The unspoken question practically shouts out loud: Is there another way?
We were in the process of buying a summer home at the time, and we devised a solid, responsible financial plan for covering both the house and wedding costs. My husband is an accountant in a midsize firm, I’m a physical therapist, and we’d never been lacking. Even now, with these big expenses, our bases seemed covered.
In our circles, wedding costs are split 50/50 between the chassan’s and kallah’s families. Our mechutanim are part of a tight-knit social circle for whom image is paramount, and fitting in seems to override financial practicality. With each upgrade they presented us — the flowers, the music, the menu — we nodded our heads agreeably, scared to make waves, but we slowly realized we were on a speeding train on a first-class ride we couldn’t afford. My husband and I aren’t driven by social pressures, but ironically, we spent money we couldn’t spare to help our mechutanim maintain their desired image.
Sheva brachos ended on Shabbos, and my daughter got engaged the following Tuesday. The second mechutanim were a little lower key, but were also wealthy and used to doing things on a high standard. Call us weak, but once again we agreed to every upgrade they requested.
By then we were seriously overextended. We began dipping into savings we vowed to never touch. I loaded my schedule with as many PT cases as I could physically handle, working myself to the bone. The stress kept rising, and I became angry at myself for feeling anxious and frazzled instead of enjoying the simchah.
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