When I started planning my wedding, I wanted it to be like all the other parties I've thrown in my life. As the hostess I cater to everyone invited.

Along the way, more and more married people reminded me that my wedding is all about me, not them or anyone else.

"It's your day," they say. "Don't worry about others. Do what you want."

The thought of "my special day" sounds too selfish and unreasonable. I can only handle so much attention, and I wanted everyone to feel like they have a part in such a big day.

Until now. I am taking back my wedding because it's mine. I'm started to feel justifiably selfish and I don't care if they criticize me because of it.

My change in attitude started with the bridal shower plans. My mother's closest friends planned it months in advance in my hometown, which is where the wedding will be. My matron of honor planned a bachelorette party to follow the shower so that the out-of-towners would already be around for it.

Soon after the shower invitations were sent, I heard grumbling from some of the invitees about how it was too far to go, how it was too many days before the actual wedding, and how one didn't get her invitation early enough. They could have kept that to themselves, but of course they wouldn't have had their complaints heard, I suppose.

The comments hurt me and put me on the defensive because it was a shower being thrown for me, not by me.

I didn't need to hear how this shower didn't suit certain people's needs, especially when they didn't show up (some didn't even R.S.V.P.)

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When the actual day came, I tried to focus on the positives of the event, the people who wanted to be there -- not those who didn't.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy. As the day wound down, some unnecessary friction came from the most unlikely source: My bridesmaids.

Elle, a friend of some eight years, decided at the last minute that she couldn't make the shower. She told me I would understand why she couldn't attend but couldn't tell me because it would ruin the bachelorette surprise later that day.

Despite my several mentions that it would mean a lot to have her there, she didn't show. She missed a lot, too. The shower was incredible, with great people, great food and amazing presents.

After the shower, my bridesmaids helped me jam the gifts into my too-tiny car and we headed back to my parents' house to await the party transportation.

When the limo arrived and my friends finally told me we were headed to New York City for the night, I was thrilled -- and at the same time further frustrated by Elle's move.

Her newish boyfriend lives in the city. The reason she couldn't be at my shower is because she was going to see him Friday night and didn't want to drive south to my home and back north in the same day.

Apparently, the shower was too inconvenient for her ... but not for my matron of honor, who flew from California, my maid of honor who flew in from Chicago and the rest who drove miles to be there.

In addition to Elle's effort to put herself first that day, after the bachelorette party another bridesmaid expressed her disappointment that I didn't pay as much attention to her as I should have during the weekend.

I wanted to understand everyone's complaints and concerns, but I realized through my tears that I shouldn't have to, that it wasn't the point this one time.

I wasn't being unreasonable to ask Elle to be at my shower, and I wasn't unreasonable to expect people not to complain about being included in a really nice event, or about not feeling like top dog on the day I'm supposed to feel that way.

I've never seen the wedding as all about me, but I guess that's the way it's got to be. My family and friends will get special treatment, but from now on Jack and I come first.

Some people are going to be miserable no matter how great the music or food is. Some people are going to complain and be selfish no matter how hard I try to make them feel included.

If they want to call me Bridezilla because I want to enjoy the event I took more than a year to plan, let them eat cake. That will keep them quiet.

Laura Lewis is an adventurous 20-something who has loved, lost and doesn't mind sharing. Her column appears every other Thursday.