'Getting married isn't the biggest day of your life'
‘Getting married isn’t the biggest day of your life, all the days you get to have are big.’ —Self Esteem.
A year ago today I woke early, with fizzy anticipation and pure terror in my belly. I kissed T goodbye, said see you later, and went downstairs to the expectant grins of my family—happy wedding day! Our friends and family had descended upon Edinburgh in the days before, coming from London, Newcastle, York, Birmingham, Bristol, and with every text that said ‘we’ve arrived’ and smiling selfie sent from train carriages I knew this was what it’s about. The thought of standing up there, at the end of a ceremonial aisle, in a white gown while eyes bore into me filled me with panic. The possibility that my anxiety would prove so bad that I could not get through the most ridiculously expensive of days made me sweat. I didn’t quite know how I was going to do it, but with the combined love and feeling of those who had travelled, booked days off work, spent money on sharing this with us—I was held up.
(Just about).
As we got ready in the living room of the beautiful Edinburgh townhouse my family and I were staying in for the week—my best friend, my parents, both my sisters-in-law, my brothers and the cutest 1.5 year old niece in a Santa hat—I felt relatively, strangely calm. The fact of the day became clear. I am still myself, this is a Friday in July, the sun is shining when it didn’t have to. In the words of every Love Island contestant: it is what it is. A day. A special day. But a day. And in 24 hours it will be over, life will return to some kind of normality and that will be good. Because I like normal life.
After everyone else had left, my mum and dad sat for a moment, waiting for our taxi to arrive. They prayed for me and I cried. Sharing this with them was everything to me—the most excellent, loving people. When we arrived at the venue my dad was shaking with nerves. He was hoping to be able to walk down the aisle with no crutch or walking stick but once we were there and realised the ground in the courtyard was so uneven, it was clear he’d need a little more help. He gripped my arm with one hand and leaned on his crutch with the other and we made our way towards T, who had minutes earlier apparently (according to his best men) looked like he was going to make a run for it. Walking with my dad was one of my favourite moments of the day. He was not giving me away—not only is the concept deeply misogynistic, but it is also sad… as if I am something to be passed on, no longer his daughter. In fact it felt like a cementing of my relationship with my parents. I am no less a daughter because I am also someone’s wife.
People always say the day will pass in a blur, that you must make a point of taking mental snapshots throughout. Stopping now and then to breathe it in. But that wasn’t my experience—the whole day is cemented deep in my mind. Because of the pandemic restrictions we couldn’t have as many guests as we’d originally hoped, and it meant that I felt I actually had time to talk to people. To sit outside in the afternoon sun and drink elderflower cocktails with my friends. My one regret was not having time to eat the canapés though. We were instead taking pictures and reading speeches and making people cry (mainly my mum and Rosie).
The day was not perfect—the band never showed up in the evening, we couldn’t dance or do the silent disco I wanted to do because of the COVID restrictions, and I had a panic attack at about 10pm and had to go and stand in a side room with my mum for a bit. But that’s fine—it really, truly is. I never needed it to be the best day of my life.
T and I were reminiscing last night and wondering if we’d like to do it again. In some ways, of course, but mainly not. It was so special but it was also so, so scary and intense. I am so happy it was what it was. It felt nothing short of miraculous to receive the amount of love that rains down on you at your wedding. But that’s what I think you can hold onto. That doesn’t die like the flowers or sour like the Swiss meringue butter cream encasing the cake. If it not too trite to say: I just want more of that love and sense of community. Normal life is a gift and if I have learned one thing from the utter insanity of getting married, it’s to prioritise friendship, family and connection. And good food and wine. Obviously.
Oh and as I’ve barely mentioned him: happy anniversary T, you’re alright too.
