I got married as a fairy tale princess—at least, that’s how it looked from the outside. My dress shimmered like moonlight, the venue was draped in roses, and I walked down the aisle feeling like every childhood dream had come true. For a moment, I believed I’d stepped into a storybook. But fairy tales don’t prepare you for what comes after the last page.
The honeymoon glow faded quickly. We argued about dishes, about money, about silence. I kept wondering if I’d done something wrong—if I’d failed to hold onto the magic. I missed the version of us that danced under twinkling lights.
I tried to fix it. I read books, went to therapy, learned to listen better. But love isn’t a spell—it’s a practice. And sometimes, it’s exhausting. I lost myself trying to be the perfect wife, the perfect princess, until I realized I didn’t know who I was anymore.
One night, I sat in our living room, still in my wedding heels, and cried. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I’d built a castle on expectations. I wanted the fairy tale, but I hadn’t written my own ending. That’s when I knew something had to change.
We talked—really talked. Not about chores or bills, but about fears, dreams, and the people we were becoming. Slowly, we began to rebuild—not the fantasy, but something real. Something flawed and beautiful. I stopped chasing perfection and started choosing presence.
I didn’t marry a prince. I married a person. And I’m no longer a princess—I’m a woman who knows that love isn’t about magic. It’s about showing up, even when the sparkle fades. And that, I’ve learned, is the most enchanted truth of all.
