The whole process was an exercise in extremely mindful thinking – in separating autonomy from conditioning and in balancing the needs of my guests alongside my own. The whole thing was orchestrated in less than two weeks, so I had to quickly dissect what I really wanted out of a ceremony versus what I’d long been taught to believe I “should” want. That’s how I found myself planning the wedding I once insisted I’d never have.
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If it meant we could finally have a life free of deadlines and expiration dates, however, then maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. We’d discussed the possibility of marriage a few times before, and neither of us was particularly bothered. It also seemed clear that we couldn’t keep existing in this back-and-forth purgatory. But that only gave him limited time, as well.įive years into long-distance hell, it seemed clear that our relationship wasn’t going to be easily shattered. Upon its expiration, Patrick was able to get a visa for the States. When it came time for me to move back home, however, the Atlantic Ocean proved a much harsher barrier.Įventually, I was able to return to England on a student visa, but that only gave me about a year and a half in the country. But budget-friendly European airlines meant that we could get to each other for as little as fifteen dollars at times. At the time, I had the opportunity to study abroad in Spain followed by the Czech Republic. And we happened to come from different countries. But in 2011, I met the person who would become my long-term partner.
So the notion that women are “supposed” to get married was at the core of my disdain towards the idea for years.Īfter all, I’ve never much gelled with the premise that one’s assigned gender should dictate the rules by which you live your life. And to wed a “protector” – an alpha, a financial provider, a physically large presence – might be the biggest sign of achievement yet. To wed (specifically as the gal in a heterosexual relationship) is to achieve aspirational goals instilled in little girls from day one. On my Colombian side of the family, the act of getting married as a woman is also a means of proving one’s success. Like, “Look at me in this obscenely expensive princess gown with professional hair and makeup and a handsome prince on my arm. They generally seemed like a costly and arguably unnecessary means of declaring one’s femininity. It wasn’t just the subjugation aspects of weddings that put me off, though. “It’s just a piece of paper: an antiquated practice whereby a woman might become a dude’s property.” “I’m never getting married,” a twenty-year-old me told her mother over coffee and banana walnut cake. One person putting a ring on another person’s hand during a wedding ceremony