I was a bridesmaid twice and a guest at four other ceremonies in only 12 months. I was worried I would feel like a failure, but the celebrations showed me I was loved and appreciated

It was the start of 2018 and I had six weddings on the calendar, including that of my younger sister. I was to be bridesmaid twice and had four hen dos to attend. As a single 33-year-old woman, this filled me with dread.

I hadn’t ever had a bona fide partner and I was living in a shoebox with a single bed; there was barely enough room for my stuff, let alone another person. Matters were made worse when people accused me of being jealous of my sister and that, if I wasn’t careful, I would come across as bitter at her wedding.

I spent half the year complaining about how much money I was spending on other people’s nuptials and how much time I was spending organising two hen dos and going to all the others. I started thinking about how marriage is a sexist institution and about the symbolism of female subservience in wedding ceremonies, telling anyone who would listen about how the societal ideals that dictate the pinnacle of a women’s success to be securing a husband haven’t really changed. Most of all, though, I felt alone, inadequate and as though all my achievements were worthless, because I had failed at love.

My life, my conversations, my wardrobe and my bank account were dominated by weddings, of which one was in Portugal, one in Germany, one in Yorkshire, one in Essex and two in London. I believed marriage and all the trimmings wouldn’t happen for me, so why was I giving so much of myself and not getting anything in return?

As the litany of hen dos and weddings came around, however, I surprised myself by enjoying them. Highlights included singing at the top of my voice at a silent disco aboard a boat on the Thames (while purging myself of self-doubt); glamping and roasting marshmallows in a field on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales; feasting on a tower of macarons and a huge selection of cheeses at 1am; dancing the night away outside a rustic villa overlooking the sea; being serenaded and twirled around by a West End actor posing as a waiter; and, of course, seeing some of the people I love the most, on the best day of their lives. My attitude had begun to change as I had fun, and my opinion of myself grew because I felt loved and appreciated.

I met people who affirmed that my role as a woman in this world was about much more than my love life, or lack thereof. Instead of quizzing me on my marital status, one father of the bride wanted to talk about aspects of global development and films covering the struggle of intelligent women throughout history. A family friend in her 80s told me to stop worrying about being single and to get on with enjoying life. My mother commented on what wonderful company I had been throughout my sister’s four-day-long festivities.

It was moments like these that helped me see that I wasn’t deficient, and gave me the ability to laugh at times that, a few months before, would have sent me face-first into a plate of wedding cake.

There was the time a guest asked if I was under pressure to find a husband, and why, as a woman, I was making a wedding speech. Another guest lamented that their son, who is my age, had left it too late to have his first child. Before my sister’s wedding, a relative warned me not to upstage the bride.

Focusing on the better elements of each event, and valuing my contribution to them, helped me to politely decline the unwanted invitations to consider whichever single man happened to be there as a romantic proposition. Potential suitors included a gay man, someone who had just left his wife and two children and had flirted with another woman all night, and a guest who couldn’t speak and had bloodied his face from falling over because he was so drunk.

Alongside these moments of parody, I started to appreciate not having to share the spotlight with, or look after, anyone. I took the opportunity to shine. There were moments of feeling lonely, but the abiding sentiment was one of hope and happiness.

A year on, I relish being invited to and going to weddings. I have moved out of the flat with a shoebox room because I feel I deserve more. I am still single, not dating, and that is fine. I don’t see it as a failure because I channel all my love and energy into my friends, family and work. And I know, as my 86-year-old father who got married at 49 often reminds me, it is better to be alone than with the wrong person.