The Weight of the Wedding Ring
By Annette Camp
May 1, 2026
I stand at the door before the ceremony.
My mother asks, "Why the tears?"
I dare not say they are the release
of what I do not speak.
My words have already been decided.
I do not want myself on the stage.
Others rise around me.
Their faces blur.
Expectation pulls at my heart
as the tears continue to flow.
Inside myself, I keep asking,
"What are you doing?"
I walk forward carefully as though
the floor might give way beneath me.
My knees weaken with every step.
My heart is heavy.
My terror is hidden.
My doubts continue without rest.
I think about the permanence
of this one act.
Marriage feels like a narrow bridge
everyone told me to cross.
A husband.
Children.
A proper home arranged
beneath God's approval.
The altar waits for my approach.
The congregation listens
to words I cannot hear anymore.
The room feels distant from my body.
My bouquet trembles in my hands.
When the vows begin,
my chest tightens so violently
I think I might faint
before the words are finished.
Then the ring.
Gold shining.
Heavy beyond proportion.
The moment it touches my finger
it slips from my hand.
I want to say no.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
Just one honest word
finally allowed to breathe.
Denial is not holy.
Yet, I am told submission is.
Eyes are watching.
Cameras are rolling.
Someone retrieves the ring.
So I swallow the word
that burns all the way down.
I let him slide the band
onto my finger where the
metal settles like the
closing of a gate.
I stand there silently
as everyone rises in celebration.
I hide my grief and wonder
if God can feel the weight
of the wedding ring.
