Here Comes The Bride

 

Last month, I celebrated one of the happiest days of my very life. I got to marry a wonderful, safe, and fantastic man. I got to do the things I had always wanted to when I envisioned my wedding day. I was the first of my family to have a secular wedding, something I’m not only honored by but treasured deeply. Through hard work and tears, I am making a life that I want. It’s so far from my upbringing but it’s the truest and most authentic of lives I’ll ever have, and it’s brought immense peace to me.

My wedding day was not held in a church. While I have felt the uncharacteristically comfort within a house of worship before, I would not say sacred vows to my partner in a system of abuse. I also had to look after myself and practice self-care—I have chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from what the Church has done to my body, brain, and soul. My C-PTSD has been managed really well for over a year and I need to keep that going. And of course, my fiancé and I did not want to have any sad reminders of anything abusive on a day that celebrated our love, so we chose things that make our souls feel light: nature, history, and art. We held our wedding at a beautiful estate.

We had an officiant who was not a religious leader. Nonetheless, the words were sacred. His words were profound, true, and fitting. They spoke of our commitment to each other on the good and bad days. I did not say words of submission: no obey, no words of speaking to my partner as anything other than a partner. We are true equals.

I honored my late mother and missed her presence there. I tossed my bouquet made of one of her favorite flowers on a spur of the moment decision and laugh every time I watch the video. I took in the nature around me: big green trees, beautiful pink flowers, gorgeous and lush ivy. It didn’t rain till after the ceremony. The day was pretty perfect.

The guest list was not long but the most important people were there, and we kept the location private to prevent any abusive people showing up. Weeks later, I’ve heard from relatives who are upset that they were not invited from my side. These same relatives who protected my abuser in prison. Who took away so many of my rights as a child victim. Who shunned me. Who physically, mentally, and spiritually abused me for years wanted a place at my table, in my life. I have received their gifts. I have received their cards. And it all hits a deep chord in my heart… I have had to quiet the longing of wanting my family again… but then, remembering that true family are not abusive and so I do not actually want them in my life. What I want is peace for that part of my inner child who wished her family had not betrayed her. (Today, I live with that and despite that reality, I love my life.)

On my wedding day, I had my real family there. A parent, three sisters and a brother out of twelve siblings and significant others who are family to all of us as well. I was the happiest I had ever been, and I found peace in understanding that these were the people who I would build my life around from here on out. These faces would be the ones laughing back at me in the pictures we’ll take. These sweet souls will be the ones that will see my life change and grow. They will be grandparent, aunts, and uncle to any child I may have in the future. They will be the ones who make memories with me and my husband.

Within a few days, I was blocking past abusive family members from my social media accounts. I was wrestling with picking up my phone to speak to a brother who passed on a “congratulations,” who said he now understands where I’m at on my journey. Still, I battle with the image of him screaming about my wickedness and that I was damned just two years ago in a small grocery store parking lot. (I wrote about that here, actually.) So, I’ve yet to call him up and likely won’t in order to protect my peace. I don’t wish him ill; I’m just so tired of being the one who is ill (literally) from the ways my family of origin treated me years ago.

Two weeks after my marriage, I sat on my bed cross legged and typed out a text message to a sister who was not at my wedding. I received her card and gifts. I was not expecting anything from her, but things from her daughters, instead. I haven’t hugged any of them in nearly a decade, but I felt it was kind of them to want to gift me something, so I agreed. Besides, why burn a bridge that may help them find support if they, too, find the courage to leave?

I felt pain and that old familiar grief of betrayal when I saw my sister’s name, my brothers-in-law, their sons, and daughters. I left their church, but I was no longer family before then. Now, it’s not just differences in theological beliefs or politics –it’s far deeper than that. I can no longer make excuses for their decisions to continuously take the side of abusers, over and over, and over again. Even in that setting, understanding the conditioning –the brainwashing that does occur—I can’t just excuse that way.  

I learned that the longer I was away from those I grew up with, when I was around healthy families, that I did not want to trade peace and safety for relatives connected by blood and nothing more to have a seat at my table.

So, I pushed through my work week, gaining every distraction I could and came home to my peace being interrupted when I was reminded of her absence from my life and the hurtful actions and words that followed. I felt that I had been gaslit all over again, that someone had come into my safe home and pushed pass my doorway without an invite. I felt angry. I felt, how dare they just pretend that they didn’t do those things, stand idle with predators around their own kids and the children of an entire church.

I talked about it in therapy and I got some advice. I got out of my head and looked at the decision with me back in control, of having the power once again, because I do. I needed that peace back and I knew I had to take the step that I should have taken years ago. I asked for no contact. I sent the text and immediately hit the block and archive buttons. My heart felt free in that moment. My husband hugged me closely and told me how proud of me he was. We both knew that my family was at our wedding.

We danced, we sang, we cried, we laughed together. I slowly danced with my daddy and we both cried the entire time to a sweet song. There was a toast of champagne, water, and sparkling grape juice and speeches. There was music that held freedom for me and wonderful, sweet memories. I had a little giggling nephew and nieces all around me and proudly carrying my wedding dress’ train. I had friends whose friendships were created over our similar survivals who showed up to celebrate this huge personal win for me.

I felt loved. I felt seen. I felt pure joy in that moment. I had peace. I had happiness.

I was not prepared for the past to come calling by making this life decision. In hindsight, I can see why it would tempt people to show up, to overstep. I will never be able to fathom why people ignore their role in hurt and pretend that their shows of “love” are anything but hate. I know this life is complex. I do not need to understand the why to be certain that when the past comes calling you hang up the fucking phone. In spite of these hiccups, and that’s what they ended up being in the grand scheme of things, I had a marvelous day. I was surrounded in love. I was protected. I was put first. I was loved. I was honored. I was a bride. I was beautiful and pure. I was always pure.

And so, when I think of my wedding, I think not about who was not there, but who was. I think about how I felt the prettiest I had ever in my life. I think of how lucky I am to have such a wonderful husband. I think of how hard work does pay off. Of why I go to therapy, of why I try to heal my body and my brain. And why the little and big moments of life leave gentle footprints on my heart that I treasure and speak to the power of survival, of reaching for only the best because I do, in fact, deserve the best.

I’m so damn proud of me. And I can now believe others are, too.

Not because I have a husband. Not because I have a family. Not because I have a home filled with love. But because I didn’t give up and did the hard work in believing that the loving words coming from truly loving people are out of love, for real.

And all of those things and more are just proof of that healing I write of now. I have felt a million times like dying but living in these moments is what life is really all about. At my wedding, I had a song that I always love when it appears on the radio or my playlist. I can’t help but get emotional and smile when I hear the song, “I Hope You Dance” play. I feel these words to every fiber of my being.

So, I dance.

Photo courtesy: Lydia Launderville