Josh* and I met on a dating app. I'd been swiping through the usual parade of uninspiring profiles when his message popped up, and before I knew it, I was laughing out loud — like, actual belly laughs. He was just as funny in real life, too. Our first date felt so natural and easy, like we'd known each other forever.
Our friends couldn't get enough of us. My mates adored him, his mates welcomed me like I'd always been part of the crew, and our worlds just meshed. No awkward adjustments, no drama — just effortless blending.
Early on, Josh gave me a heads-up about his family.
"They're hard work sometimes," he'd said with a grin, "but there's good stuff, too. You'll figure out how to ignore their bullsh*t."
Watch: In This Glorious Mess, Sarah Marie answers a listener's dilemma about their mum-in-law. Post continues after video.
And he wasn't wrong. His dad was great, it was clear that he was the source of Josh's easy-going sense of humour. His mum, Linda*, was generous to a fault and a phenomenal cook. She loved having us around, even if she sometimes employed a bit of subtle manipulation to make it happen. Nothing too over the top, just enough to make you roll your eyes. His sisters were cool too, if a bit dramatic.
When Josh proposed, it was everything I could have hoped for: just the two of us and our dog at the beach. No fuss, no fanfare. He told me how much he loved me, how he wanted to spend his life with me, and how he couldn't wait for the future we'd build together. It was perfect.
We'd been to plenty of weddings together, so when it came time to plan our own, we knew exactly what we wanted. A quick, authentic commitment in front of a small group of people we loved, followed by a fun, casual party full of laughter and celebration.
For us, simplicity was key. We didn't want anyone stressing over expensive new clothes or extravagant gifts. Just being together was what mattered most. That's why we decided to forgo a lot of the traditional trimmings — no bridal party, no bridal table, no first dance. It just wasn't us.
But, as it turned out, not everyone saw things the way we did.
When we broke the news to Josh's mum and sisters, their reactions were intense.
"No bridesmaids?" Linda asked, looking genuinely shocked.
Her lip trembled as if I'd just cancelled Christmas.
"But that's what makes a wedding!" Josh's sisters chimed in with wide eyes, like we'd suggested we exchange vows in a food court.
Josh stepped in immediately.
"Mum, it's our day. Let us do it our way," he said with a calm firmness that left no room for debate.
It's one of the things I love most about him — his ability to set boundaries without escalating the drama. Linda tried, of course. She talked about traditions, photo opportunities, and how she'd always dreamed of her daughters being part of his wedding. But Josh didn't budge. "We've made up our minds," he said simply, and that was that.
Or so we thought.
As our plans for a casual, low-key wedding moved along, the drama reached a fever pitch. Linda cried actual tears when she realised there really wouldn't be a bridal party. She called Josh multiple times, each conversation more emotional than the last, trying to convince him to change our plans. She offered to give us money. She talked about still being best friends with her own bridesmaids. She even recruited other family members, like Josh's aunt and cousin, to plead her case. "It's a family tradition," they argued. "Don't you want everyone to feel included?"
It got to the point where Josh had to step in firmly. "We're not changing anything," he said. "This isn't about you; it's about us." His calm but unyielding tone made it clear that the discussion was over. Even then, Linda's disappointment hung heavy in the air. She brought it up at family dinners, sighing dramatically and saying things like, "I just don't know how we'll look back on this day without all the proper traditions."
Linda made our dreams of planning a no-stress wedding kind of, well… stressful.
But the wedding day itself was everything we'd hoped for: intimate, joyful, and full of love. Linda and the girls were there, laughing, dancing, and drinking champagne until midnight. But apparently, the lack of bridesmaids left a mark. To this day, over a decade later, it's still a sore spot. Every so often, Linda would sigh dramatically and say, "We never got to be part of your big day." Never mind that they were literally there, front and centre.
It's been 11 years, and this Christmas, after a couple of glasses of wine, Linda still got teary about it. "I'll never forget how left out we felt at your wedding," she said. Josh's sister added, "Yeah, I don't know if I can ever forgive you for that."
I couldn't believe my ears. "You danced all night! You drank the venue dry! How were you 'sooo upset'?" I asked. But Linda just shook her head and muttered about "missed memories."
Josh, as always, took it in stride. "You're still on about that?" he'd say, laughing it off. Or, "Maybe next time," which usually left them spluttering.
Over the years, I've learned not to take their comments to heart. Their disappointment isn't about me or our choices; it's about the expectations they had built up in their own minds. And honestly? That's their issue to work through, not mine.
Our wedding day was exactly what we wanted, and I wouldn't change a thing. It set the tone for our marriage: full of love, laughter, and an unwavering commitment to being true to ourselves.
And if Linda and the girls still feel left out by the time we hit our 20th anniversary? Well, I'll raise a glass to boundaries, to love, and to the man who's always got my back.
*Names have been changed due to privacy.
The author of this story is known to Mamamia but remained anonymous for privacy purposes.
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Feature image: Getty.
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