EMMA'S DIARY
As a child I used to watch as my eight year old friends have their holy communions and they had those beautiful dresses and parties. I wished it could be me. Pure, beautiful, elegant, someone that people looked on at with pride. I kind of felt that a wedding has all the same sentimentality.So to be the pissed up bride who cannot move through the trauma of her own wedding, I can see exactly how this haunts me to this day. I couldn't have known then what I know now but it doesn't stop the pain of it all. So today as I look at my dress, I see something strange. Next to my dress, on the window ledge is a pair of binoculars. Obviously put there by the children when they have been playing. But it screams out to me. That this bride has always been searching, searching for something, for something to be different, for it to never have happened, for the love of my life to come round the corner on his white horse (or jaguar) and make it all better, make me that beautiful bride and heal all. Somehow make it pure again. No longer tainted or tarnished. But as I look the message is clear, perhaps it's time to move on. Perhaps it's time to put the binoculars away, start healing, and move on. Start looking at what's before my very eyes. A man who lets me be who I am. A man who does not ride a white horse, more of a crappy old Astra (by choice), yet sees me and loves me and certainly wasn’t to blame. It's so painful to write all of this but in pain there is healing. In pain there is accepting responsibility and just acceptance.I drank too much. The best man was and will always be a prick.
My inlaws were never going to love me the way my own family do, it was never about me.I made that choice when I asked people to leave. I drank too much still. I opened the cards and presents, I didn't know any different. I picked the wrong hotel, brass and reds will never be my colour choice again. I drank too much champagne. I am not eight years old and don’t need a holy communion or wedding to be pure in heart and beautiful, but I do have massive boobs and boob tubes are not my friend. I think it’s time to move on and hop on my own white horse….but i’m scared of horses so perhaps my size 6’s in my Nike Air Max will suffice.
I told the photographer I didn't like the photos, it's true some of them were crap, but to this day I know it's more than the photos. But that poor guy, I always think of how my devastation was not held back. His feelings were not relevant, I was a bridezilla after the wedding. Fast forward to today, as I write this, no longer drinking like that and now writing each day. Embarking on Marie Kondo and taking my finances by the scruff of the neck and dragging us into accountability. Well, it all makes me realise that I have never processed the experience, that it was trauma in its own right but that what followed was perhaps the part that perpetuated the level of damage. For eight years I have been holding the trauma. At the time telling anyone who will listen about my shit wedding, my disappointment, and what I now know to be shame but came out in anger at all of the above mentioned. Clarity when not drinking means I know that this was all enhanced by the booze. The inlaws would have still done their thing, I still would have chucked the other idiots out, my dress ma… would have still gone too big on me but perhaps had I not been intoxicated the pain may have been temporary and healed sooner..To this day I am struggling to recall any good bits after the vows. And to this say have hated to admit any accountability for how I handled it in the aftermath.
Lots of love Emma x
p.s. thanks for reading each month ❤️❤️❤️
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