I Never Imagined Being a Bride Like This
I never imagined being a bride like this.
Not because I didn’t dream of weddings—I did. As a girl, I traced lace patterns in bridal magazines and imagined walking down an aisle lined with candles and soft music. I pictured myself in satin, hair swept up, smiling at a man who looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
But this? This was different.
I wasn’t wearing satin. I wasn’t in a cathedral. I wasn’t even sure I was ready.
The morning of my wedding, I woke up in a small cottage tucked into the hills of Vermont. The air smelled like pine and rain. My dress hung from a hook on the door—simple, creased from travel, not the designer gown I once thought I’d wear. My shoes were flats. My bouquet was wildflowers I’d picked myself.
And I was alone.
Not lonely. Just alone. My mother had passed two years earlier. My sister was stuck in Europe with a canceled flight. My best friend had sent a video message, teary-eyed and apologetic. So I dressed myself. I braided my own hair. I stood in front of the mirror and whispered, “You’re doing this.”
I never imagined being a bride like this.
There was no bridal party. No makeup artist. No flurry of champagne and matching robes. Just me, a quiet morning, and a heart full of questions.
But when I stepped outside, the world greeted me gently. The trees swayed like they were nodding approval. The gravel crunched beneath my feet like applause. And at the end of the path, under a wooden arch wrapped in ivy, stood the man I was about to marry.
He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t grinning. He was just watching me—steady, reverent, like he understood the weight of the moment.
I never imagined being a bride like this.
Not because it wasn’t beautiful. It was. But because it was real. Raw. Unfiltered.
There were only 12 guests. No DJ. No choreographed dances. Just vows spoken with trembling voices and hands held tight. We wrote our own promises. Mine included the words, “I will love you even when I forget how to love myself.” His included, “I will never ask you to be smaller than you are.”
We kissed. We laughed. We ate pie instead of cake. We danced barefoot on the porch to a playlist we made the night before. And when the sun dipped behind the hills, we lit lanterns and let them float into the sky.
I never imagined being a bride like this.
Because I thought weddings were supposed to be perfect. I thought they were supposed to be grand, curated, Instagram-worthy. I thought I needed a thousand-dollar dress and a seating chart and a hashtag.
But what I needed was this: a moment that felt like mine.
I needed the silence before the ceremony, when I could hear my own heartbeat. I needed the wind in my hair and the dirt on my hem. I needed the way he looked at me—not like I was a bride, but like I was his person.
I never imagined being a bride like this.
Because I didn’t know that being a bride wasn’t about the dress or the venue or the guest list. It was about standing in front of someone and saying, “I choose you.” Not just today, but tomorrow. And the next day. And the days when choosing feels hard.
It was about letting go of the version of myself I thought I had to be, and embracing the one I’d become.
The one who cried while writing vows. The one who forgot to pack mascara. The one who danced with her husband under string lights and whispered, “We did it.”
I never imagined being a bride like this.
But I’m so glad I was.
Because this version of me—the one who showed up imperfect, unpolished, and fully present—is the one I want to carry into marriage. She’s the one who knows that love isn’t a performance. It’s a practice.
And this wedding, this day, this quiet celebration in the woods—it wasn’t the one I imagined.
It was better.
