We live in a cul-de-sac, in a neighborhood full of kids playing outside and families walking their dogs. It reminds me of the street I grew up on—kids playing the newest version of four square and stepping aside when a car passes by, dogs strolling by with their people, and random therapy sessions at the mailbox.

A few months ago, as one of my neighbors passed by, I complimented her makeup. We have similar coloring, and I told her how much I loved her eye makeup—then admitted I wished I’d learned how to do mine long ago.

As a dancer, I’d had my fill of stage makeup and rebelled against learning anything beyond mascara and lipstick. And now, with a wedding coming up, I wished I had paid a little more attention.

My neighbor offered to teach me and enthusiastically suggested we set a time. I brushed it off as southern politeness after a compliment, but secretly I wished I’d accepted. About a week before the wedding, we crossed paths again by my mailbox, and she insisted I come over. That night, I wandered to her house—and it became one of my favorite nights of all time.

She sat me at her vanity and walked me through her routine. She opened a bottle of wine, and we talked about her daughters’ weddings. She shared memories of her husband and the sweet moments they’d had raising daughters and watching them become wives and mothers.

I told her about my dress, and she jumped up to her closet. There, she pulled out a stunning bracelet—Swarovski crystals—that matched my dress perfectly. She insisted I borrow it. Then came her collection of evening bags, and we laughed at the thought of all the places those purses, clutches, and wristlets had been and the stories they could tell.

As I practiced at her mirror, she told me that the wedding day itself can be hard for the mother of the bride. You’ve planned, shopped, stamped envelopes, hosted, wrapped, reserved—every possible verb you can imagine.

But when the doors open, the day becomes about the bride, as it should. Her father is beside her and part of the ceremony. But the mother… it can be tempting to get lost in nostalgia and sit quietly off to the side.

So, she said, have a plan. How do you want to spend the reception? Who do you want to visit with and catch up with? What do you want to remember when you think back on that day?

Her honest words saved me so much heartache and anxiety. Instead of watching from the sidelines, I had a plan. My college roommates, friends from Arizona, my cousins—and dancing!

As soon as the music started, I kicked off my shoes and danced. I sang loudly and watched the little ones I used to chauffeur home from school sing along—songs we had played ten thousand times in the car. Now, we were singing together as we watched dear Julia marry the man of her dreams.

Just typing this brings a huge smile to my face.

So, future mothers of the bride, know that the day will shift. Your relationship with your daughter is changing—and for those of us who don’t love change, that can be hard. Take some time, make a plan for yourself, and don’t forget to dance.

Photography: Jennifer Carley Photography