The Day I Landed in Bridezilla Territory (and Why Restarting Often Feels Awkward)

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I didn’t expect to find myself in a bridal shop on a Wednesday morning.

Surrounded by lace, tulle, and a circle of women who know how to hold big emotions before vows are ever spoken — nerves, hope, expectation — all stitched neatly into the seams of beautiful dresses.

It started with a simple question:

“Would you speak at my staff retreat?”

My very honest first thought was:

Why me?

I’m an artist.

A midlife restarter.

A woman who prefers quiet mornings and paint-splattered smocks — not dress fittings or the delicate diplomacy of a mother-in-law hovering near the veil aisle.

But life has a way of offering invitations that don’t match the version of ourselves we’re used to seeing.

Sometimes they sound like:Come stretch here.

So I said yes.

Not because I felt ready —but because I’ve learned that waiting to feel ready often keeps us standing still.

Lately, I’ve been drawn to images of things that stay.

A lighthouse doesn’t search for calm water.It doesn’t chase certainty.It stands — visible and steady — even when conditions shift around it.

That image stayed with me as I walked into that bridal shop. A quiet reminder that presence itself can be an act of courage.

We talked about creativity and grace under pressure.About small shifts — the kind that can reset a moment before emotions run high.

We breathed.Shoulders softened.

And then the laughter came.

Q-tips flew through straws toward tiny paper “Bridezillas.”

Wishbones appeared.

Head-massage tinglers made their way around the room.

Bubbles floated.

It was ridiculous.

And it was perfect.

Watching grown women laugh like girls on a playground, something clicked.

Restarting doesn’t always feel brave.

Sometimes it feels awkward.

Sometimes it feels a little silly.

Sometimes it happens in rooms you never imagined entering.

But growth often begins there — in unfamiliar spaces — when we say yes before we feel ready and discover that the ground beneath us can still hold.

Courage doesn’t always arrive with confidence.

Sometimes it shows up quietly, asking us to stay.