I still feel completely used and cast aside (Picture: Getty Images)

Sitting down at my desk I take a deep breath before hitting the call button.

Like me, my laptop is already overwhelmed. There must be at least a hundred different tabs open with various places to eat, see and stay throughout Europe and my inbox is overflowing, so I’m not sure what adding a Zoom call into the mix will do.

I soon have my answer though as my laptop crashes completely.

And before I have a chance to rejoin the call, the messages start.

First, there’s an influx of links to new possible destinations, accommodations and flights, from the bridesmaid’s group chat.

Then a new message comes in from the bride, asking to add ‘just one more’ to the already 20 strong guestlist. She then requests a separate hen do for those who can’t make it abroad, plus a spa day with afternoon tea for some mum and daughter time.

‘You can sort all that, right?’ reads her final text. And suddenly I find myself feeling jealous of my laptop.

I’m exhausted, but don’t have time to rest.

I’d always wanted to be a bridesmaid, but I’d never expected it to be this overwhelming.

Clearly I’m not alone either as ‘bridesmaid burnout’ – a term which refers to bridesmaids who are emotionally, physically, and financially exhausted by the bridezilla’s demands – has been on the rise in recent months.

But before I experienced it first-hand, I’d always assumed the horror stories I’d heard – bridesmaids forking out thousands of pounds for the hen do, brides axing their wedding party for not meeting their expectations – were just that. Stories.

In fact, when I was asked to take on the role by an old school friend, I was pleasantly surprised.

We didn’t talk as much as we used to, but I was touched that the bride considered me one of her close friends and I wanted to do a good job.

With two experienced bridesmaids by my side, I was reassured we were a substantial team to plan the pre-wedding celebrations and I couldn’t wait to get started.

However, five WhatsApp groups later, the bride’s requests for numerous hen-dos, a 20 person guestlist, and celebrity parties as inspiration, it was inevitable my debut would be a challenge.

Lo and behold, it was precisely that, as the other bridesmaids were uncontactable for months, leaving me to manage all the details.

It became my second job. 

Slowly my home office became a supply closet of goody bags. Suitcases were soon brimming with props and I became the only port of call for the bride’s requests for many months.

Fielding calls from the bride at all hours as well as answering any and all queries from the hens – all of which disrupted my own working day.

And after finishing work later than intended to make up for those interruptions, I would continue bridesmaids’ duties into the early hours, sending emails and calling countless resorts and eateries to pack out the weekend.

The bride also ‘delegated’ other tasks to me, like picking the bridesmaids’ dresses. It was nothing like I’d pictured. There was no fizz-flowing or mini fashion shows of us strutting out the cubicle. Any potential fun was slowly ebbing away.

I was also asked to purchase last-minute wedding accessories she’d forgotten such as jewellery and make-up as well as booking bespoke wedding manicures for her – all at my expense.

To be perfectly honest, I felt more like her PA than her friend.

Instead of a relaxing spa day before the wedding I was sent racing to get last minute gifts and set up tablescapes

Having these extra demands took its toll, not just on my work and social life, but my relationship, too. There was little time in our clashing work patterns for one another, but, as the only bridesmaid standing, I felt there was little I could do.

I didn’t want to seem incompetent, or, at worse, like I was ungrateful for the role. So, despite feeling like I was drowning, I pushed on.

By the time the first hen rolled around though, I was at breaking point. There was this sudden pressure to have orchestrated a faultless weekend, yet nowhere to hide from disappointed hens gossiping if it was a total disaster.

And sadly, the weekend was anything but seamless.

Upon arrival at our hotel, we learned that the rooms had been changed and our lunch and dinner reservations had been cancelled last minute for no reason.

This meant, instead of relaxing beachside with the bride and other hens and joining in with the pre-paid activities, the bridesmaids and I spent hours researching and queuing for new restaurants that would accommodate 20 hens.

Somehow we pulled it off and got back on track and I felt a brief moment of relief. But it was short lived as the bride suggested that the bridesmaids should foot the bill for the entire group’s extra expenses, particularly the taxi fares.

I was shocked. We’d already paid for her flights and accommodation, not to mention our own and the activities. Now, she expected us to fork out a further £300 each.

It was getting ridiculous, but considering some reservations had been cancelled and feeling a complete failure, I reluctantly obliged. This took my total spend on one hen-do to over £800.

A second hen-do followed. Then a pre-wedding party – which I was told I had to attend instead of my family celebration. That really hurt, especially as I spent the entire weekend cooking, hosting and making even more goody bags rather than celebrating.

I was at the end of my tether but told myself not to give up.

‘Almost there. She’ll be grateful once the big day is over.’ I’d repeat. And I genuinely believed this.

But from the moment the wedding week began I should have known that wouldn’t be the case.

Instead of a relaxing spa day before the wedding I was sent racing to get last minute gifts and set up tablescapes. The closest I got to a steam room was from the steam of ironing the dresses in the bathroom.

Even on the actual wedding day, after fluffing the veil, keeping the bride calm, hydrated and fed, it was almost like us bridesmaids became invisible. But we were still expected to pack up the venue after the last guests had left.

Honestly, the only blessing from the whole day was having one of the first sit down meals with my partner at the wedding breakfast for weeks.

When I woke up the next morning, even in the weeks that followed, I expected to feel a sense of pride. That all the stress, sleepless nights, and health issues – like IBS and acne – I’d endured as a result of my anxiety, had been worth it.

Instead, she ghosted me.

Six months on I’ve still not heard a peep from her. Not even so much as a thank you for the wedding gift.

I feel completely used and cast aside. Most of all I’m disappointed that a friend has taken advantage of my kindness and generosity and frustrated that I invested so much time and energy I won’t get back.

She knows none of this, of course, but it’s made my decision even more clear. I will never be a bridesmaid again. The emotional, mental, physical and financial toll it took on me was not worth it.  

Assuming anyone with a responsibility on the wedding day should be ‘grateful’ to have made the cut, and in return must drop everything for the bride and their needs, is unrealistic and toxic.

Brides should manage their demands and expectations and ultimately remember that a bridesmaid is your friend, first and foremost.

Don’t lose sight of that by taking advantage of their time, love, energy, generosity and friendship.

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The emotional, mental, physical and financial toll it took on me was not worth it.