What if my idea of a ‘big day’ isn’t a wedding?

One Sunday morning a few months ago, I was awakened by the persistent point of the notifications of WhatsApp. The ugly but curious eyes to nail the culprit who had brought me back to the world of the living at 7 am, I took a look at the screen, then I almost launched my phone in the wall . I had been added to another group cat of bridesmaids.

I passed the best part of my twenty as a bridesmaid, a voluntary sacrificial lamb at the altar of the great days of my friends. Months in advance, I was enlisted in the chaotic trenches to choose each outfit of their wedding trousseau, accompanying them to each adapted dress, organizing a complementary jewelry – generally becoming their personal stylist. I was part of the unofficial planning committee of more weddings that I cannot count, preparing and planning, discussing details and clothing codes parallel to the deciphering of the quirks of the different family members to ensure that Everyone feels important. It didn’t bother me. This important and invaluable opportunity of their lives was their “thing” and I felt honored to be part of it. It looked like the ultimate decisive test of a friendship – the one I was determined to pass with flying colors.

The parties and engagement gifts for the first time. Then the duties of the bridesmaid. Monitoring of single trips. Wedding outfits. No more gifts. Then, like Clockwork, we went to showers for babies. Children’s birthdays. You get the drift.

At the end of the twenty, when this cycle had been repeated about 15 times, a 27 dresses-The form thought began to train in my mind. What if I never have these moments? What if the love, time and money I had paid on these occasions would never be reciprocal simply because a marriage is not my idea of ​​a great day?

I recently bagged the dream work that each of my classmates knows that I have been shooting since the age of 10. They saw me passing starred and optimistic eyes to stressed and in difficulty, to set up the ups and downs of a capricious fashionable career. If there was a moment for me, that was it. My milestone. I worked harder for that than ever for a guy I could marry. But beyond standard congratulations texts and five-minute telephone calls, where was the fanfare? I had to uproot my life, move cities and start again. If anything, this step justifies an air fryer or a mixer crusher, especially since I have not merged into a single unit with a double income.