is seen as a sign that I am 'softening' in my feminist views, as everyone predicted. Now every time I perform the necessary domestic chore of ironing, my brain imbues this action with a guilt; ironing has become a symbol that actually, I'm a traditional housewife, who has grown out of her youthful feminist follies and accepted who her she really is, whom her chromosomes and traditions dictate she must be .... Women always find their way to the sink, after all.

What it means to be a woman in 2015 is in flux for me, and from what I read on social media and in the press, it is the case for many different women. I suppose I'll have to forge my own unique role to fit with my own life, even if it feels against the tide at times. Fortunately, I have a co-pilot in life who is accepting and finding his way too, so I consider myself very lucky that we can do this together. Hopefully then, my answer to 'How to be a woman in 2015' is simply to be myself and do what works for me. The freedom of this choice to be yourself is what I believe to be the foundation of all types of equality – so for now, I'll run with this and see where it leads.