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marriage

So. I got married.

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I’ve realized the joy of my wedding day is mostly beyond words. But I want to capture it, and so, the key points of what I’ve been thinking about over and over again:

I loved every minute of the day.
I really did. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if I would. I didn’t know what to expect, how I’d react to a busy, emotional day. I generally prefer to not be the center of attention, and try to deflect attention off on me. But on my wedding day, I embraced it. And I actually really liked it. There is something so special about knowing that every single person in a room is there because they love you.

I wasn’t unbearably anxious.
In the two weeks leading up to the wedding, I was. I was overwhelmed, there were a million appointments and details and things to finalize. But once the weekend was here, it all melted away. I had butterflies, but not anxious stormy harmful ones. Just springy, happy ones. The morning of my wedding, when texting with a close friend, I told her that I was oddly calm. She replied, “I don’t find that odd. I think you are in the moment.” and that was exactly right. I was so present during the entire day.

I felt beautiful.
Historically it’s been hard enough for me to feel neutral about my body, let alone positive. But on this day, I felt gorgeous. The entire day. I loved my dress, I loved my hair, my makeup, jewelry, shoes. And I was in love and I was happy and I was excited and all of that combined made me feel angelic and light and just…beautiful.

I ate everything.
So many people had told us that you don’t get to eat at your own wedding. Well, a certain husband of mine was not having that! We had selected the food, we loved it at our tasting, and he was determined we would enjoy it. So I tried all of the hors deorves, I ate my salad, my dinner, and my cake. And it was damn delicious.

I am so in love.
One constant comment we got from guests at the wedding is about how we looked at each other the entire evening. People said it was so clear how much we love each other, so clear that we were so locked in and focused on each other. And I love that. We talk about our love all the time, but to be such a big love that it emanated from us into the room was an indescribable feeling. In looking at the pictures we just got back, I can see it too, in our eyes, and in the ways we hold each other and look at each other. We are so, so lucky.

And now, a rare picture:
jen-jeremy-w-1237

Wedding babbles

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So.

I am getting married one week from yesterday. Everyone keeps saying, “Are you excited?!” (except those closest to me, who know to just ask, “How are you feeling?”) and the short answer is, yes, of course. If I wasn’t, we’d have a problem. I am very excited. But I’m also overwhelmed. And I haven’t totally known how to put it into words until the other day when a new colleague overheard me trying to explain it, and she came into the hall and simply said, “It’s a constant state of hyper-vigilance.” Yes. Planning a wedding and getting mentally ready for it is exciting. But it’s also draining. For some people, a lot of something good isn’t draining. But for others, like yours truly, a lot of anything is draining, whether it’s a positive “lot” or a negative “lot.” I think I had gotten myself stuck in feeling guilty. I’m happy about my wedding, I’m excited about my wedding. So I shouldn’t feel overwhelmed or exhausted or sick of talking about it. And if I do, what does it say about me? It must mean I’m flawed, or something is wrong with me.

But the truth of the matter is that, like everything else, this isn’t black and white. It’s not one feeling or the other, it’s not right or wrong. It’s and. Like we always teach our students, and work to teach ourselves: we can feel more than one feeling at once. There is no right way to feel. And when I take a step back, I realize that all of us – my parents, Jeremy, his parents, have felt a myriad of feelings. Excited, anxious, worried, overwhelmed, stressed, elated. And they’re all good. And okay. And expected.

This is so surreal, I keep thinking. Not surreal that I’m marrying Jeremy. We knew fairly early on that this was it. (Fun fact: our recessional song, after the ceremony, is the song that holds such meaning to me, as it’s what I was listening to when it hit me for the first time – Oh my god. I want to marry this man. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.) But more so surreal when I think about my life as a whole. Sometimes I take a step back and look at my life, and I have my stuff, everyone does, but overall, I have my shit together. More than together. And for many years, my shit was…..well, very NOT together. And during those days and months, I had to focus on putting myself back together, piece by piece, figuring out who I was. I learned to like, and even love myself, but that was my focus. I certainly couldn’t ever see a future in which not only did I love myself, but I wanted to open up and trust and give myself to someone else. It just wasn’t something I could imagine.

I think that younger Jen, who lives within me, is the one who is feeling surreal. Present-day Jen feels like, Yes, this is exactly what is happening, of course it is. But it’s that old me who is astonished. Amazed. Proud. Relieved.

I am madly in love.

I am marrying my best friend, the man of my dreams, the most incredible man I could have ever hoped to find.

I am happy. I am lucky.

I’m getting married.

Half an inch

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And as the seamstress asked, “Do you want me to take it out half an inch, and not pin it so tightly?” I smiled, and said, “Yes.”

Let me back up.

I was at the seamstress for my second wedding dress fitting. She had tentatively pinned several parts of the dress that needed to be taken in, and I was trying it on to confirm before she cut into the fabric. (Let me just say that no matter what size you are, no matter what shape, no matter what your history with your body, it’s never a super comfortable feeling for someone to pull fabric tight around every crevice of your body). She zipped the dress and I immediately felt like I needed to suck in.

“Remember, you want to be able to sit down, you want to be comfortable,” my mom said, as she caught my eye, watching me note that it was a little tight in one part of my back. And I needed that reminder of her saying that, because all along, that was my criteria with my wedding dress. I wanted to feel beautiful in it. And I wanted to be able to breathe. I did not want to spend my wedding day focusing on sucking in my stomach or breathing with shallow breaths because a full, deep, wonderful breath was restricted by my dress. I didn’t want my dress to restrict anything. Of all days, I do not want any restrictions on my wedding day.

I thought about it. I focused on my body. I noticed that I could only take shallow breaths, with the dress pinned that tightly. I noticed that I wanted to suck in my stomach. My initial reaction, which I think will always be my initial reaction, was to think, Okay. I can do this. Challenge accepted. I’ll cut out a few calories. Go to the gym more. Lose a half inch in the circumference of my back. Then it will fit perfectly. Perfect. This is perfect. 

And I did at first, say to the seamstress and my mom, “No, I think it will be okay.” But my voice trailed off. And my mom knows me better than that. So as she said, “Are you sure?” I thought.

The difference between Then and Now, is my reactions to those thoughts. I used to panic when I noticed the thought. I thought that meant I had failed, that I would always been trapped by the thoughts. It took a lot of time, and work, to realize that the thoughts are going to come. They just are. Maybe they don’t come for everyone, but everyone’s story is different, everyone’s reasons and causes are different, everyone’s wiring is different. And for me, the thoughts will come from time to time. But that actually doesn’t matter. Because what matters is my reaction to the thoughts, not the thoughts themselves. If I act on them or not. If I let them become actions and reality.

So I took a shallow breath, because that’s all I could do with my diaphragm compressed that tightly. And as the seamstress asked, “Do you want me to take it out half an inch, and not pin it so tightly?” I smiled, and said, “Yes.”

It’s a half an inch. Barely noticeable. Makes no difference. And back Then, a half inch would have been everything. But Now, that half inch is nothing. Comfort is everything. Feeling beautiful is everything. Breathing is everything. And if it takes a half inch for that, it’s okay by me.