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My Husband Didn’t Cry at Our Wedding

I should have known it was a bad sign

Myhusband didn’t cry at our wedding. However, he did get  drunk in a corner of the room with his best man immediately after we said our vows. Was that a bad sign? In retrospect, I believe it was.

On my wedding day, I didn’t even realize that many grooms  burst into happy tears at the altar. It wasn’t until years later that I noticed just how many husbands-to-be got emotional at the sight of the blushing bride marching proudly down the aisle on her father’s arm. He couldn’t have cared less.

 groom showed up for our wedding ceremony several hours late. It isn’t like he got lost on the way to the venue. We were married in his mother and stepfather’s garden, between their wooden fence and the inground pool. He knew his way to their house like he knew the back of his hand.

Not long before that day, he had lived in the upstairs bedroom of their home. It was the room with the sliding glass door and the private balcony. Unfortunately, his mother and his stepfather threw him out of their home due to his bad behavior, and that move directly led to our decision to wed.

His only saving grace was that our justice of the peace was hours late, too. Otherwise, the wedding would likely have been canceled, which would have been a blessing.

Instead, my dry-eyed groom and my hungry wedding guests and my depressed parents watched me approach the garden ceremony spot in my short ruffled party dress and my cheap shoes with my dirty orange hair in knots and fresh runs in my pantyhose, and no one cried.

No, my husband didn’t cry at my wedding, but I have a feeling my parents cried buckets for the next five years until I left my abusive marriage and returned to my childhood bedroom. Today, I sleep in the same twin bed I slept in before I entered kindergarten, and I sleep like a baby.


Tobe fair, there were no tears forming at the corners of my eyes on my wedding day either. The closest I came to having hot tears stream down my face came on my wedding night when we spent our first private moments alone together as husband and wife. That’s when I discovered that I had a painful yeast infection, but that’s an unfortunate story for another day.

It’s fitting that I suffered from an untreated yeast infection during the entirety of my honeymoon. Why shouldn’t the first week of my marriage be just as miserable as the next five years would be? If my life were a novel, that would be considered foreshadowing.

My marriage was miserable, and it dragged every aspect of my life down with it until waking up every morning was an exercise in abject despair. Despite my misery, I was determined to remain married because I felt that getting divorced was akin to failure. I was wrong. It doesn’t work that way.

I realize now that nothing could be further from the truth. Divorce isn’t a sign of failure. It’s a second chance at living your best life, and I would heartily recommend it to anyone in a situation like mine. It’s unfortunate that it took so long for me to understand that divorce courts exist for a reason. Divorce is one option. If you need it, take it.

There are marriages that succeed, and there are those that fail. No one should ever feel obligated to remain in the latter. Attempting to remain married to a man who mistreated me wasn’t brave and noble. It was dumb, and I am perfectly okay with admitting it now.

There was nothing brave and noble about allowing myself to be abused for four long years, seven miserable months, with a handful of days added in for good measure, but you know what? None of that matters anymore because I finally found the strength to leave him, and I have never been happier.

I never saw my husband cry once during the nearly five years we were married. I, on the other hand, cried more than enough for both of us. At times, it seemed that my tears could have filled an ocean.


Istill cry sometimes. There are happy tears, and there are emotional tears, but there aren’t any tears of frustration or desperation.  tears belong to an earlier time, and I have no plans to repeat them — not if I can help it.

And if I ever get married again, I hope my husband will cry at our wedding because I know  going to leak like a broken faucet, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Source : Medium