For a fleeting moment after I wake, I smile and stretch across the hotel bed. It is supposed to be my wedding day. Then the truth hits me all over again, and the tears come.
My beautiful gown is still hanging in the boutique, untouched, while the man I had planned to marry is no longer by my side. After all the money, planning and anticipation, there will be no rings, no vows and no walk down the aisle.
Just two weeks before what was meant to be our perfect wedding, I ended my relationship with Ben, my partner of six years.
At the time, it felt utterly heartbreaking. But nearly a year later, I find myself wishing more women on the brink of marriage would trust their instincts when something feels wrong.
I was 20 when I first met Ben on a dating app in February 2018. Back then, I was not searching for a serious relationship. I had just completed my first year working as a nurse and was making plans to travel.
Over the months that followed, however, our casual meetings began to feel like something more. Ben was kind, good-looking and considerate, and by 2019 we were officially together. Before long, I was in love. I had always imagined finding the right person, marrying him and building the sort of lasting happiness my parents had. In my mind, the next man I truly loved would be the one I married.
Still, our relationship was not always as flawless as it may have looked from the outside.
We would sometimes fall out over minor issues and then go days without speaking, leaving me to question whether we were really right for each other. But I loved Ben, and I convinced myself that every long-term couple goes through difficult patches. Like many women, I brushed aside the “small” problems because I was so focused on the future I wanted.
In that moment, it felt devastating. But now, almost a year on, I wish more women preparing to walk down the aisle would listen to their instincts and follow my lead, writes Ayen Manahan
Ayen had always longed to find the perfect person, get married and be happy together for ever like her parents. She wanted the next person she fell for to become her husband
When I was 26, after five years together, Ben whisked me off to Canada, where he proposed. I was so happy; finally we could move past the fights. This was the start of our next chapter.
I couldn’t wait to start organising our big day, to which we invited 230 guests.
It did bother me that Ben’s only contribution was to arrange the tuxedos and a dance for his groomsmen. However, I told myself that lots of grooms aren’t that interested in wedding planning.
Yet as the weeks passed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. We felt even more distant, less affectionate than we’d ever been. But I pushed my doubts away.
Then there was the money being spent. Our parents paid around £13,000 for the venue and catering, the suits were £5,000 and the dresses almost £9,000. The whole day would cost at least £30,000. It felt like a speeding train that couldn’t possibly be stopped.
With three weeks to go, Ben made a speech at my hen do in which he declared how lucky he felt. Suddenly it all seemed so fake. When we kissed, I realised it was the first embrace we’d shared in weeks. How could I plaster on the same pretend smile at my wedding?
The next day I asked him: ‘Do you still want to marry me?’
My heart sank when he replied, ‘I don’t know.’
When Ayen was 26, after five years together, Ben whisked her off to Canada, where he proposed
Ayen couldn’t wait to start organising their big day, to which the couple invited 230 guests
Their parents paid around £13,000 for the venue and catering, the suits were £5,000 and the dresses almost £9,000 (pictured, Ayen in her wedding dress)
With three weeks to go, Ben made a speech at her hen do in which he declared how lucky he felt. Suddenly it all seemed so fake
‘Do you still love me?’ I continued.
He paused before repeating: ‘I don’t know.’
I jumped up and left, crying hysterically. In the days that followed I was a mess. We tried to talk on the phone but ended up yelling, before agreeing to meet in person a week later.
I felt strangely calm as Ben laid out three options. The first was we go ahead with the wedding and hope everything worked out. The second was we postpone the wedding and work on our relationship. The third was to call it off and go our separate ways. I knew then what my heart and gut had been telling me: the wedding may be two weeks away, but it had to be cancelled.
I realised I’d been so swept up in our plan for the future that I hadn’t admitted to myself the love between us had gone.
I felt sick at the thought of the thousands spent and the hundreds of people invited. But I also felt a huge weight lifted. Pretending for other people’s sake wasn’t worth a lifetime of my own unhappiness.
I swung from relief to sadness. My parents supported me unconditionally. I felt so guilty to realise the venue and caterers were non-refundable, until my mum and Ben’s mum decided to turn it into a church fundraiser.
As the hotel room I’d booked for the night before the wedding couldn’t be cancelled, I decided not to waste it. So that’s where I woke up – alone – on what should have been our wedding day last October.
Despite my initial tears, I felt lighter than I had in months. I didn’t feel sad or embarrassed, just relieved.
So to any woman facing uncertainty in the run up to her wedding, or who has resigned herself to Mr Just OK instead of waiting for Mr Right, please listen to your gut. Calling off your wedding is scary – but it’s less scary than a lifetime of regret.
Follow Ayen at tiktok.com/@ayen_man_
As told to Kate Graham
