It takes at least two to get engaged.
It takes at least three to get me into a wedding dress.
And it takes an army to help a blind, migraine-prone, overstressed and undercaffeinated introvert survive her wedding day.
Here’s how we managed it—i.e. here’s who did all the hard stuff while I freaked out—with some advice you didn’t ask for. You’re welcome.
My husband and I wanted the big wedding—really. We wanted a massive party where more than a hundred people could eat, drink and be merry with relative abandon. We wanted dinner and dancing and all the lively, extravagant trimmings. We wanted it to take place in a rural (read: affordable) location, access barriers and all. We wanted everyone to have a fantastic time despite the pitfalls…
And we wanted it to be enjoyable for a bride whose inability to handle loud noise, confusing environments, and tricky logistics is legendary at this point.
If you want all that to somehow reconcile itself, you’d better have an army. Good thing I had one!
First and foremost, it takes a patient, forgiving fiance, because if you can survive wedding planning without driving each other insane, you’re winning.
Pro tip: Marry the right person. Helpful, I know. I’m here all week.
Second, it takes incredible wedding planners. Mine weren’t afraid to describe visual elements, make decisions when I was like, “I dunno,” build archways, haul benches, and drive the blind guests around, because my location was the worst.
Pro tip: Hire my family.
Next, it takes a stellar wedding party. Fortunately for my sanity, mine have excellent de-escalation and emergency caffeine-fetching skills. One of them knew where to find good sushi and wine at a moment’s notice—a lucky thing, considering my wedding-eve-jitters. (For the record, I was freaking out about tripping over my dress, or ruining my makeup in some irreparable way. The joining myself to another human being for the rest of my life bit was chill.)
Pro tip: Find groomsmen and bridesmaids who can make anything fun, even photos. A willingness to do a fortifying shot minutes before the reception helps.
Then, it takes photographers who aren’t afraid to give precise, detailed descriptions, down to where chins should be, because that stuff is not super intuitive when the bride and groom are both visually impaired to varying degrees.
Pro tip: Ideally, you’ll select photographers who don’t mind physically posing you, because you will eventually admit you have no clue what wedding photos usually look like. Oh, and make sure your photographers tell you when it’s okay to stop smiling. Your facial muscles will thank you.
After that, it takes a very special officiant. Ours, a beloved auntie (I have a lot of them, they are lovely, 10/10 would recommend) knew our quirks, so she could serve the dual function of keeping us calm while preventing things from getting too serious. Her improv skills came in handy when we realized, halfway through the ceremony, that nobody had the rings.
Pro tip: A wedding isn’t a wedding until you’ve invoked Gandalf at least once, and you should probably throw in a Dumbledore reference, just to be safe. The rain held off long enough for us to get hitched, so I guess we had our bases covered.
Of course, it takes hilarious MCs. Ours kept us in stitches all evening. We gave them a mile of leash, and they ran with it. (I think at least one person was a little scandalized, but no pearls were clutched in the making of this wedding.)
Pro tip: If it brings you joy to laugh at yourself, work out your limitations ahead of time, then let them “go there.” This is your day. If you’re cool with a wee bit of a couple’s roast, dig in.
It takes an entire battalion of friends and family to play the piano, travel long distances in rough conditions, tie a zillion twist ties, stand around in the rain, help a load of blind people navigate a bewildering buffet, take beautiful pictures, and keep the hair from falling out of my head.
It takes coworkers who throw parties so thoughtful that I broke my no-crying-at-work rule (again).
It takes people who give braille cards, and tactile cards, and hand-drawn cards, and fabulous hugs, and jaw-droppingly generous presents.
It takes a task force of “virtual bridesmaids,” of all genders, who have listened patiently to an entire year of rambling, stress cries, indecision, and other tirades.
It takes a tribe that made a loud, chaotic, confusing environment fun, even for my husband and me, worriers extraordinaire.
In short, it takes an army of love, creativity, and grace.
Pro tip: Find your army, big or small, and let them carry you through this. It’s more fun that way.