The early-20s urge to force it
WEDDING SEASON SERIES
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WEDDING SEASON SERIES |
In my experience, women usually fall into three age groups for marriage:
18 - 21
26 - 30
Mid-30s +
These are sweeping generalizations based on my own history and the people around me, but it’s what I know, so it’s what I’m writing.
The first group consists of women (girls) marrying their high school sweetheart. This can be motivated by religion, unexpected pregnancy, or just naivety. It seems all so glamorous and as a young woman who’s now an “adult”, it feels like the right move, like you’re ready for this. Many of these marriages end in divorce because we’re not grown yet as people and typically these couples grow apart rather than together. This can happen at any age, but it’s very common in this period because at 18 we are still, literally children.
The second age group is made up of women who have lived a bit and have gotten to know themselves more and are still optimistic about love and relationships. They have found a partner who meshes with who they’ve grown into and whose values align more with their own. OR another option is a long time relationship that hit the ultimatum of “break up or get married”. Many of those second ones tend to lead to divorce as well, while the former path tends to be more successful (even if they do end in divorce, it’s amicable). Not saying that long-term relationships that wait to get married until they’ve experienced more life are doomed for divorce, but if the partners go into it with the attitude of “I guess I have to do this now”, then that’s not really a good start to a legally binding commitment.
The final period has women who are shocked that it’s even happening. This is not because they are unworthy of love or anything, but we are all taught that 30 is the cutoff point for marriage and so they learned how to love themselves and to live their best lives, and a partner became incredibly optional; and then they happen to find someone who fits well into their life after assuming they were destined to be alone. This kind of partnership could come in the earlier age group if the woman has already accomplished loving herself and just doing whatever she wants (but that’s hard to do). The end of this relationship is most likely by death rather than divorce, and not only because the matches are typically more aligned, but also for the simple fact that dealing with divorce is a lot of wasted energy, and both parties are aware of this fact.
Another possibility in the last group are people just desperate to get married and settle for companionship where they can get it. I am aware that this happens, but for argument’s sake, I assert that once women take the expectation of marriage out of their radar and focus on themselves, they typically find that partnership (especially with men) is a nice-to-have if it’s right rather than a need-to-have no matter what. These generalizations are also made with the assumption of no children. Being a single mother makes everything different because you’re no longer just focused on yourself, so the time tables and requirements are vastly diverse.
The second age group period can be really hard as an unmarried woman. You’ve had experiences that lead to some independence and it feels like you’re an adult, but you’re definitely not. You’re meeting strangers in the bars and actually going on dates like you see in the movies and you’re full of optimism that any night could be the night that changes your life forever. But you haven’t experienced that night. And your peers are getting married and “starting their lives” (because women are taught that getting married is the main reason to live) so you really begin to feel like you’re fucking something up. The amount of weddings I attended in my late twenties is shocking; and it really stings when you’re continually the only single lady there. It’s like being the 9th wheel for an entire decade.
I was a relationship person for most of my early dating life. It started with my first, real boyfriend at 16; then I got into another relationship not too long afterward that spanned the remainder of my high school time; then about a month after that ended, I got into a three-year long relationship that lasted throughout college; then I entered my last long-term relationship before my marriage within six months of the previous one ending, which lasted just over two years and included my first live-in experience.
Following my last breakup, I was relationship-less for six years. I dated and had problematic sexual encounters, but I never was committed to anyone or, more devastatingly, they were never committed to me. My friends; however, were in relationships, finding their soulmates, making major life decisions, and I felt stalled. I felt insignificant.
There’s a nagging voice in our heads that tells us we must partner up to become whole; and it was put there by the societal voices outside of our heads that drilled it in. I still recall a lot of the conversations around that time: “you’ll find someone when the timing is right”, “they’ll show up when you’re ready for them”, “all of these experiences are just prepping you for the right partner”. They insinuate that you’re in control of meeting your partner and that if it hasn’t happened yet, it’s because you’re not ready or you’re not right. Like you’re doing something wrong.
Because I was single and men only wanted me for sex and I was ignoring the incredible abuse that I’d sustained up until then, I truly believed that I had no value. I was a failure because I couldn’t get a man to stay and thus my life was useless.
With this pressure and the feeling like you’ve been single for too long (being single in your twenties is NOT A BAD THING! It’s actually great. You get to grow and learn and try out things. But you’re made to feel like you’re a fucking plague or something), you start to think about missed opportunities or trying for something you wouldn’t normally because it might be the thing that fits. You feel the urge to force it.
At one of the many weddings in which I was a bridesmaid, I tried hard to force it. On top of all the existing influences, being a bridesmaid adds even more — that classic trope that you’re definitely gonna get laid or the process of catching the bouquet to be the next to get married (what the fuck?). And I wasn’t yet sober so a lot of factors contributed to the decision making process that occurred that night.
This was my first, post-Pinterest wedding experience. I created a chalkboard menu for the food and drinks as the person with the best handwriting, my brother’s girlfriend made signature, craft cocktails for the reception, and we all received thoughtful and personalized bridesmaid gifts. And the wedding now included a full day of getting ready in our floral robes and drinking unlimited mimosas from our painted wine glasses.
In the thrill of the ceremony and not wanting to fuck anything up, the drinks didn’t hit until I sat down at the reception table. And then they fucking hit. And then I added to that an incredibly strong cocktail and copious glasses of red wine. I think I ate and I am positive that I consumed no water.
I am embarrassed at memories of this wedding. It was in front of a lot of family who mostly abstain from alcohol, my breasts fell out of my sweetheart neckline bridesmaids dress numerous times, and I recall smoking cigarettes on the dance floor. Thankfully, I was not the only person drinking at this wedding, but I was definitely the most memorable.
Due to noise ordinances, the reception ended at 10:00 PM, but the mother of the groom invited everyone to her house to continue partying. Of course I went there. Did I drive? I honestly don’t remember, but my car was at the house for sure.
Before I got completely wasted and made an ass of myself, I reconnected with an old friend that I hadn’t seen in a long time. We were really close in high school, entitling each other “best friend” and we hung out a little after graduation, but between college moves and life changes, it had been a while since we spoke. Seeing him again reminded me of a time we spent in his new apartment, post-high school, where his furniture was stacked atop each other and a brand new mattress lie in the corner of the room, surrounded by boxes and the parts to his new bed frame that hadn’t yet been built.
Initiate flashback sequence
We cross the threshold of his new apartment, a cookie-cutter unit in a large apartment complex in a small town, with the shopping bags from our previous excursion. He leads me to his bedroom, and together we apply the brand new bedsheets to the mattress on the floor so that he can sleep there tonight. The cool blue-grey color looks grimy against the too-bright, freshly painted white wall behind it, but it feels right for someone our age. Once the bed is made, I fall back into it and feel the soft, cool bedding beneath me. “Nothing like new sheets” I say, making snow angels with my arms and legs.
He laughs and sits on the floor, opens a moving box, and then starts unpacking items from it. I turn onto my side to face him as he organizes his items in piles next to him. Our eyes meet and we both smile.
I always thought he maybe had a crush on me in school, but he was too shy to say anything. And I have started to maybe develop feelings for him as we hang out outside of school grounds, but I am dating someone else. We stare silently for a while, begging each other to make a move, but it doesn’t happen. The tension lingers all night, but eventually I leave without talking or doing anything about it.
Complete flashback sequence
Would it have been a good idea to hook up that night, with him starting in a new city, me living in a different one, and already being in a relationship? No, of course not. But I did play the “what if” game in my head. What if we did? Would we still be together? Would we be married? Would we be here as dates rather than long-lost friends? Would I have bypassed some of the terrible situationships I’ve been in since that night? Would I be who I am today? Would I be better? Is this something I can retroact years later? Was this the right move to make but I was too stupid to do it then? Can I do it now and make up for lost time?
Our conversation at the wedding reception was brief, but we both ended up at the after party and found each other quickly. We flirtingly played pool (this is a trend in my life, apparently), my obscene cleavage becoming the star of the show with every shot I took. I was far too drunk to actually be skilled in this, but my belligerent confidence took over and made me feel like I was actually killing it. So much so, that I made my move:
“Sorry I beat you, but I have a consolation prize if you want it,” I say, batting my half-open eyes.
I have no clear memory of his reaction, but I imagine it wasn’t super fervent. I ignored it regardless and dragged him out the front door. I led him down the street to where my Mini Cooper was parked and got inside. Appropriately cautious, he asked, “Where are we going?” before closing the door to the passenger seat.
“Nowhere,” I said, as if that was obvious. I leaned over and kissed him with the grace you would expect from someone in my state. “Oh,” he exclaimed, surprised at my actions.
In hindsight, it is pretty wild how we got here. At the time, I obviously felt like we were continually on the same page and wanted the same thing. But I couldn’t see through the drunken haze how I was pushing my “what if” agenda onto a totally innocent bystander.
We kissed for a bit and then I tried to unzip my dress. My fingers couldn’t maneuver the small hook at the top though, so it stayed on and the bust just got a bit baggier. I shrugged it off and moved to the backseat. Now, remember, this is in a MINI COOPER! I am not a short person, so me moving from the driver’s seat to the backseat wouldn’t be smooth while sober. I can honestly only imagine what he saw in that moment.
I motioned for him to join me in the back, but he hesitated. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight …” he started.
“Oh come on! It’s not like you haven’t wanted this since high school!” I hadn’t yet got the memo that bullying a man isn’t exactly how to make a tempting offer. I stayed in the back, waiting for him to join me, my face etched with impatient annoyance.
“Let’s go back inside,” he said kindly. “We can play more pool and just hang out.”
Just as clumsily as I got into the backseat, I moved back to the front half of the car and fell out of the driver’s door (this car was a two-door). He exited the vehicle and raced over to my side to help me up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” I screamed, getting myself back up to my feet. “Let’s go ‘hang out’.” I spit out to him, emphasizing ‘hang out’ with disdain.
We reentered the house and I saw some family members there by the front door. “I found her,” my step-dad called to my mom, noticing my partially unzipped dress and looking at me with a mix of confusion, shame, and discomfort. We, of course, never discussed it because that would be too uncomfortable for everyone.
I didn’t stay much longer after that and my brother drove me home, safely. I don’t even remember if I said goodbye to my friend.
Once I was back home and sobered up, I got into fix-it mode. I texted him, apologizing for my behavior and stating how nice it was to see him and I’d like to see him again if he would be interested. He responded with a ‘no problem’ and a ‘sure, let’s do it’ that he knew he did not mean. I tried texting him a couple more times after that, really trying to remedy my relationship failures with “the one that got away”, but I just became aggressively desperate. Finally, he sent a message explaining that we were in different places right now and he didn’t think he could give me what I wanted from him. It was brutal, but necessary. And I finally left him and the idea of us together alone.
Would we have worked out? Probably not, especially at that time in my life. As much as I hate hearing “it’ll happen when you’re ready” type statements, there is a bit of truth to that sentiment, though not in the way that it was articulated in my early twenties. It’s not because there’s something wrong with me so no one wants me, but to find an actual partner, you have to know yourself and what you want so that you mesh appropriately. Everything before that is based on outside expectations or assumptions, and that will rarely lead to happiness. It’ll need to be perfect, but with a continual shifting goal line, so it’ll always fail and you’ll always be disappointed.
That was how my last relationship was before my marriage, and it would’ve been this one (or any of the ones that occurred in my early to mid-twenties) because I didn’t know myself, I didn’t love myself, and I wasn’t confident in who I was as a person. I was just grasping for something to prove that I wasn’t a failure as a woman and I wasn’t the odd man out with my friends who were all getting married and settling down. It takes way too long for most of us to realize that we all have distinct paths and one is not better than the others, they’re just different and we’re different when we take them.
I got married at age 33 (third bucket). Because I spent the second half of my twenties attending weddings solo and being unattached for 6 years, I really did feel like I was destined for singledom (which is honestly crazy since I’ve barely even lived, but women are conditioned to believe that 30 is literally the end of their life). I accepted that I would be a single lady and I got okay with that. I never wanted kids, so that wasn’t an issue for me, and through my sobriety and self-improvement processes, I came to really love myself and find happiness in being alone. So having a partner was no longer about becoming a whole person — I was a whole person already. The need to find someone turned into a want to connect, and if the connection wasn’t exactly what I desired, then I didn’t need to settle anymore. I was perfectly happy, content, and successful by myself, so why would I make my life less happy simply because it leads to a relationship?
This was a very long and hard process for me to figure out this truth, but it really did set me free. A woman’s worth is not based on who finds her appealing or who would marry her. We are persons, just like men are, and we are worthy out of the womb. We love ourselves by default and then are taught that we must change ourselves to be loved. We must track our lovability by the opinions and actions of others rather than accepting ourselves and appreciating the uniqueness we bring to the world.
I do not need my husband to make me happy; I am perfectly happy by myself. But he increases that happiness and he brings so much joy to my life that my existence is better with him than without him. That is why I married him. But in my twenties, I felt like I was a failure for not getting a man willing to wait for me at the end of the aisle, so I tried to force things into working. But they won’t work if you don’t actually want them to. And deep down, within my subconscious, I knew that this rekindling was not what I wanted. I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.
