On Weddings and Trauma

I never thought that my wedding would be something I would need healing from. It’s not that there was some knock-down, drag-out fight. On the surface, my wedding preparations were mundane, the opposite of dramatic. I vented to my best friend about the stress of the timeline and the {honestly quite minor} expectations of family members, but that’s as bad as it got.

I just remember pressure. Pressure to perform. Pressure to strive for and achieve perfection. Pressure to conform. Pressure to be happy. Pressure to “have whatever you want” but “no, not that!” Pressure because this is a one-time event. Oh, and there are deadlines and budget constraints, too.

And then there was the wedding, which went great on the surface but wasn’t what I had intended it to be. {I talk about the rain moving our wedding indoors, but what I don’t mention is that even the outdoor venue was a third choice that we got shoved into. And that’s just the venue.} So many small things did not go as intended.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick.”

The wedding has been something I’ve had to recover from, and I’m definitely not there yet. Living under that pressure before, during, and after has left scars. I fear judgment and criticism, I cannot cope with the reality of imperfection. The mantra of “Do it all, have it all,” doesn’t end with the honeymoon. But it will sure as hell end you.

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These are words that I wrote almost nine months after the wedding, almost nine months ago. I was right; it’s been a recovery. But, joyfully, it has been a recovery. I recently scrolled through our wedding pictures--no, we haven’t albummed them yet, but I’m working on it--and had a warm feeling. Good memories.

Finally. This was the first time I could look at the pictures and think something other than, “Oh, I wish it hadn’t been that way.” And that’s how I know that healing has happened.

I credit time, mostly. The further something is in the past, the more rosy your glasses become. I’ve also been a part of a few weddings since then and have realized that I pulled off more than I gave myself credit for at the time. Turns out, I like my wedding.

Another part of the journey has been the journaling you’re about to read over the next few weeks. You see, the first part of this post--the trauma part--is where I left off last summer as I tried and tried to write my way through my feelings. I ended on, “But it will sure as hell end you,” which tells you a lot about the state I was in.

Every time I tried to finish, the words wouldn’t come, until recently, when I scrolled through the pictures and actually felt proud and loved. Proud of the hard work that went into it and the dreams that did come true that day. Loved because of how much labor and energy and time and money that was given purely because we are surrounded by magnificent friends and family.

I am grateful for my wedding day. I haven’t been able to say that before, and it feels good now. But this gratefulness didn’t come without a fight. At least three posts will follow this one. They were written in the nine months after the wedding; I share them because I think my vulnerability will open the eyes of some and provide a relatable heart to others who may feel alone.