The times had become tumultuous leading to my upcoming vows. My relationship with my betrothed had turned, and I questioned whether I should board the plane to our fairytale wedding under the breathtaking skylines of Mont Blanc. What had begun as the most intense outpouring of love I had ever experienced, had devolved into regular bouts of flash anger. I was confused and hurt. I failed to comprehend how someone who professed to loving me so deeply could turn on me so harshly. It wasn’t until much later I realized I was experiencing “gaslighting” ( a form of manipulation that makes you doubt yourself, your memory and even makes you question your own sanity) and that “failing to comprehend” is the nature of the game.
What resulted was denial on my part, fueled with regular doses of self-prescribed wine and anti-anxiety medication, which, combined with the shame of admitting failure to all those who planned to join us, provided me with the forward momentum to carry me to our wedding day. Once in Europe, I was so caught up in the culmination of the finest of friends, food and landscapes, it was easy to forget all was far from “perfect” with my marriage-to-be.
Years before, after spending one of the most extraordinary ski seasons of my life in Chamonix, I made a commitment to someday find a way to lure my loved ones there to experience its beauty (my original plan involved spreading my ashes there as part of my dying wishes, however, then I’d be dead… and that wouldn’t be fun). So when my plan finally came together, after a stroke of sheer brilliance when it occurred to me to wed there, I was on cloud nine. I always believed a primary purpose for a wedding was to congregate loved ones for an epic celebration, and epic it was… an absolutely, epic fantasy.