Page 54 of Bridesmaid for Hire
I glance through my emails, deleting junk mail from bridal magazinesthat I should unsubscribe to but worry that if I unsubscribe from them, they’ll know and never want to feature me in their magazine. I scan over an email from a vendor letting me know about different cookie flavors they have available. I forward it to Everly to take care of.
And then I see two emails from two different brides.
The bids I’ve been looking forward to hearing from.
Smiling, I open one up and read through it quickly, but when I see the word unfortunately, my smile falters.
She’s going with the in-house planner at a Hopper Hotel, how ironic.
Sighing, I open the other one, and when I see that she’s chosen someone else as well, fear bolts through me. That’s two weddings I thought were in the bag but didn’t secure, and that’s concerning. One of them had a two-hundred-thousand-dollar budget that could have been extremely beneficial to growing my business.
Shit.
I rub my hand over my forehead and exit out of the email. I’ll reply later when I’m in a better headspace and can offer them any help if they need it during the process.
I go back to my inbox and click on an email from my accountant. It’s his midyear review, and I peer at it with one eye open, hoping for good news.
What kind of good news? Well, the dream has been to build the business, grow it to the point that I can open a storefront and provide a one-stop shop for brides. A place where they can plan their weddings, create an experience, and even participate in a pocket wedding—my brilliant idea of creating an elopement experience in a couple’s hometown. But I have to hit a certain income bracket in order to make the dream come true.
When I quickly read over his email, I feel my heart pounding, skipping over certain fluff words that I don’t care about. Just tell me…
Fuck.
Expenses too high. Income too low.
It’s all I see. Everything in me melts into fear, an uncomfortable feeling like my skin is itchy, but cold and damp. My heart is racing, but it also feels like I can’t breathe fast enough.
It’s panic.
Panic at failing.
Panic at not fulfilling my goals.
Panic at proving to everyone who didn’t believe in me that I wouldn’t be able to make something of myself.
And here I thought I was doing well.
I thought I was thriving.
I was busting my ass weekend after weekend, and for what? To have an email tell me that it’s still not enough?
I know what else the email is going to say.
I’ve been taking on too many free jobs, not charging enough, and the outcome will be that I won’t be able to hit my goals like I want to by the end of the year.
My accountant warned me about it, but the free work was for word of mouth. The low rates were so I could continue to have good reviews on my website. There’s a process to it, but apparently that process is not benefiting me in the way that I thought it was, which just makes me feel like that much more of a failure.
And that’s the worst feeling.
It’s sickening. And it makes me consider what I said to Brody yesterday. God, I hate how vulnerable that made me feel.
“I’m single because I’m a workaholic who has based her entire life and self-worth around her business.”I wasn’t exaggerating, but I hate that I toldhim. I’m feeling so out of control and lost and, before I can let those emotions take over me, I need someone to talk me down. I need Hattie.
Maggie:Do you think I’m wasting my life away being a workaholic?
I feel tears start to prick at my eyes and, and even though I attempt to breathe out the emotions clawing at me, it’s no use as everything hits me all at once.
Brody’s words from last night, pointing out that I’m the single one, and that he’dnevermake a real move on me.
