I never imagined that one innocent RSVP would lead me to what I can only describe as the emotional Hunger Games—but instead of a dystopian arena, the battleground was a wedding venue in Aventura. The challenge? Facing my ex, Armando, and his new girlfriend while being 100% solo at a mutual friend’s wedding. If this has ever been you, you’ll know there’s no training montage for this kind of thing. You just hope the hors d'oeuvres are good and that your “everything’s fine” face stays intact.

This wasn’t just a test of self-control; it was a crash course in self-worth. And like most tough moments in life, I came out stronger, but not without some hilarious, cringeworthy, and ultimately transformative moments along the way.

Pre-Wedding Panic Mode

When the invite hit my inbox, I was riding the high of graduate school deadlines and too many cafecitos. It took me four full days and a pep talk from my best friend Carla, who insisted I was “too fabulous to cower,” before I clicked Yes. But as the wedding date crept closer, so did the dread. Armando—my first serious boyfriend, the one who met my abuela and shared my Spotify Premium account—was going to be there. And not alone.

Cue full-throttle anxiety. I tried on no less than twelve dresses, standing in front of my mirror muttering ridiculous affirmations like “You’re Beyoncé—he’s forgotten you!” Spoiler alert: I was not Beyoncé.

To ease the angst, I made two survival investments: (1) a flowy emerald dress that screamed “I’m thriving, not crying,” and (2) a plan to strategically orbit around other people like a social butterfly on steroids. No one survives these situations without allies.

Game Day Strategies

The wedding day itself? A whirlwind. I arrived early (rookie mistake) and was greeted by the seating chart—a beautifully calligraphed harbinger of doom that placed me two tables away from him and, yes, her. For context: his new girlfriend looked like she moonlit as a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Meanwhile, I was channeling “confident lead in a telenovela,” but internally unraveling like a bad TV subplot.

Weddings are tricky when you’re single. The mini quiches are adorable, but the PDA during the vows? Brutal—especially when it reminds you of the relationship you thought would lead to your own white-dress moment. I wanted to hurl my champagne flute across the room every time people whispered, “Oh, Armando looks so happy these days.” What I didn’t expect? The quiet strength that slowly crept up on me as the night went on.

Here’s how I coped without dissolving into a puddle of self-doubt:

  1. Find a buddy early. My savior? Mariella, a mutual friend who’s the human equivalent of a party starter. We established ourselves as a “non-romantic plus-one team” and spent most of cocktail hour gossiping about non-Armando-related things. This simple act of connection made me feel less like a loner on a sitcom.

  2. Write your internal script. Going in, I spent a few spare moments rehearsing my mental mantras—phrases like, “I am AGUANTANDO” (a Cuban phrase for “I can handle it”) and “It’s not about him, it’s about mi felicidad.” I needed a clear internal dialogue to remind myself why obsessing over “what ifs” wasn’t going to help.

  3. Have your escape hatch ready. When the slow songs kicked off, you could find me squarely in line for flan or reapplying lipstick in the ladies’ room. No shame in working the system, y’all. When you see emotional landmines, dodge them.

  4. Smile, but not in an “I’m trying too hard to seem unbothered” way. It sounds silly, but there’s power in a genuine grin. The third time Armando glanced my way, I held my head high and just smiled. Suddenly, it wasn’t about proving something to him. It was about proving something to myself.

The Unexpected Plot Twist

Now, weddings are always packed with surprises—an aunt who drinks a little too much, a bridesmaid who belts out “Livin’ La Vida Loca” at karaoke—but nothing shocked me more than seeing Armando approach my table. Yep, that Armando. The guy I once cried over during a late-night Meryl Streep movie marathon.

He stood there awkwardly, holding a half-empty beer bottle. “Hey,” he said, “I just wanted to say it’s good to see you.”

You guys, for a split second, I was 22 again, heartbroken and unsure of my footing. But then, like a reflex, I responded with grace: “Good to see you too. Looks like life’s treating you well.”

Those ten words were my golden ticket. They healed something I didn’t realize was still fractured. I didn’t need to ask questions about his new 5K-running, Pilates-loving dream girl or compare notes about how far we’d moved on. And you know what? I walked away from that encounter feeling unburdened, like dropping a suitcase you’ve been dragging through an airport.

Lessons in Resilience

Was it the night of my dreams? Hardly. It was uncomfortable, stressful, and humbling. But it was also a moment of undeniable growth.

Facing your past doesn’t have to be a declaration of war or an exercise in self-pity. It can be exactly what you need to remind yourself that healing isn’t about avoidance—it’s about showing up, feeling the feelings, and keeping your focus on all the goodness still waiting ahead.

So, if you find yourself in a similar situation, here’s the playbook:

  • Confidence isn’t just a state of mind—it’s a well-chosen outfit, a crew of allies, and a game plan.
  • You’re stronger than your past, as long as you stop letting it define your future.
  • Sometimes, the best revenge isn’t looking perfect—it’s just being genuinely okay.

The morning after, I woke up exhausted but strangely light. And, as cheesy as it sounds, I realized something important: My story is my own, and I’m far too excited about its many plot twists to dwell on a chapter that’s already closed.

Turns out, I did survive the impossible wedding. No fainting, no awkward tears, no dramatic exits (although I did trip once, but that’s between me and my stilettos). What I gained was a newfound appreciation for starting fresh—green dress and all.