The marriage wasn’t a success either. LOL The “message” of this true story is: Never give a neurotypical “an inch” – they’ll take it as permission to ruin your life.
- I didn’t want to get married.
- Both my parents and his parents were very upset with us: we were planning a 3-month trip “out west” in a van; it was the early 1970s, and this was a popular thing to do.
- My mother was horrified; (option A) – “If you don’t leave married, (option B) then don’t come back.”
- So we agreed to get married: What harm could it do? And there would be peace in both families. Hah, hah, hah.
- I told my mother that I’d “do it” but under certain restrictions: no more than 10 people. No church; no priest-minister-person of religion to perform the act. No “fuss” – no insanity.
- It was agreed to hold the ceremony at the house; eat lunch, and then “the husband” and I would immediately depart on our trip.
- I braced for the inevitable “pressure” to make a big deal out of the whole damn thing. It was awful: I was cheating my mother of her dream to watch me trudge down the aisle at the Episcopal church in some god-awful white “ballroom” gown and to “lie” about all that “obedience” and “forever” stuff.
- Of course, the process descended into (neuro-social) squabbling, bickering, arm-twisting, shaming, and surprise interference by “friends” who connived with the parents to have their favorite “religious Guy” show up on the day of the wedding.
- Need I continue? Meltdown. I didn’t know back then that I was Asperger. If I had, I would have taken option “B” (under 3., above.) Which demonstrates why diagnosis and/or self-knowledge and HONESTY on everyone’s part is so important!
- Our nomadic 3-month trip was great: I didn’t want to “go home” to the Midwest. The “husband” did. The “marriage” ended when I moved to Colorado by myself. It was great! Yippee!