'Last week I got engaged. When the excitement faded, panic set in.'

A few weeks ago, I got engaged.

I know, I know… “hooray for me!” 

Cue the questions: When’s the date? How many carats is it? Can I come? Have you been dress shopping yet? Can I come dress shopping?

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I am flattered, but the thing about the new shiny ring on my finger is that I have never really thought about having one. 

Marriage was just never a goal of mine.

To me, engagement means commitment and considering that I have been washing this blokes’ underwear for years (and last week we BOTH had gastro), I figure that I am already pretty damn committed.

Don’t get me wrong, I am excited, and the engagement celebrations have been exhilarating (sorry liver), but now that I have taken the time to stop and process what’s ahead of me, I realise that... I'm scared of the next step. 

I’m not scared of being with my partner forever (I actually assumed that was happening anyway).

I’m not scared of people judging me on a white dress as I walk down the aisle.

I'm scared because I am 33 years old, and I have Peter Pan syndrome. I am terrified of ‘growing up’.

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I’ve always been a little rogue. 

My dad still refers to me as the ‘wild stallion’ and I only realised when I got engaged that he called me this because I: 


1. Crave change

2. Oppose boredom

Over the (relatively) short course of my life I have had different interests, different peer groups, different tastes, and so many different personalities.

As a child, I wanted to be a boy. Yes, you read right.

I remember being six years old and my mother’s friend turning to her exclaiming, 'she isn’t so bright, is she?' before turning her doting attention towards my older brother.

So, I decided to become him.

Between six and 12 years old I pretended to care about AFL football and only wore North Melbourne t-shirts.

In high school, I was the classic tragic teeny-bopper that bloomed in social circles because I quickly learned that if I was to make friends; I had to fit in, or f**k off. Then something changed.

I consider age 15 to be a formative year in anyone’s life. And it was around this time I decided I no longer wanted to keep up with the Jones'.

I decided I wasn’t going to follow the path that people expected of me anymore. 

Since then, I’ve crashed house parties, I’ve crashed cars, I somehow obtained two Bachelor degrees, decided I wanted to study personal training purely for a free gym membership, and altered my career path more times than I care to count.

I’ve trawled ancient tracks and befriended locals in 33 different countries. I even moved to one for a while. The reason I did this was because I thought that going to the same places for dinner in Melbourne was becoming tiresome.

When I stare at the gorgeous shiny thing on my finger (that could be traded for a car worth more than my own) two thoughts roll around my mind:

1. Please don’t fall down the sink.

2. I don’t really understand what to do now.

I will reiterate that I adore my partner immensely, and together we have danced, laughed and felt pure happiness while celebrating the joy and happiness at our friend’s weddings.

I just can’t help but think, once he is wearing a ring too…

What happens next?

Feature Image: Getty.