I'll Say It: I Miss Being A Bride

In Season 8, Episode 2 of Friends, Monica stands in the lobby of the hotel where she married Chandler in a beautifully emotional, sitcom-perfect wedding the night before. As Chandler checks out of the newlywed suite, Monica makes her feelings about her new marital status clear. “I’m no longer a bride,” she laments. “I’ll never be a bride again. Now, I’m just someone’s wife.”

The moment is played for laughs. (Matthew Perry’s perfectly sarcastic delivery of “And I’m the happiest guy in the world!” as a reply makes that clear.) The audience is supposed to see Monica’s despair as bratty and selfish. She’s too fixated on the One Special Day to appreciate the life of wedded bliss (and more) that lies ahead.

I’ve never related to a fictional TV character more.

In July 2021, my boyfriend of eight years proposed. In the 13 joyous months that followed, I wore my engagement ring like a badge of honor, reveling in all the bridal privileges it symbolized: the registry gifts, the fawning over my “bridal glow” (read: spray tans and skin care treatments), and the spike in Instagram likes, to name a few. I did the destination bachelorette party, I wore the all-white outfits, and I worked in a mention of “my fiancé” any chance I could get. Sure, I was probably a little obnoxious — but I was only going to be a bride once, and I was going to enjoy it, dammit.

But in August 2022, I crossed the ivory-tulle-covered bridge from fiancée to wife, and thus, my bridal era was over.

I wouldn’t say I got the post-wedding blues — although I did get bangs right after our honeymoon, which some might classify as a cry for help. But truthfully, I didn’t feel sad or let down in the weeks following the big day. I didn’t obsess over what went wrong during the reception (see: our venue’s A/C failing during a 92-degree heat wave and me getting launched out of my chair during an impromptu hora), nor did I look at other brides’ dresses, rings, or bouquets and wish I had done things differently.

I just… missed the fun of it all. And a year and a half later, I still do.

When my husband and I were engaged, everything was a milestone: our first vacation as fiancés, our first (and only) Christmas as fiancés, our first shower sex as fiancés, our first laundry day as fiancés. It was all so special.

Everywhere we went, people wanted to hear about our proposal story, our wedding plans, our upcoming honeymoon. We were “the happy couple” by default, because how could two people so in love they rope in the government not be happy?

Now that we’re married, we’re more in love than ever. But without a big event celebrating our union to look forward to, life’s mundane moments are a little more, well, mundane. Our weekly wine-soaked wedding-planning sessions have given way to sober check-ins to discuss finances, household maintenance, and whether our dog has pooped enough that day. Instead of people swooning over how in love we are, we get questions along the lines of “Is the honeymoon phase finally over?” and, worse, “When are you having kids?”

While my husband looks back on our to-be-wed phase with nostalgic fondness, I look back on it with active longing. I know it’s deeply cringey to admit I miss people buying me flatware and telling me I’m pretty, but is it too much to wish my friends and family would hype me up for other life events the way they did for my wedding? Am I wrong for wanting to keep my bridesmaid group chat alive because it was so sweet seeing all my besties bond over their love for me? Do I have to be in the midst of dropping thousands of dollars on a party and undergoing a major life change in order to drink a spicy marg out of a penis straw?

I get why many people think the answer to all of the above is yes. Most women spend their entire wedding-planning process desperately avoiding the bridezilla label, downplaying their emotions surrounding their big day in hopes of being seen as a “chill bride.” Acknowledging that you miss all the fuss, attention, and adoration is decidedly not chill.

But on the other hand, most of us have also been conditioned all our lives to believe our time as a bride is the happiest we’ll ever be. (See: Say Yes to the Dress, Bride Wars, and every family gathering I attended as a 20-something.) Even for those of us who roll their eyes at that narrative, once it’s all over, it’s hard not to wonder whether you actually did just close the best chapter of your life’s story.

I’m not saying you can only know true happiness once you become a bride and then it’s all downhill from there. (I mean, ick.) It’s more that it was a specific time I know I’ll never be able to go back to — like the Christmases when I still believed in Santa Claus, or the messy years spent with my college roommates. I wouldn’t trade the life I have now in order to relive those days, but it would be nice if I could somehow recreate that magic from time to time.

“You’ve posted a lot of wedding content on Instagram,” a very blunt friend of a friend said to me about four months into my marriage. There was no mistaking her subtext: You’re posting too much wedding content, and it’s time to move on.

“I know!” I replied with a smile, my teeth still pearly and luminous thanks to my pre-wedding whitening treatments. “I really cherished that time in my life, and I’m so happy I get to relive it with pictures and videos.”

What I also could have said: “Hiring a photographer and videographer is f*cking expensive, and I’m going to milk those investments for all the IG likes they’re worth. We were surrounded by all our favorite people and felt like celebrities. My dress was hand-beaded to perfection and my husband looked hot. I’m sure I’ll have a lot of happy moments in my life, but I’ll never be able to recreate that day. Just let me have this.”