From Burden to Bridesmaid

When my friend asked me to be a bridesmaid a year and a half ago, I was elated. But on my drive home, my mind felt like an apiary as fears buzzed through my head. What if I break out in hives and ruin their pictures? Should I ask if they’d rather I wear long sleeves to cover my old self-harm scars? What if the photographer asks me to get into a pose I physically can’t do? What if my ankle dislocates again as I’m walking down the aisle? Can they pair me with someone strong so they can catch me? I guess at least that would make the ceremony memorable.

While the bride and groom insisted that the most important thing was to have their people there, the “what ifs” crescendoed as the wedding crept closer, until I could barely think straight. Every detail, from the type of dress I chose, the bra I’d need to wear, what shoe would be most reasonable, felt unmanageable. If you’ve ever been in a wedding party, you know this isn’t exclusive to people with disabilities. We all sweat every detail because we want to make the day perfect. But as I calculated how to be less annoying about my physical limitations, dietary restrictions, and, let’s be real, sheer anxiety, it became clear to me that I carried more weight than able-bodied folx. I never doubted that this couple would plan an absolutely incredible wedding after years of attending their legendary parties (shout out to my Gilmore Girls-themed birthday), but I worried that I’d be more of a burden than a blessing.

Gone were the days of Easter-egg bridesmaid dresses meant for only one body type (my Mom’s closet looked a bit like 27 Dresses back in the 90s). The bride only requested that the dress be lilac chiffon (though we also had the option for a suit), and the rest was up to us, allowing us to choose a dress that met our needs and our budget. I chose a loose-fitting dress, found a bra comfortable enough that my nervous system wouldn’t register some simple elastic as a vice grip, and wore heels because, for some reason, my weird, bendy body tends to fall apart less when my muscles are engaged. Yes, my joints are so chaotic that this was a medically sound decision.

A month before the wedding, my allergies took a turn for the worse. I almost had to use my EpiPen, and my hives made me look like I had forgotten to rub in my sunscreen. I had to go on a low-histamine diet, which limited me to basically ten foods. Somehow, boiled chicken and white rice didn’t scream “wedding romance.” The what-ifs I had quelled before were back with a vengeance as I catastrophized how this would play out. What if they’d be better off without me in their wedding party? Before I could spiral, our group chat populated with snack requests for the bachelorette party and wedding day, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief. I even got excited about the food as the bride and groom talked about the variety of options, from sushi to steak to salmon, as we put flowers into their Erlenmeyer flask centerpieces.

When the big day finally came, the months of worry woke me up at 4:45 that morning, too anxious to sleep. I went through my checklist over and over again, trying to make sure I didn’t miss anything. The first thing on my checklist was to take my medication and allergy pill. I rifled through my bag, throwing all my just-in-case braces onto the couch; other bridesmaids had lipstick and fashion tape in their bags, but my bag looked like I was sponsored by Velcro. As I reached the bottom of the bag, I found the allergy meds but nothing for my pain. I remembered two sticky bras but not my meds?! What if I can’t make it through the day? I decided to white-knuckle it if I had to, knowing I’d need some recovery time in the coming week. I’m not missing out on this; I’ve already missed too much of my life.

We arrived to do hair and makeup at about eight in the morning, and I reminded myself that pacing was even more important on a long day. I did my makeup in chunks, having a parfait and a mimosa in between. With the help of Claritin, concealer, and some amazing setting spray, I felt confident in keeping my hives at bay for the day. When the photographer called the bridal party in, I was relieved when we were asked to pose naturally as we all joked about how awkward it was to try to act natural.

Before we knew it, we were lining up at the back of the church. I was linked arm-in-arm with two groomsmen and, as we waited below the arch to begin walking, I whispered, “If I trip, please don’t let me fall.” They nodded confidently and said, “I got you.” I was relieved to reach the end of the aisle without incident… until I saw the bride tearing up as she walked down the aisle. That setting spray was working overtime as I wiped my tears throughout the ceremony.

As we entered the reception venue, the bridal party started discussing how we would walk out to Goofy Goober Rock from SpongeBob. Since we were given total autonomy in figuring out our grand entrance, we were able to choose something that felt comfortable for everyone. The bride had given her blessing for comfy shoes, so I rocked heels for the ceremony, and I traded them for glittery sneakers for the reception when it was time to party!

After having a few appetizers and then sushi for dinner, it was time to hit the bar. As I ordered The Last Word, a Chartreuse-based cocktail, I heard people talk excitedly about The Mastermind, an amazing mocktail that rivaled its alcohol-based counterparts. While mocktails are often overlooked, the bride and groom made sure every guest could join the toast!

One minute, I was jumping up and down, screaming “hotel, motel, Holiday Inn.” But by hour 16, my nervous system hit a wall. Normally, I’d do what I call the “fake smoker:” go outside just to escape the noise. I was so excited that they chose a venue with two separate spaces: one for dancing and one for connecting, talking, and resting. Since the bride and groom curated such an amazing playlist, I spent most of my time on the dance floor, but it was nice to have a reprieve. I was able to chat with a friend who is hard of hearing, joke with some of their older relatives who needed a break from the noise, and just reset before diving back into the party.

I expected so many things to go wrong, but I had a blast on their big day. What I couldn’t have anticipated was being met with radical accessibility. At the end of the night, I laughed a little at how panicked I was at 4:45 that morning, wondering if I’d make it through. I thought back to how many events I’d gone to where I just had to accept that I’d need some additional recovery time from the swishy fabrics, bass that reverberated through my bones, and food I knew would wreck me later. But through their small, thoughtful choices, the bride and groom proved that accessibility isn’t that hard; it just requires empathy. The burden of being the “disabled one” was lifted, and I got to just be a bridesmaid.