My friend Lucy, a kindred spirit from high school over 25 years ago, was undoubtedly the most laid-back bride I’ve ever encountered—trust me, I’ve seen my share of wedding drama. In her case, there was zero Bridezilla behavior; the chaos was all mine.
You might wonder where my anxiety stemmed from. What could possibly rattle me about standing beside one of my dearest friends on her big day? Well, aside from approaching 40, bidding farewell to one of my last single friends, and the onslaught of unfamiliar social gatherings, I was also grappling with my own body image issues. With nearly 90 extra pounds and a lack of confidence that left me without a date for the wedding, the pressure was palpable. But the most daunting aspect? The dress.
You know the type—the bridesmaid who’s awkwardly positioned at the back of the line, perhaps draped in a shawl to conceal her upper arms, clutching her bouquet to hide her insecurities. That was me. The “heavy maid.”
Lucy, bless her heart, let us choose our own dresses, requiring only that we stick to a specific color and fabric. This was expected from her; Lucy is the type of friend who can make you feel like a supermodel with a genius IQ. Even if you don’t feel beautiful on the outside, her unwavering support can make you feel radiant just as you are. I genuinely believed that when I selected my dress, I could channel the elegance of the models in bridal magazines. Maybe.
This wasn’t my first encounter with self-doubt wrapped in tulle and chiffon. Back in 1987, when my sister wed, her choice of bridesmaids was a lineup of petite, slender women, complemented by a dress that can only be described as an ’80s fashion disaster. Picture a voluminous ballerina skirt, plunging neckline, and puffed sleeves straight out of a soap opera. As a 17-year-old, standing at 5’10” and exceeding the weight limit for bridesmaids, I felt like an NFL player in drag. The dress didn’t even come in my size, so I was subjected to a rigorous exercise regime and a diet that felt more like punishment than preparation.
In the end, I wore a different dress that was more flattering, but I was still criticized for ruining the wedding photos. The marriage didn’t last, but the emotional scars did.
Fast forward 22 years, and as I unwrapped the plastic around my bridesmaid dress for Lucy’s wedding, I thought I was in the clear. I had ordered a dress three sizes too big—convinced I could outsmart the bridal industry. Plus, I had successfully shed 46 pounds since Lucy asked me to be part of her wedding.
Standing in my mother’s living room, I slipped into the gown, feeling hopeful. But my mother’s attempt to zip it left me feeling defeated. “You’re not bringing a date to this wedding, are you?” she asked, adjusting the pleats awkwardly. “Because this dress really does nothing for you.”
Looking in the mirror, I saw a far cry from my childhood glory as Saint Elizabeth. Instead, I resembled a scene from a biblical plague. The color, on my pale skin, could only be described as “Electric Hemorrhoid.” Instead of appreciating my porcelain complexion and improved figure, I was fixated on the overwhelming amount of fabric that did nothing for me.
Before I could tackle the dress crisis, I had to confront the deeper issue—bridging the gap between how I saw myself and how I wished to be seen. The “fat bridesmaid” label lingered in my mind, even after all these years.
Seeking help, I turned to social media and was referred to a local seamstress. Stripped down to my essentials, I faced the reality of my measurements, while the seamstress worked her magic on the dress. As she pinned and tucked, I found myself reminiscing about those painful days in 1987, feeling like an outsider amidst a sea of beauty.
Finally, the seamstress finished her work, and I picked up the dress that I had once believed would make me feel beautiful. It fit.
A week later, as I stood by my dear friend Lucy as she exchanged vows, her radiant smile reminded me of our enduring friendship. In that moment, all I saw was my friend—not the “old, fat bridesmaid.” I realized that honoring her meant embracing myself too. Perhaps witnessing this love could inspire me to learn how to love myself.
Summary
In this heartfelt reflection, the author navigates the complexities of body image and self-acceptance while preparing to be a bridesmaid for her long-time friend. Through personal anecdotes and humor, she highlights the challenges faced during the fitting and the journey toward self-love, culminating in a poignant moment of friendship and support on the wedding day.
Keyphrase
bridesmaid self-acceptance
Tags
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