Sometimes, you get married too young

And it somehow works out

My mom told me to stop calling. 

The words were delivered gently, but I knew she meant it. I'd been picking up the phone to tell her about my vacation and ask how things were. To let her know I missed her. I never said it aloud, but I wanted to come home. Part of me wished she could hear it in my voice. Her request to scale back on communicating didn't sting. If anything, it brought me back to reality. I was in Napa Valley. Winery tours! Cozy dinners! Lazy breakfasts! Maybe I did need to put the phone down and try to enjoy the trip and my company. But I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made a mistake coming. I tried to dismiss the thought. 

It was my honeymoon, after all.

It's 2009. "Boom Boom Pow" by The Black Eyed Peas is the top song on the charts. Barack Obama is president. You can post a tweet by sending a text message. And I have a Crush with a capital C. I get out of the shower one night and climb into my pajamas, letting myself daydream before bed. Ayana Gabrielle Lage has a ring to it, I decide. We might get married one day. It isn’t a “what-if” so much as a realization. This isn't the only time I've strung together my name with a boy's, but it feels different. He has no idea I'm in love with him. 

Somehow, fate works in my favor, and our friendship becomes flirtatious, turning into a relationship two years after we meet. I'm so sure of him and me that I tell the people around me that we'll be together forever. I'm not special — many teenage girls have walked the same path — but I'm confident. We have our share of silly fights (I once stopped talking to him for letting his phone die without telling me the battery level was low), but our love for each other feels solid.

We first discussed marriage one month into our relationship. Graduation is on the horizon when the conversation gets serious. We go to a jewelry store in the mall and pick out a ring, which he later puts on a payment plan. (Years pass before he divulges that he couldn’t afford it.) I make sure my hair is done every time we see each other, just in case. Then, it happens. He gets down on a knee on a mid-October Saturday. I’m impossible to surprise, but he catches me off-guard. I cry my makeup off at the thought of becoming his wife and buy a wedding planning notebook while ordering my textbooks for my last semester of school. I'm 21 years old.

My parents ask that we wait till we're out of college to get married. We set our wedding for six weeks after my fiancé's graduation date. Most people around us are overjoyed; those with concerns about our age, including family members, are written off as cynics. I'm the luckiest person on earth. No matter what happens, I'll spend the rest of my life with someone I love. My soulmate, even. Do I need anything else? After all, there’s something hopelessly romantic about finding your forever person when you’re young. Right?

It was a gorgeous winter day without a hint of rain. The ceremony and reception were at a vibrant art museum, and speeches from loved ones made everyone emotional. Beer and wine flowed, although many guests were too young to legally drink. The dance floor was a party. Everything went off as perfectly as it could; the day was a dream. As the reception wound down, I slipped away from my husband to use the bathroom. This is the best day of my life, I thought, and it’ll only get better.

Reality hit after the sparkler sendoff, the venue still within view. I started to cry. I wasn’t ready for a life away from my parents. I was scared to move in with him. And, of course, as someone whose life was intertwined with evangelical Christianity at the time, I had Complicated Feelings about sex (read: I was terrified). It was all too much. My panicked husband tried his hardest to calm me down — as I’ve shared, he told me we could watch Making a Murderer on our honeymoon if I didn’t want to do anything else. By the time we pulled under the hotel awning and handed the car keys off to the valet, my face was dry, and I had a half-smile on my face. The anxiety hadn’t left.

Drinks in the hotel lobby on our wedding night

We woke up early the following day and caught a flight to San Jose. Some excitement set in. It would be my first trip to California, and I was with my husband (!). But the apprehension was still there on the long plane ride. I couldn't quite place it, but something was out of order. I dutifully logged into Facebook to change my relationship status to married and made a joyful post about the best day of my life. No one knew how I was feeling.

We picked up our car at the airport, paying a young renter’s fee because we were under 25. Then, it was time for the leisurely drive to our resort, where my husband put the incidental fee deposit on his debit card at check-in. The $300 charge left him effectively broke for the remainder of our trip. We didn't have credit cards, and no one told us we needed them for travel. I felt panic as we wandered around the hotel while waiting for our room. I need my mom right now. So I called her. And called. At least one time, I held back tears. I missed her, and I missed home. My husband watched from the hotel bed as I talked to her about mundane things, never saying a negative word but surely wondering what was happening. When she finally told me to call less — "Go enjoy your trip!" — it felt like a wake-up call.

In January, my husband and I will celebrate a decade of marriage. We’re madly, annoyingly into each other. But the beginning was one of the hardest times of my life. Not entirely because of him or our relationship — 2016 and 2017 were “if it rains, it pours” years for me — but honestly, it didn’t help. Don’t get me wrong! The adoring posts I shared on Instagram at the time were all true. We loved each other, and life was exciting, and he was my favorite person, but I often found myself resenting him. We had struggle after struggle, and it felt like I couldn’t quite find my footing. There were serious disagreements, the kind with crying and needing time away from each other. We once argued in the middle of a Target store because we couldn’t agree on our household budget.

I was angry and often petty. My husband has been a good partner throughout our marriage, but I couldn’t stop picking fights with him. That was the thing about us getting married barely out of college, when we hadn’t had to be alone, or figure out budgeting, or learn about credit cards. I was flailing. Some people would thrive in this environment, but I’m not one of them. Recently, we sat at a bar, and my husband turned to me to ask what our lives would look like if we’d chosen to have kids while newly married. I looked at him before giving my honest answer. “We probably wouldn’t be together,” I said.

Our relationship eventually settled into a comfortable rhythm where it’s remained for the last several years. Not every early marriage problem was related to our maturity levels, but I can see a correlation. I wonder if anyone can relate to all of this. After all, I wasn't the only one getting married young. Many of my friends were planning weddings at the same time. Some of them were younger than I was. I can't speak to everyone's motives for getting married, but I can say that purity culture played a role for a lot of us that's hard to ignore — one that can be devastating. What happens when you're 21 years old and maybe not ready to get married but eager to move on from kissing? In the circles I grew up in, you might find yourself walking down an aisle in a white dress. I didn't marry my husband so we could have sex or sleep in the same bed.

That's what I always say. ⁣