I’m 32, in love, and engaged... so why am I so afraid to say ‘I do’?

I’m 32 years old, and I’ll admit something that most people are too nervous to say – I’m afraid of saying “I do”.

Maybe it’s because my counsellor recently told me that 40% of marriages end in divorce. Or maybe it’s because lately I read that just because you don’t believe in divorce doesn’t make you immune from it.

Then again, in all likelihood it is because I was engaged once before, ten days before my 23rd birthday, during a trip to Amsterdam. That didn’t end well, and I lost a dog in the process.

Whatever the case is, I’m getting married in eight months and four days, and I’m scared.

Do I love my partner? Absolutely. Do I believe in marriage? Yes. But do I know what the next 20, 30, even 50 years will bring? No, I have no idea.

And that’s the crux of it really. That’s the thing that terrifies me. I just don’t know.

The years with my fiancé, all that time getting to know him as an individual, and all of that time teaching him my own intricacies, that doesn’t protect me from the reality that none of us know what is around the corner.

And that is terrifying, more so than a lot of us care to admit.

I have a friend who once got married, and I wasn’t overly enthralled by the idea of it – I didn’t think she was with the right person, and I was scared for her. I didn’t know what to do, so instead I did nothing. And I often wonder if she’s happy now, if she made the right decision.

Recently, I read something that said there is no such thing as marrying the wrong person, that, ultimately, you marry yourself, and that’s the issue. Because marrying someone else will bring your own faults to the fore more than you ever would have thought possible.

It is in that connection to another person that you are mirrored back to yourself, with all of your flaws on show. And do any of us really want to see ourselves in such a harsh light? Are we prepared for that?

When I get married, I will be almost 33. This is my sixth official relationship, and I’d like to think I’ve learned a bit over the years. And my current partner – he’s not perfect, but he’s damn near close. He cooks for me, cleans for me. He supports me in my writing. He makes me endless cups of tea and coffee. He understands my need to have friends of both genders, and he doesn’t get jealous.

He loves me, and I love him. But does this reality protect us? Does it protect us from the actuality that people can become ill, people are susceptible to poor decision-making, and people are, ultimately, a product of their past, in all of its ugly glory? Not in the slightest.

We’re taking a risk, a big one. Because what are the chances that someone else will grow with you, at the exact same rate, for the rest of both of your lives? Pretty slim, I’d imagine.

I’ve been postponing writing anything like this for a while because it seems to have a little too much truth in it. But don’t we all need that a little? Some truth, and the realisation that someone else is going through the same thing that we are. We’re all scared, aren’t we? We would be lying if we said we weren’t.

Because, in life, try as we might to plan, there are no guarantees. We don’t know what’s going to happen in a day, a week, a year, or ten years.

We’re entering into this abyss, with nothing but hope on our side – and if that’s not terrifying, I don’t know what is.

Maybe some of the fear is also that I don’t trust myself – don’t trust myself to be healthy enough to have a real marriage, to fight when things get tough. There’s a possibility that I’m afraid I’m not capable.

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past, and those in my relationships have been some of the biggest. I’ve been a good girlfriend, a bad girlfriend. I’ve made bad decisions, and I’ve messed up.

And while I have generally had a good relationship with my current partner, what’s to say I won’t mess up in the future? What’s to say he won’t?

I guess that’s the risk we’re taking, huh?

We need to buy into this illusion that, even in all of our flaws, all of our failings and weak points, together, we will be able to survive – not only to survive, but to flourish.

Maybe my ugliness will help me along the way, or maybe those ugly parts will cause more hurt. All I know is it isn’t simple.

When we’re younger, we think we will fall in love with someone, get married, and that will be it. But the truth is messier than that, more complex. We know it is. Why do we spend so much time pretending it isn’t?

Let me ask each of you reading this something, particularly you married folk – does your life look like you had planned? Are you happy with where you are right now, with who you are? Do you recognise the person beside you in the bed at night? And, if you don’t, do you have the strength to let go, and to start over?

Maybe it’s time we started to ask ourselves the honest questions, and stopped being afraid of the answers.

In the meantime, maybe it’s OK for me to be scared I’m going to run. But maybe, just maybe, I can do it. Make the commitment. Get the ring. Buy the house. And perhaps one day I’ll stop being so frightened.

I’ll look around and see that everything is just as I imagined it would be. Or maybe I won’t.

I guess dyeing my hair and moving to Paris is always an option. But do you want the real truth? The person I would really be running from is the same person I see in the mirror each day.

How’s that for something to admit?