I'M UNGAGED!
- Apr 18, 2015
- 3 min read
I had the man, I had the ring, I had the life, and then I had to leave.
When are you going to meet a nice boy and get married?
Ya know what, aunts and grandmothers of the world? I did find a nice boy and we were going to get married. My Pinterest board was stacked with gowns… some of which I actually tried on. We had a killer wedding party lined up and a location all picked out. We looked at houses and discussed school districts and baby names. We daydreamed about our future together and all the wonderfully romantical things our life would have in store.
It was going to be great.
It was also bullshit.
Ten months after he asked me to marry him, I moved out. I called my mom, packed up my stuff, put the cats in the car, and headed to my parents’ house. And that’s where I’ve been for the last year. Just Mom, Dad, me, and the kitties.
Moving back in with my parents at 28 years old wasn’t the hard part. Oh no. It was having to tell everyone that I was no longer engaged. Everyone loved us together so people were very interested in our wedding details. There was no avoiding the conversation.
“So, how’s the wedding planning going?”
“Well, it’s not. I left.”
Then, the reaction. It happened every time. They would gasp and take a step back while putting a hand to their heart or mouth and mutter, “Whaaaaaat?!” I’d nod and they’d glance down at my ring finger, discover it was in fact bare and gasp again. Then, they’d tilt their head to the side, glare at me with devastated eyes and sigh, “Oh hunny, what happened?” A deeper glare, “Are you ok?” which of course means, “Are you in crisis? Are you drowning in your own puddle of tears at night? Are you eating? Do you need chocolate? Somebody get the chocolate!” I mean really, it’s the stuff soap operas are made of.
But that look. I hated that look. The truth is, I wasn’t ok. I was fucking great! Don’t get me wrong, it was hard. I cried a lot and I’m talking full blown ugly sobbing. And there was chocolate. Lots of chocolate. But, I stepped out of that relationship and was still me. I still had my family, my friends, my job, my brains, my ass (although, I would have liked to have left some of that behind), and my spirit. Who I am and where I’m going was never defined by my status. At first, I thought, “Shit, now what?” But that feeling soon manifested into, “Sweet, what’s next?” I was so used to being responsible for two people that the incredible sense of independence and freedom was a little bit overwhelming. What’s next? Anything could be next! I was like Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl marching through the port, suit cases in hand, belting out, “Don’t tell me not to live! Get out of my way! And if I fuck up, that’s ok too. I got this!”
Ok, so those aren’t the exact words and granted she was chasing after a man, but the point is the same (and I had to throw a Barbra reference in here somewhere).
When the great unknown of “what’s next” turned into the great adventures of what could be, I stopped crying and threw my 5 year plan out the window. Maybe those 5 years wouldn’t be filled with wedding planning and crying babies, but instead be filled with that marathon I always wanted to run or that trip to California I never got to take. Maybe I’ll move to a new city. Maybe I’ll finally get to kiss a cowboy, date a millionaire, or sleep with a guy who is so disgustingly hot it makes you sick- even if he’s really shallow. Being responsible only to yourself is glorious. And truthfully, indulging in that opportunity makes you a better partner when relationship-time does come around again. When am I going to find a nice boy and get married? Who knows! But I love the freedom of not worrying about it.
“So, how’s wedding planning going?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you?!” I throw up my naked ring finger and with a proud smile declare... “I’M UNGAGED!”
Comments