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Marrying Mr. Wrong
She thought he was "the one." Did relationship red flags indicate otherwise?
by Isabel Rose
We get to a clearing high up with a beautiful view.
Another couple is already there. My boyfriend becomes agitated and suggests we walk further. I begin to complain: I’m tired and sweaty and feel we’ve gone far enough. But something in the urgency of his tone makes me relent, so off we go into a beautiful, leafy glade. We stop for a moment while my boyfriend appears to be tying his boot. He isn’t. He’s getting on one knee. I begin to laugh. This seems ridiculous. But I bite the inside of my cheek and warn myself that a man is about to propose and I better shut up and let it happen. My boyfriend tells me he wants to climb all of life’s mountains with me—the real ones and the metaphorical ones—and will I marry him? I laugh and apologize for complaining. He says that isn’t an answer to his question and asks me again if I’ll marry him. I say, “Of course!” and he laughs with joy and relief. I wish I could feel some kind of honest thrill but I don’t. I’m not entirely sure that I feel anything.
JUNE 1998, THE WEDDING
I don’t like my dress. It weighs 800 pounds and I can barely move in it. It feels symbolic of the life I am signing on to: the life of an indentured servant; the life of a banker’s wife. I cry during the ceremony.
Everyone thinks it’s because I’m so moved by love but, I can tell you now, it was out of pure terror. I’m angry about the lighting. It’s too dark and I don’t like the shadows being cast on the white carpet. The chuppah, too, is not what I had expected. I didn’t want to go over the top. It’s clear that I have.
JUNE 1998, LONDON
When my husband accepts an offer to move to London, I agree to go because I know that theoretically most people would love to live in London in a three-story townhouse with a garden in the back in posh Chelsea with a successful banker who runs marathons and climbs mountains. I agree because really I have no choice other than annulment, and I wouldn’t dream of doing that. I had done it. I had gotten married. I pulled off a huge, successful party. It’s behind me now. Two years of hiking and biking and running and skiing and watching 18 rounds of golf and arranging dinners with friends and going through all the talks—all those endless talks! Eight months of preparation for a 20-minute ceremony and a three-hour party. I got what I wanted. Didn’t I?
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1 Nada // Aug 17, 2008 at 5:07 pm
I see the critism girl and I don’t see a reason to even ready 15 pages of this on-line if you don’t think you do or think that you can relate to it just by the beginning episode. I sometimes too feel like I’m in the same element and don’t know what to do, maybe not every aspect like you is not the same but I can absolutely relate. Keep your head up.
2 ela // Aug 15, 2008 at 6:09 am
um… i love how you’re in the hamptons but your couch is from ikea. everything else about your failed marriage makes sense now.
3 Russ // Aug 6, 2008 at 5:14 pm
This article sounds like the ramblings of an incredibly self-absorbed woman whose perceived emotional wants trumped any chance for a real, independent life.
Your ex sounds like an interesting guy with a lot to offer. Too bad you only accepted him begrudgingly.
4 Mom who cares // Jul 18, 2008 at 1:51 pm
My daughter is marrying a Man she meet in college. The first year of the relationship they were fighting alot, ending in a bad break up where they were very nasty to each other. They weren’t speaking for 6 months and decided to be friends, over the last ten months, they say the both they worked things out and have been dating for the last 6 months. they meet fresman year in college it will be 3 years total known each other. Yikes…..any suggestions, without pushing them closer together in a them against the world kind of way?
5 Karin // Jul 13, 2008 at 2:10 pm
The red flags should have been for him. She is the one that didn’t like to hike, talked to much, couldn’t even enjoy a trip to Paris….poor idiot.
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