A Wedding Dress Made Me Say Hello to a Man and Goodbye to Myself

I’m not sure who I can blame more my husband or me

It’s a gorgeous August day and we’ve just boarded a Norwegian Cruise ship. The Song of Norway is docked in the Port of New York ready to make its way to Bermuda.

My husband and I drop our things off and make our way to the deck.

I still can’t believe I call someone my husband. Likewise, I’m caught up in the excitement of my new moniker. I’m a wife. I’m a Mrs. I’m now a part of two.

A steel band plays, “Red Red Wine.”

We grab two cocktails and absorb the moment and the music. Life seems glorious. I tell myself I can’t believe I was ever afraid to get married. I’m such a worrier.

I take a moment to write my Mom a postcard.

“I love being married!” I love you! Colleen

That’s all it says.

I am all in. I have gone beyond the worst fears of this child of a single mother. I have cast aside the doubts about relationship failures and messy breakups.

I don’t realize it yet but those fears are still ruminating.

They’ve just taken up a different type of emotional residence.

I’ve gone from resisting the wedding dress to over-committing to it.

I’ve set my sights on perfection. Think Barbie gets married. Barbie builds her Dreamhouse. Barbie’s parents might have broken up but Barbie is never going to let that happen because she’s going to try so hard.

Barbie is going to overcompensate to have a great marriage.

This is the part where I don’t know whether to blame me or Ken.

My aforementioned determination is going to get me into trouble.

Ken on the other hand, isn’t a worrier. Ken isn’t looking for perfection because Ken believes he came from it. Ken’s parents not only had a DreamHouse, but they also had a Malibu Beach House.

Ken’s parents play old-school traditional style marital roles.

Barbie has one job. Ken has another job. This is less best friends and more role-playing. The wife is the stay-at-home mom who tends to all things home. The husband is the big man on the marital campus breadwinner.

There’s no meeting in the middle.

One walk down the aisle didn’t unify two people.

It was the prelude to a divvy-up of daily responsibilities.

This is where I don’t know whether or not to blame Ken. While I was determined to make our relationship work at any cost, Ken was determined to control it.

Ken would remind Barbie where and what her place was.

Here’s where my story gets really messy.

It’s where Barbie and Ken collide.

I’m tirelessly giving in to any and all negotiations because I am drinking the wife Koolaid. I think this is my job. I have to keep this team together. And remember, I’m living my best life.

I’m rocking out to “Red Red Wine.”

Life is good so it doesn’t seem like a big sacrifice.

My Mom has my honeymoon postcard plastered on her fridge.

She thinks it’s adorable that I wrote only one newlywed sentence. She’s thrilled for me. I’m thrilled for me. I love that my Mother has my Song of Norway memento in her kitchen.

I think Ken and I are rocking it.

Marriage isn’t that difficult.

But while I’m giving parts of myself continually away, Ken keeps asking for more. He doesn’t seem to notice he’s the bigger negotiator and I’m the one usually settling for the terms.

To be fair, it takes me a considerable amount of time to notice it too.

I’m ashamed to admit this, but it’s because other things are going quite well.

This Ken and Barbie now have their Dreamhouse and a Malibu Beach House. With these kinds of trappings, it’s easy to camouflage a lot of typical issues.

Our lack of monetary issues lowers other relationship stress.

But I am feeling incredibly lonely.

In my Dreamhouse and my Malibu Beach House.

I finally tell Ken how unhappy and lonely I am. Ken’s world is perfect, remember? Ken doesn’t think I will ever walk away from this degree of outward perfection.

But it’s getting harder to hide.

I once wrote, that I started gaining weight when I began losing myself.

Ironic, isn’t it?

The reality of my two worlds became polarized. The outward trappings and my inward misery. The increased pounds made it travel from metaphorically to reality.

Worse, my closet held both my worlds.

My Barbie clothes from the happier me. The bikinis from the beach house. The plethora of halter tops and cute little outfits. It’s easy to shop when you’re skinny.

And my new wardrobe.

The clothes that spoke my current truth.

Some days I blame myself. Some days I blame Ken. Some days I blame naivete. I wasn’t a wife. That’s a role that we play. That’s something that can become a prehistoric moniker.

I was a woman.

I was an individual.

I didn’t have to surrender myself to become a part of a team. A team requires people who have different talents. It requires working together for the best possible outcome.

In a relationship, one person isn’t supposed to win.

The other person isn’t supposed to lose.

It’s not a battle to surrender for one person to control.

I loved that young girl who boarded the Norwegian Cruise ship in the Port of New York. She was an individual who was true to herself. She had not yet leaned too far into her pleasing and fixing ways.

She had bigger boundaries with Ken.

And she still loved the song “Red Red Wine.”

Today, it’s a tune that hurts my heart.

A wedding dress made me say hello to a man and goodbye to myself.