She sits down on the sofa next to me and says we need to talk.
This is it, I thought. She’s seen that cigarette burn on her favourite cashmere jumper I borrowed last weekend.
“I can expla—”
“I’m moving in with him,” she blurted out before I could finish my sentence.
We sit in silence for a while.
“But I’m older than you,” I said suddenly. “We’re not doing it in the right order. Plus I don’t think he’s right for you.” I don’t know why I said that last bit.
“I’m two months older than you,” she replied. “And why’s he not right for me?”
I thought about saying it’s because he’s taking you away from me and I love living with you and you’re my best friend and I still feel like we’re so young and your life is accelerating so much faster than mine and I’m going to be single forever and I don’t know how to use the washing machine and I’m afraid of losing you, but I shrug instead.
“Where am I going to live?” I ask, like she was responsible for my living arrangements as well as her own.
“I don’t know. Maybe you could move in with another friend?”
A couple of weeks later, I sat on her bed and watched her put everything she owned into boxes. Half of me was there for moral support and half of me wanted to make sure she didn’t take anything of mine.
“I’m not abandoning you,” she said, almost in a whisper.
We carried on packing in silence. I helped fold some of her clothes before finding an excuse to leave so I could plot all the ways to make her break up with him, but mainly so she wouldn’t see me cry.
Just a few months later, they were engaged to be married. And even though I cried happy tears when she told me about her perfect, Nancy Meyers movie type of proposal—I couldn’t shake the feeling of being left behind.
Another month passed and another friend called with her news. We went for coffee and I listened to her romantic proposal story and how surprised she was when he got down on one knee in their favourite restaurant in the middle of their anniversary dinner. I told her how lovely it sounded which I half meant and how I couldn’t wait for my turn which I whole meant.
“My turn sounds weird doesn’t it?” I asked.
She laughed.
I didn’t.
“God,” I said, “are we just taking it in turns? Are we all waiting and wanting to get married because everyone else is?”
She looked down at her diamond, thinking.
“Maybe,” she replied. “I guess if everyone on Earth was to disappear tomorrow, I don’t think we’d bother going through with it .”
“Ha,” I snorted. “Well here’s to following the crowd,” and raised my decaf oat milk latte to cheers.
I went home thinking about our conversation. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to get married. Over the years I kept adding to my ever-evolving, aesthetically pleasing Pinterest board with anticipation to be a wife. I never questioned why or asked myself whether it was because I was an anxious, co-dependent who had a fear of being abandoned and maybe the concept of marriage and union somewhat soothed those anxieties for me. Nope. I just kept pinning stuff instead. And with each proposal announcement came another wave of fear. My Mum would tell me everyone is on their own path and to trust the process. I’d tell her the process was shit and repeat the same, miserable question, when’s it my turn?
I was scrolling on TikTok more recently and saw YouTuber Estée Lalonde asking her followers how/why everyone but her is getting engaged.
“I have tried to convince pretty much every partner I’ve been with—and yes i’m saying the word convince—and no-one is proposing to me,” she says in her video.
Someone commented saying that every woman she knew had given their partner an ultimatum before he proposed. Single women replied in agreement and married women replied in defence of their none-the-wiser husbands, claiming it was a joint decision and they both wanted it as much as the other. It would be unfair to label this a secret cold war, but I was definitely sensing a little tension between the two camps.
And whilst I’m sure there are plenty of men out there who are equally excited as their wives to get married, there is no doubt that marriage is something women dream, want and hope for drastically more. Is that because women face more comparison and therefore seek more validation? Probably. Plus we’re all trying to overcome some sort of insecurity our ex-boyfriends caused and marriage might just be the ultimate security blanket. All of this leaves us itching for our turn and begrudging those that get theirs.
Before my turn came, I figured it was ok to want it—and to look forward to it happening, but until it did, I had to do the whole loving and validating myself thing. Because if being abandoned was my greatest fear, then security was going to be my greatest value. And to become more secure, I had to read the self-help books that were gathering dust on the bookshelf, and learn how to fill my car up with windscreen washer, and go to the cinema on my own, and make sure I was drinking enough water each day, and speak more kindly to myself, and start finding happiness in other peoples good news, and—and this is the most important—I had to stop comparing my life to other peoples silly little Pinterest boards.
We're all strong an independent until some guy arrives. It saddens me so much to hear of dear friends, girls and women I look up to, 'waiting for their turn'. If you want to get married, ask him yourself! You don't need to be saved, do your own saving (although I would argue a marriage is far from that). Get your ring, ask the guy, bim bam boom.