I’ve learned a lot in the last few weeks, mostly about myself. Which, I suppose, makes sense. Because despite what I said in it, the blog wasn’t about the brides and their exaggerated horror movie–esque behavior. It was about me—especially the mean parts. Every horrible thing that I said about them showed an even uglier side of myself. I see that now.
So why was I so blind before?
In the middle of all five weddings, I began to feel like I didn’t matter. As if the fact that I had feelings had gotten lost in the shuffle. And the blog was a way to feel like some small fraction of my life was, in fact, still about me.
It was petty, and immature, and it cost me two people whom I still love very much.
So to everyone I hurt, please know that I am sorry, and I will work as hard as I can for as long as it takes to earn your love and trust back.
But I also learned that I miss writing. I was a journalism major in college and was going to save the world. But somewhere along the way, I took the easy way out and forgot that I ever wanted to do that in the first place.
I’m no longer under the impression that I’m going to save the world. But the explosive popularity of the blog told me that maybe, just maybe, I have something to say that people want to read.
Or you all just love snark and drama. Sickos.
But the blog was me, even if it was the worst side of me. So I want to see if I can re-create the same kind of energy while being held accountable for what I write.
Welcome to the new blog. Come for the public flogging of the world’s worst bridesmaid. Stay for the real life.
I skimmed what I wrote. I had no clue what I was actually going to write about moving forward. But it was a way to dip my toes into the water and see if I could really do this. If nothing else, Martin would be proud.
I went to WordPress and clicked the “Create New Blog” button. It asked for a title. I wanted something with my name. Bridesmania had been all about trying to hide my identity so I could post with impunity. This had to tell the world who I was.
The phrase “consider the lily” came to mind. I googled it. Oops. It came from a Bible verse. Well, I thought, it’s still cute. I typed Considering Lily as the name of the blog and looked at it. It felt like it fit with the whole idea of trying to find who I wanted to be. And when I flipped the verb into a participle, it wasn’t quite biblical. I decided that I liked it.
With that set, I wrote a brief bio, then linked to my public social media accounts.
I stared at the “add title” line above my first post. I thought for a moment, then typed, For the Love of Friends. But I hesitated before hitting “Publish.” If I was going to do this, I had to do it well. There were stakes now. Granted, there had been stakes last time, I just hadn’t known it.
I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers, then hit “Publish.” Here goes nothing, I thought.
I couldn’t fall asleep. It didn’t help that I was checking the stats on the new blog every three seconds since posting it to my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts, but it was the money keeping me awake. What was I going to do with the money?
Quit the foundation. Write full time, a voice in my head whispered. Then buy shoes.
It was an appealing idea. But that large of an amount in such a short time was a fluke and I knew it. The new blog might not generate enough to live on. Besides, I’d be writing about my life, not other people. Was I interesting enough to make real money?
And more importantly, the halo-wearing side of my conscience told me I couldn’t keep what I had earned off writing about my friends. I tried to ignore that voice, but it was no use.
Finally, I decided on a compromise I could live with. I logged back into my bank account and paid off my credit card. Then I divided the remaining amount by five and Venmoed that sum to each of the five brides with the same message: Please accept your share of the blog profits as a wedding gift. I love you, and I’m sorry.
If anyone protested, I would tell them that if they didn’t accept it, I would use it to buy them the tackiest, custom-made, non-returnable wedding gift that I could find. No one could argue with that.
With my conscience thus cleared, I finally drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I spent the next two weeks in quiet penance. I did a lot of Caryn’s job during the day, then I went to my parents’ house and helped my mother make favors for Amy’s wedding three nights in a row after work. The day of Sharon’s wedding, I went with Amy for her final dress fitting and then spent the evening packing gift bags for out-of-town guests.