I made my wedding dress in three weeks.
It wasn’t the plan. But after stepping into bridal shops and seeing $3,000 price tags, I walked out knowing I wanted something different—something that didn’t just fit my body, but fit me.
The thing is, I only started crocheting ten months ago. This was a leap straight into the deep end, and every stitch was equal parts determination and doubt. My hands cramped. I unraveled entire sections in frustration. But slowly, it began to take shape—yards of soft white cotton becoming something I could see myself wearing on one of the most important days of my life.
When I slipped it on for the first time, I didn’t just see a dress. I saw the late nights, the mistakes, the patience I didn’t know I had. I saw my story woven into every loop of yarn.
And then came the questions.
My future mother-in-law gently asked if we should “find something more traditional as a backup.” My sister suggested getting it “professionally pressed” (it’s crochet, so that’s not exactly how it works). Even my fiancé tilted his head and asked if I was “absolutely certain.”
I know they mean well. But it’s hard not to let their voices chip away at my certainty. Am I being stubborn? Will I look back at the photos and wish I’d gone with something “proper”?
Yet, when I look in the mirror, I think about how this dress isn’t just fabric—it’s the hours I spent creating something from nothing. It’s proof that love, in any form, takes work. It’s imperfect in all the ways I am, but it’s also mine.
In two days, I’ll walk down the aisle. And I think I already know my answer.
I’ll wear the dress I made with my own hands. Because more than anything, I want to start this marriage in something built with love, patience, and a little bit of defiance.
Credit – original owner ( respect 🫡)