'I went to a friend's wedding dreading the "single girl" questions. What I learned there shocked me.'

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If you're anything like me, wedding season can be stressful.

Instagram is flooded with perfectly curated photos, friends are announcing engagements left and right, and your calendar suddenly looks like a string of black-tie obligations.

Every invite comes with its own little social minefield of catching up with people you haven't seen in years, fielding questions about your career, your love life, your plans for the future.

Even if you're excited to celebrate, there's a part of you quietly bracing for comparison, judgment, and that familiar twinge of social anxiety.

I just returned from New York, where a dear friend married the love of her life in a ceremony that was joyous and entirely human. The vows were trembling but deliberate, guests laughed and cried, and I stayed on the dance floor far longer than anyone else.

But, as much as I loved celebrating my friend, part of me was quietly bracing for the social gravity of the event.

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At weddings, you see people you haven't spoken to in years and meet new acquaintances all in one room.

Conversations quickly turn to work, family, and goals.

"So, what are you working on?" "Are you dating anyone?" "Do you plan to have kids?"

For anyone who is feeling behind, these questions can sting. The conversation isn't just catching up; it's a subtle evaluation of where you are versus where someone else is.

In those moments, comparison culture is almost irresistible. But here's the thing I've learned: those conversations can be reframed.

They don't have to be measuring sticks. They can be mirrors. Instead of noticing what you lack, you can notice what's possible. You can see the diversity of paths people take, the ways lives unfold differently, and the choices people make intentionally for their own happiness.

A colleague who moved cities, a friend who left a job to start a business, a cousin who is travelling solo for the first time: each life is evidence that there is no single correct timeline, no definitive checklist, no universal finish line.

Observing other people's choices becomes an exercise in imagination, not envy.

Weddings bring a special type of anxiety for single women. Image: Supplied.

Watching my friend marry on her own terms reinforced that lesson.

She wasn't following a script. She was writing one.

The laughter, the improvisation, the joy radiating from every corner of the room was a reminder that happiness can be intentional and deliberate.

Her celebration wasn't threatening. It was contagious. It was permission for everyone else in the room to consider what they want and how they might claim it.

Weddings also have the rare power of reconnecting you with the people you've lost touch with, and introducing you to people you've never met.

There's a magic in overhearing someone describe their new career, listening to a friend's travel story, or sharing anecdotes with someone you only just met. These encounters could feel intimidating, but they can also become fuel. Instead of comparing ourselves negatively, we can notice courage, ambition, and joy, and imagine incorporating them into our own lives.

We can rehearse how we want to live, and whom we want to be, without feeling pressured to match anyone else's timeline.

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As a single woman approaching thirty, I've become aware of how easily these moments can trigger self-judgment.

But I've learned that wedding season doesn't have to be an anxiety test.

Every toast, every laugh, every casual work story or family anecdote is a chance to practice noticing joy without judgment, to witness other people's happiness without envy, and to quietly consider how you might claim yours.

It's a reminder that your timeline, your choices, and your path are yours alone.

I have another wedding in November, and two already pencilled in for 2026. There was a time when these dates might have felt like deadlines. Now, they feel like opportunities: to reconnect, to imagine, to reflect, and to rejoice in the richness of life around me.

Observing the multitude of ways people live fully gives me ideas for how I want to inhabit my own life. Sometimes, it's about taking risks; sometimes, it's about savouring the small pleasures — like reaching the canapé table before the truffle arancini disappears. Recognising the subtle anxiety that can accompany these events has helped me approach them with empathy for myself and others.

Social psychologists note that acknowledging these feelings can reduce stress and improve our ability to enjoy social gatherings.

By the time I left New York, heels dangling from one hand and jazz still buzzing in my ears, I felt lighter than when I arrived.

Weddings now don't remind me of what I lack, they remind me of what's possible. They remind me that life is not a race, that joy is expansive, and that contentment comes from observing, imagining, and claiming the life you want on your own terms.

Wedding season, I've realised, is less about milestones you haven't reached and more about the possibilities in front of you.

Every reunion, every introduction, every conversation can be a rehearsal: a chance to notice joy, appreciate other people's choices, and practice embracing your own life with curiosity, courage, and a little sparkle.

Feature Image: Supplied.