Almost married
Or whatever goes on when your wedding gets cancelled.
Three weeks ago, my grandparents celebrated 58 years of marriage.
“Let’s do a toast. Go on you, say something.”
My family has gotten accustomed to asking me for things like this because I am, quote, good with words. This means that I’m often tasked with writing greeting cards, reviewing college applications and university essays, crafting serious e-mails for my parents, or typing messages on their behalf because I am, quote, better at this kind of thing. I rarely say no, and I usually don’t mind having my talent turned into a sort of party trick—I’ve done my fair share of tear-eyed speeches in the past, or had my handwritten gifts read out loud over Christmas dinner for everyone to see just how good I am with words.
“I’d rather not. I’ll get too emotional.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration. If I said anything then and there, I would breakdown. And it wouldn’t be the sort of breakdown that’s cute. I’d spent the whole week holding back tears. Pretending I was ok. Making an effort to look happy. I don’t think I was fooling anyone, but I was doing my best to be a version of myself that didn’t exist. Very demure. I was keeping my composure, and I was doing it with a smile on my face. Very mindful. I was hanging on really well, despite everything. Very considerate.
The everything was a wedding.
August 10.
4pm.
Slow-dancing to Tom Misch.
Our memories on my screen,
Two lovers in this mystic dream.
Walking down the aisle to a song I was struggling to pick. Was there a way to blend James Blake’s When We’re Older, Frank Ocean’s Godspeed, Fred again..’s Faisal (envelops me) specifically minute 21:25 from his Tiny Desk set, and Justin Hurwitz’s Mia & Sebastian's Theme into one single melody?
I do. I do.
Except we didn’t.
Not now.
Not for now.
I’ve been opening and closing this draft for days. I write. I delete. I write again. I close the tab and get on with my day. I wonder if this is one of those things that don’t really belong on the Internet. Maybe you keep it just between you and your fiancé. Maybe it’s one of those experiences that you analyze in therapy, that you confide to your closest friends, that you write in your journal. And then you burn it and forget about it. Or you keep it and stumble upon it a few years later while cleaning your house. Because maybe no one wants to read about a failed wedding from an absolute stranger. Maybe it’s odd to share such personal feelings online. Maybe it’s even inconsiderate to hit publish. Maybe… fuck it?
I often hesitate to say this word, but there’s a sort of grief that comes with having your wedding cancelled. The stages I went (am) going through seemed to check all the boxes. The denial, the anger, the bargaining, the depression, the (often failed) acceptance. The hurt was unlike anything I have experienced before. I felt robbed. I felt like a failure. I questioned everything and allowed my brain to go rogue—perhaps I wasn’t worthy of this happiness and I shouldn’t have let my guard down, thinking that I was. Perhaps I should have stuck to worst-case scenarios to protect myself from the heartbreak. Maybe this was a twisted sign from the universe. Maybe this was karma. Maybe I deserved it. Everything was tense. Sometimes it was too heavy to carry. I wanted to disappear.
It’s a strange thing to go through, let alone explain to other people. Everyone will have questions and opinions. Some will be supportive, important and valid. Others will be oddly unnecessary—along the lines of, what did your dress look like, can I see a picture and where is it stored now, or why would you go on a bachelorette party if there’s no wedding. You’ll be greeted with understanding and empathy, but you’ll also experience belittling and acting like a wedding is no big deal. It’s just a day. There’s always next year. Or never. Which is also fine.
This whole experience, which I’m still processing as we speak, forced me to relearn a few things. And I think they apply to many situations we face everyday.
First, it made me realize that nobody gets to dictate what’s important to us. There were moments when I felt judged for seeing this wedding (and how I imagined it) as an important thing, often to the point where I held myself back. I was so scared of being perceived as shallow that I found myself containing my own excitement, acting all nonchalant when I was in fact ecstatic. I never want to be that person again. I want to acknowledge the things that thrill me—be it getting married, writing an essay on Substack, or getting out of bed in the morning—without looking at other people for a compass on what’s worth celebrating or not. Because other people won’t always get why something means that much to us, and that’s ok. What is not ok is allowing their lack of understanding to restrain how we really feel.
Which brings me to my second point—allowing ourselves to feel. Everything. Nothing. And then everything again. It seems like a beaten-up, highly therapized TikTok concept, but we all do need to honor our feelings and stop punishing ourselves for our emotions. It’s already bad enough that you’re experiencing a low point in life. You don’t need to be your worst enemy, whispering in your ear that how you feel is stupid. And you most certainly don’t need to listen to people who try to invalidate your feelings.
Third and final, a bunch of Instagram quotes that I repeatedly tell myself because it’s either that or breaking stuff (if someone knows a good rage room in Lisbon, please hit me up). Look after yourself. Protect yourself. Do whatever you have to do. Take as much time as you need. Don’t feel selfish for prioritizing your needs. Don’t beat yourself up if you still feel sad after a week, a month, or a year. Because there will be moments when things come back up. And they’ll hurt. A lot. But they won’t hurt a lot forever. Also, don’t forget that you’re not in this alone. It might feel like that sometimes, but there’s someone by your side who’s also going through their own journey and healing, and it won’t be the same as yours. Your need for control will try to tell you otherwise. Ignore it. And hug it out.
A few days after August 10 was just another date in the calendar, a friend asked me if I was ready to plan our wedding again. I thought of this essay from Emma Hoareau where she speaks about being in the waiting room of her own life, and how it translated the uncertainty I feel around my own wedding. Not in the core value, of course—I know I want to marry my partner and share this moment with him. But there’s a part of me that feels scared to try again, and fail again. When something like this doesn’t go right, you think of all the ways it could still go wrong the second time around. It’s the what if shitfest. But then I remember those songs I wanted to walk down the aisle to. The first one goes,
If it all ends, and it's over
If the sky falls fire
Best believe me, you will see me
On the other side
And the other one goes,
This love will keep us through blinding of the eyes
Silence in the ears, darkness of the mind
And then the third one goes,
You can leave your pain behind now
'Cause I'm climbing out this time
I'm climbing out my mind
The last one has no lyrics and comes from my favorite horror story, also known as La La Land. Mia & Sebastian’s Theme, which plays out in different renditions throughout the movie, has its final moment during the Epilogue of the film. It’s a 10-minute long, gut-wrenching ending scene that reminds me of something quite heartbreaking, but also very true. Sometimes things could be different, but that doesn’t mean they would necessarily be better.
Not in the case of La La Land, though.
Fuck that ending.
Sending you the biggest hug ❤️
Obrigado por escrever este ensaio maravilhoso e corajoso Mónica. Não se esqueça que é dona da sua vida, e que os outros não podem definir o seu caminho em seu nome.