The only breakdown

22May10

I thought I was going to be one of those people that didn’t let her wedding take over. I was going to try very very hard to get through the whole experience without letting it drag me down, without any tears except happy ones, without any fights, any yelling, any unreasonable requests. I was going to have fun with every single step.

Obviously, that didn’t happen. In all, I did a good job keeping a level head, I think. But getting through the whole experience without a frustrated moment, without a few tears? I think I was being unrealistic with myself.

The breakdown was really small. But it wasn’t about the seating plans that were suddenly a mess with a few last minute cancellations; it wasn’t about the time constraint of trying to get the whole reception venue set up in one day; it wasn’t about trying to achieve the vision we had had for the table centrepieces, the table set-up, the dance floor. Rather, it was all these things and more.

The day before the wedding might be one of the most stressful days of my life, or at least of recent memory. I don’t know how this could have been avoided except by having a very different wedding. Suddenly, I was the task master of the day. People came to me to find out what they were supposed to do, what needed to be done. I could have handled it. Except that at the same time, all I wanted to do was sit back and think about what was coming up. It was almost here and I was supposed to be excited. But I was too busy telling people to get cutlery out, showing people how to fold the napkins, and setting out the seating lists. I wasn’t excited and every time someone asked me if I was I got more frustrated.

My dad followed me out of the hall when everything got to be too much. This fact in itself makes the breakdown OK, valuable, even. My dad has always been the best hugger, the strong support when I’m feeling emotionally ruined. I know this is going to change and should change; but at that moment, I was reminded that my father will be there to give me a hug if I need it, even if I’m a married woman, successful and independent. This is one of the many reasons I have kept my name. (I’ll get around to fully explaining how these things connect someday.)

After that, I was OK. There was one more moment, when M fake-married me later that night, when I thought I’d burst into crazy-happy-holy-crap-this-is-actually-happening tears. But that’s hardly a breakdown.

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