Divorced Before 30

In January 2007, I received an invitation to what I could only assume would be a hellish affair—my first post-divorce wedding. A friend from my hometown would be playing the role of bride, and she’d chosen (dear God!) the chapel where I married John and “our” reception site. I’d already faced some wedding-related demons by attending a service at the chapel, and that had gone reasonably well, except for the part where I ran out in tears. Was I ready to witness a marriage ceremony? Could I handle all that happiness and optimism?

Even before my divorce, I got emotional at weddings. I love the way a wedding brings the love into the limelight, makes the private public, and gives weight and formality to the couple’s intentions. It’s simply touching to be witness to such transparency of emotion. And, if you’ve known one or both of the people for years, there’s the added delight of having seen the awkwardness, struggle, and growth that led up to meeting Mr. or Ms. Wonderful.

So yes, I love a good wedding. Or, at least I did before I became a more jaded version of myself, one who’d recently hocked my wedding rings online and donated my beautiful gown to a good cause. But, I reminded myself that this wedding wasn’t about me, and I got myself a date and a dress. Since my parents and Josh would be there, it seemed like a relatively painless way to get back on the wedding horse.

Still, when the processional started, my heart was all aflutter. I held on tight to Josh’s hand as the bride floated down the aisle, and as the wedding party assembled at the alter, I was surprised to realize that my eyes were dry. No tears, yet brimming with emotion. I felt like I was watching a wedding for the first time, and in some ways, I was. The gravity of the occasion was clear, and I felt a a little wistful.

I’d been there, done that, and yet here I was, a single woman. If I would ever find the right guy (and maybe, just maybe, he was the tall fellow sitting next to me in the pew), how would we celebrate a marriage when I’d already cashed in my wedding chips? I envied the bride and groom their beautiful wedding, which they would hopefully reminisce about in their old age. I’d also had a lovely ceremony, but it was hard for me to think about my wedding day without wanting to whack myself on the forehead.

Josh and I stopped off at the pub en route to the reception. We ordered a glass of wine, and he listened attentively as I shared how I’d experienced the wedding. I felt like I’d been through a lot that night, and part of me was still hurting, but even through my pain, I could see the truth.

It was a cold winter night, and I was drinking wine in a cozy pub with a thoughtful man who knew both how to validate and to challenge me. In the midst of my heartache and soul-searching, I’d stumbled into a relationship that felt righter than right—one where I felt safe enough to share my healing experience. The truth, I realized, was that although I was nowhere near healed (whatever that means), I was ridiculously happy, and that was enough to make this former bride ready to face any old wedding reception. Bring on the hometown acquaintances, the toasts, and even that damn Electric Slide.