'At 18, I married a practical stranger I met at a corner store. Here's what I learned.'

I want to talk about what I learnt about life as a teenage bride.

I'd been 18 for three months when I met my ex-husband. In fact, I met him 17 hours after my first relationship ended, at a corner store selling cigarette papers. It was raining and the ground stank of metropolitan decay. The beginning of a great Australian romance.

I felt so defeated from the weekend I'd had (ex-boyfriend groping friends, stolen inner-city bicycles, emptied packs of Winfield Red) that I asked for his number with a sense of abandon, thinking to myself, what else could possibly go wrong for me today?

Watch the hosts of Mamamia Out Loud on the new concept of being an 'aloof wife'. Post continues below.

My initial vision for life post-high-school had involved a stylish blend of Dazed & Confused and Almost Famous. Instead, things aligned more closely with Riding in Cars with Boys. Just terrible, terrible choices.

He was older, he was foreign, and he was a quick-ticket escape into feeling like I was suddenly living a real life. It was everything the clichés insist upon. Intoxicating. New. Volatile.

There was an era where nuptials between teens were normal. It symbolised a marked transition to adulthood — bills, kids, poorly built white-picket fences, patriarchal control. It was not, however, normal in 2017. But I did it anyway, because of the cinematic story I was writing in my head. Because of the Harlequin romance of it all. Because of naivety.

He was functionally a stranger. A student living with other travellers from Germany, Italy, France, Iraq. But within days, we were inseparable.

It felt like the wedding was on a moment's notice. His family was visiting from overseas. I wore an all-black bodycon dress from Cotton On and $4 Vans gifted to me by another guy. The odds were excellent from the start…

The venue was on a construction site and our celebratory dinner was held on the rooftop of Lucky Chan's Laundry & Noodlebar and I stupidly thought everything from that evening forward was going to be perfect.

Image: Supplied.

Usually, you don't realise your childhood is over until you look around one day and all the traces of technicolor have faded. Other times, you sign on the dotted line. It's a funny thing transitioning from child to woman in an afternoon. The monster crawls from beneath your bed — but only to share your pillow.

Predictably, things didn't go well. My choices alienated me from my friends, broke the hearts of my family, and removed me overnight from everything I'd ever known. Yet I was fixated on proving the naysayers wrong. Seeing my mistake through to stubbornly insisting I was not a child, they had made a shockingly uninformed judgment. It's a visceral process, sculpting the narrative of your life into a narrative you can endure. But fact, reality, and truth are not malleable. Eventually, their metal will flex and scar your flesh.

There was deep sacrifice. There was hurt levied upon bystanders that were just trying to be there for me. There was an irreparable loss of innocence. In a letter I wrote to my younger self when I turned 22, I wrote, "I think you're always going to feel disconnected from the peers of your childhood." I was right.

When you truly relinquish your voice and what it once spoke for, there is only the slow, throbbing inner-monologue that reminds you that you are gone now. It can be scolding, and it can be heartbreaking. Mostly, it speaks in quiet, distant defeat. Sometimes, it screams. It's an incredibly lucid act, losing yourself.

I watched people I knew meet more people. I watched them go to Europe. I watched them post blurred photos of nights out, wearing what they wanted, talking as loud as they pleased. Meanwhile, I remember writing dot-point affirmations about being a good wife and underlining that my role was to make his life better.

Image: Supplied.

Eventually, after two and a half years, I left. I went a little crazy too. It felt good to smear the sanctity of marriage with my autonomy.

William Somerset Maugham said, "Each youth is like a child born in the night who sees the sun rise and thinks that yesterday never existed." I think you can say the same about the way people make mistakes. You can be surrounded by examples, wise words, and bare logic, but nothing will teach you consequences and truth like enormously screwing up. And I couldn't be more grateful for this.

I learnt lessons in the twilight of my adolescence many don't encounter until the end of their 30s. I learnt about the things I wasn't willing to give up on myself. I learnt how privileged I was (and still am) to have a family that gave me a soft place to land. In a roundabout way, I learnt about respect. The reasons why it is earned and not inherently gifted. I learnt a lot about lying too, and that you have to make some kind of peace with the fact it is everywhere. Then get angry.

It also taught me what real love is, and isn't. A lesson I owe to my current partner, who is infinitely full of goodness, warmth, and laughter.

At 18, I was forced to reckon with who I am, who I want to be, and my own role in making that path shrouded in difficulty. I had to learn that self-awareness is not the same thing as accountability. It's one hell of a pill to swallow.

Listen to this episode of Mamamia's But Are You Happy? On finding the right help after trauma. Post continues below.

Nothing is more unfair in this world than the fact your recovery rests in your hands and your hands alone. If you're truly lucky, equally stubborn best friends will stick by your side while you work that out. The kinds of friends that can save your life. There's another lesson there: don't ever choose boys over your mates.

It is deeply important you forgive the kid you were. I guarantee that when compared, you both still want the same things. To be seen. To succeed. To have an adventure. To collect weird first-edition Pokémon cards.

I used to think creating an identity was a violent act, but really, most of the time, you have it figured out at 12 years old and your adult life is your journey back to that person.

Image: Supplied.

Ultimately, it taught me the same things divorce teaches anyone, except I got the headstart of a decade or two. And a really good story to drop at parties.

To find out more, visit Instagram pavlova_mouth and or Darcie's website at darciehumphreys.com.

Feature image: Supplied.