My mother and sister say I had a panic attack the night before my wedding, and that they both massaged me with essential oils in our hotel room at the Westin, a dozen floors above the gardens where I would get married the following day: rubbed my back and tended to my feet in an attempt to calm my anxious nerves.
I have no recall of this, the last uprising of my body.
“Jeanna is amenable to learning. A wife’s willingness to submit, learn, and be instructed by her husband is an essential quality.” Kyle’s best man gave his speech at our reception in the Year of Our Lord 2011 with a microphone that hardly worked, thank God, because he opted to focus solely on my submission when addressing our one hundred guests. My chest contracted and a crimson flush of rage crept up my neck.
At their wedding, Kadlec and her ex-husband were seen dancing.
Thank you, Jeanna Kadlec
The one word I had sought to have removed from our marriage vows, the one phrase with which I had struggled most throughout our premarital counseling, was now pursuing me at my own wedding reception. I painted a smile across my face. All eyes were on me, the bride, and all I needed to do was survive.
My bridesmaids served as a support system during my wedding, but why was this necessary?
My sister, Jo, made no secret of the fact that she was aghast when she looked down the head table at me. She muttered, “What the f***?” in a bridesmaid’s dress, oblivious to the fact that others could hear her profanity. She did not stand alone. A few seats down, another bridesmaid, a high school acquaintance, was similarly attempting to make eye contact while displaying utter disgust with a “Can you believe this guy?” face. My undergraduate closest friend and maid of honor, Amy, sat next to me and maintained a forward-facing smile while firmly gripping my hand under the table.
Everyone knew how I had grappled with the idea that we were marrying so young, with the assumption that I would be an obedient Christian wife, despite Kyle’s assertion that he wanted me to be myself. If he anticipated a lady like his mother, the pastor’s wife, he would not marry me. I believed him when he informed me that he appreciated my ambition and tenacity because he was aware of these traits in me.
Courtesy Jeanna Kadlec
During the best man’s speech, I took deep breaths in an attempt to calm my mounting nervousness. Amy was my emotional support, first line of defense, and person. She placed her other hand over mine to comfort me.
Kyle, who was sat on my opposite side, appeared unaware. The phrases “teachable” and “submissive” lingered in the air after the conclusion of the lecture. I buried my pain at feeling trapped on purpose. This was my new position: I was now his wife. I was unable to express my displeasure; I was required to be polite to his buddies regardless of what they said about me.
I approached the best man and gave him a hug. I attempted to offer a convincing falsehood by saying, “Thank you, that was fantastic.” I glanced across at Kyle as Amy began her maid-of-honor speech after taking the microphone. My new hubby was completely insensitive to my feelings. It was as if we attended two distinct wedding celebrations. Was he not upset by the word as much as I was, knowing how I felt about it?
I wore a 1950s tea-length white dress with cap sleeves, a lace boatneck, and a V-cut back that was deep enough to be modern but not offensive to my new in-laws to appear the part of a devout Christian bride. Pearls in my hair frame the pearl drop earrings. Pink, light, and neutral. Placid. Unthreatening. Virginal.
I seemed like I had intended to appear. And I was unable to breathe.
Adapted from Jeanna Kadlec’s memoir, “Heretic: A Memoir.” Harper, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers, is the publisher. Copyright protected until 2022 by Jeanna Kadlec. All privileges reserved