Put A Ring On It

Before getting married, Sara Stillman berger experienced the roller-coaster ride of anticipation and hope for the proposal that might be, otherwise known as “pre-engagement stress syndrome”

- Sara Stillman

How did I become this person? Standing on our unmade bed, all 100 pounds of me pitched forward like a wild cat, fists clenched, knees bent, ready to pounce. “You’re ruining my dream wedding!” I roared. My boyfriend looked up at me, small and startled. “We aren’t even engaged yet,” he said.

That, of course, was the problem. The best bands and venues book up quickly, my mom liked to remind me over daily text messages and phone calls. “If he doesn’t propose soon, you’ll end up with an accordion player at the Days Inn,” she’d say. Or less passively, in case I had a hard time interpreting her “mother tongue”: Time was running out!

Despite the maniacal outburst regarding the demise of my “perfect day,” I’m not the type who grew up fantasizing about her wedding. As a little girl, I never pictured my dream party; it was always about my dream man—and at 27, I had already found him. Brandon and I met on a blind date, when the most I was hoping for was a good meal. But over oysters and truffle pizza, I found that he was sexy, creative, smart, and hilarious, with smoky green eyes, and a few dates later I discovered an endearing tendency to cuddle a little too tightly.

But here I was, flopped down on our shared bed, boneless and in tears. Who was this person who had become so obsessed with getting engaged that she actually felt a “ghost ache” in her ring finger? Neurotic as I was (a sore throat meant strep, a sore neck meant meningitis), I didn’t need to page my brother, the MD, at the hospital; this I was able to self-diagnose: Pre-Engagement Stress Syndrome (PESS).