Bridesmaid Reflections: A Journey of Confidence and Love

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My dear friend Laura, who I have known since high school over 25 years ago, was undoubtedly the calmest bride I’ve ever encountered. No trace of Bridezilla in her demeanor—if anyone was experiencing turmoil, it was me.

What on earth could possibly be distressing about standing by one of my closest friends on her wedding day? Well, apart from approaching 40, bidding farewell to one of my last single friends, and the series of events that would require me to mingle with unfamiliar faces? Not to mention, I was carrying nearly 90 extra pounds and felt so low in self-esteem that I didn’t even have a date to bring along.

All these factors certainly contributed to my heightened anxiety, but nothing compared to my dread of the dress.

You’ve seen that bridesmaid—the one awkwardly positioned at the back of the group or standing at the end, attempting to balance the other bridesmaids. If the attire is sleeveless, as seems to be the trend, she’ll be the one in a shawl, hiding her upper arms, clutching her bouquet in front of her less flattering areas. She’s the one folks feel sorry for—the one who doesn’t fit the mold of lithe, tall, or traditionally beautiful.

I was that bridesmaid.

Laura generously allowed her bridesmaids to select our own dresses, as long as we adhered to a specific color and fabric. This wasn’t surprising—Laura is not just a remarkable woman but also the kind of friend who can make you feel like a supermodel with a brilliant mind. Even if you lack the outer beauty you aspire to, she has a way of making you feel stunning just as you are. Just being her friend instilled enough confidence in me that, when it came time to choose my dress, I was convinced I’d look like the attractive model from a bridal magazine. Or so I hoped.

This wasn’t my first experience with self-doubt wrapped in layers of chiffon and tulle. When my sister wed in 1987, she selected bridesmaids who were all petite and slender, and a dress that was nothing short of a fashion disaster. It was a late-80s monstrosity with a voluminous ballerina skirt, a plunging neckline, a fitted waist, and sleeves that would make even Joan Collins cringe.

At 17, I towered over the others at 5’10” and was far beyond the weight limit for bridesmaids. To say I resembled an NFL player in a tutu would be generous. Adding to my humiliation, the dress came in a size 12, and back then, I was a size 14. My mother and sister insisted I lose at least one dress size before the wedding, so I was dragged to aerobics classes and endured a strict diet of turkey slices and celery.

Eventually, I wore a different dress that fit and flattered my figure. Yet, I was accused of sabotaging the wedding—ruining pictures and even the ceremony.

Fast forward 22 years, as I opened the plastic covering my dress for Laura’s wedding, I felt a mix of hope and fear. Given my past experiences, I had outsmarted the bridal-industrial complex this time—I ordered the dress three sizes larger. Plus, I was proud to have lost 46 pounds since Laura asked me to be in her wedding, inching closer to my former size 14.

I was at my mom’s house, so I tried on the gown. It was indeed too big in the waist and hips! Triumphantly, I called for my mom to zip it up. She tried valiantly, but the zipper refused to budge past my chest.

“Are you bringing a date to the wedding?” she asked, surveying the dress.

“No, not planning to,” I mumbled.

“Good,” she replied, stepping back to assess the gown. “Because it doesn’t really do you any favors.”

I returned to my room and gazed into the mirror. The last time I’d worn a gown was during my childhood—a far cry from the reality before me now. Instead of feeling radiant, I felt like I had stepped out of a biblical nightmare. The color looked ghastly against my pale skin.

In my frustration, I turned to Facebook for help and subsequently reached out to a local seamstress recommended by a friend. I arrived at her studio, surrendered my insecurities, and faced the truth of my measurements. As the seamstress pinned and tucked, I couldn’t help but wish to be one of those petite women who could effortlessly wear off-the-rack dresses.

But I was determined to embrace this moment. After a few days, the dress was ready, and it finally fit me.

On the day of Laura’s wedding, I stood proudly beside her as she exchanged vows. Just before I walked down the aisle, Laura beamed at me, a smile that encapsulated our years of friendship. In that moment, I realized that she didn’t see the “fat bridesmaid”; she saw her friend. If only I could see myself through her eyes—perhaps it was time to learn to love myself too.

In conclusion, the experience taught me that honoring my friend on her special day was worth every bit of self-reflection and growth. Sometimes, the journey to self-acceptance is ignited by love.

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