So my mom and I hit up David’s Bridal yesterday and…dare I say it…found my wedding dress! EEK!
The whole experience was pretty awesome and I got to feel like a princess for about 30 minutes, which in truth is all it took for me to put this dress on and say “got it!”
My post on Friday was about how I was (sort of) dreading this day simply because I would have to out myself again and again. My friend Ash Mo commented on my blog on FB and had some sage words of advice:
Maybe you could turn your expectations around during dress shopping! See how many people you can get to tell you how beautiful you are, or your fiance is. See how many people you can get to stand behind you! In the end…the day isn’t about… them!”
So I tried really hard to take them and make the best of it. And it really turned out to be no big deal. The check-in sales desk lady didn’t bat an eye when I listed Marianne as my better half, the information sheet had a space for “groom/partner,” the 20-something year old woman didn’t blink when I talked about my upcoming same-gender wedding, although she was really impressed with the proposal. Suffice it to say I got the exact same treatment I would have had I been marrying Mr. instead of Ms. Hines.
While I was trying on dresses, Catie Curtis’ song “Hard Time With Goodbyes” kept playing on repeat in my head and I couldn’t figure out why, especially because the entire song is about endings and I’m on a journey moving forward. I went home and looked up the lyrics and they made so much sense:
The world is turning so slowly turns the future to the past/ Turns the ocean like a carousel flowing waves and waves of glass/ But I can’t feel it move beneath me so every ending’s a surprise/ I can’t feel these changes coming, I have a hard time with goodbyes/ I have a hard time hard time hard time with goodbyes
I think as a lesbian I am so accustomed to always being marginalized that when I am not in a space of marginalization, I feel like I’m losing a part of me. I’m going to sound incredibly selfish here, but by staying in that marginalized space, it allows me to say (unconsciously) that “I’m special, look at me, over here,” and when I am just like the other brides getting married it’s like I don’t know how to be. I am so used to wearing that marginalized identity as a coat or using it to keep my guard up that when that “identity” is removed I’m not quite sure what to think.
So, for me, being in a space with others that doesn’t revolve around my being a lesbian is great, but in some sense, I have a hard time with goodbyes.
The whole point of the GLBTQ movement, for me anyway, is to get to a space where we all just brides (or people), getting married to (or having relationships with), other people, on different dates…and so what. But once we get to that space, what becomes of the identities we’ve created for ourselves? If we no longer have a need to be identified by who or what we are, then where does that leave us?
It’s not something I have an answer to, it’s just an observation.