Platitude of the day: not everything works out how you’d expect. Five years ago, if someone had told me I’d be walking myself down the aisle at my wedding, I wouldn’t have believed it. But such is how it’ll be, after all. And I’m not only OK with that, I’m actually quite proud of it.
Some time ago, the dysfunctional relationship I had with my family reached maximum toxicity and for sanity’s sake, I had to cut ties. Heartbreaking, yes. Life saving, as well, after the initial shock. My reasons for doing what I did aren’t blog-able, but the pertinent end result is…
No father to walk me down the aisle. No mum to pinch hit. No big brother to step in, and no uncles to act as surrogate. Talk about your clean breaks, huh? The taffeta-and-tulle bedecked cheese stands alone. An image so sad it should depress me, I suppose. But all it gives me is a melancholic twinge and the inspiration to hold my head up that much higher.
My FFIL, according to Mr. Lovebug, offered to give me away. And he’d be a natural, how warm and affectionate he is toward me. When, caught up in the excitement of choosing Christmas trees last year, he picked me up and swung me around like a kid–well, it was the fatherliest moment I’d had in decades. My throat gets tight even thinking about it.
And an ex who’s a very close friend offered to stand in, partly out of genuine friendship, and partly for the dry humor in it. But I’m having none of it. I don’t need to be “given away”, because I haven’t been anyone’s to *give* for a long, long time. And I’m not talking about financial independence. I’ve been doing my own emotional parenting for as long as I can remember. I’ve pulled myself up and out of a lot of tough situations all by my lonesome. Walking down that aisle by myself is my way to acknowledge that strength. Pride, maybe. But also a very vital, personal confidence.
So, funnily enough, as Mr. L is adopted, ours will be the No Biological Parents Wedding. I’ve been to so few weddings; I have no idea how the “crowd” will take my walking alone. For all I know, it’s the ultimate faux pas, to be avoided at all costs even if the groundskeeper has to step in. I don’t want to be pitied, that’s for sure. And I know it won’t be an easy thing, seeing Mr. Lovebug with his loving parents. But I’m a big girl of 32. I’ll get through it. And hopefully, his dad’ll give me another one of those awesome twirls.
Am I breaching etiquette beyond reason? Will there be eyebrows raised through the roof? And if anyone else is walking down the aisle alone, can I get a high five? It’d sure be nice to have some company in this solitude.
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