I Was On The Verge Of Calling Off My Wedding But Didn't Know Why. Now I Finally Understand.

The author and her husband, Ryan, on a date last winter, 14 years into their marriage. I’d already finished the one beach read I’d brought, so I reluctantly reached for the book my therapist had recommended on “adult children of alcoholic trauma syndrome.” I’d been putting off reading it for months, but figured it was either this or that support group she kept bringing up. My mother and I had spent a surly afternoon sitting on step stools in the aisle of a Party City touching all the paper samples in an enormous binder, me barely concealing my annoyance as she lectured on how the invitation “set the tone for the whole event.” Wedding planning had led to a sharp escalation in our arguments; it seemed the closer I came to leaving, the more I drew Mom’s drunken ire. She subscribed to millennial conventional wisdom: first, you were supposed to “find yourself,” then climb the career ladder, only getting married once you’d already done everything interesting. I had chosen Ryan in part because his even-keeled demeanor was the opposite of theirs, but who was to say he wouldn’t morph into my tormentor as soon as I signed my name to the marriage certificate?” With an hour to go, I was sequestered in one of the church’s side rooms and buttoned into my gown, desperately trying not to sweat all over it.