I've been a bridesmaid for my brother, my sister, and each of my parents' second weddings. When an ex-turned-close-friend married someone I didn't meet until the couple's shower, I was there with my bouquet and asymmetrical, royal-blue dress. My best friend and her husband had two ceremonies. I served as a witness in the first one, held in a nondescript London registry office. For the second, a much grander affair in Italy, I dutifully made confetti and read aloud Shakespeare's "Sonnet 116." My dress is still crumpled at the bottom of my laundry basket, steeped in sand and saltwater from a post-reception ocean swim.

I loved it all. But I won't do it again.

That revelation dawned on me during my brother's recent wedding in Cancún this past summer. Thanks to a knee dislocation that derailed my visits to the gym — and, okay, a handful of margaritas from the resort's swim-up bar — it had taken two bridesmaids to shoehorn me into my full-length, strapless gown. I was hungover from the rehearsal dinner, stressed about pulling off the wedding without a hitch, and cranky from wearing Spanx and a corset that dug into my waist.

It was about five minutes into the ceremony when this all triggered a mini panic attack. The heat, the dress, the hangover: Suddenly, I felt like I might faint. I grabbed the arm of my sister, who happened to be the bridesmaid nearest me, and steadied myself. I eventually sat down for the rest of the ceremony, not wanting to do a face-plant during the vows. After the photos (so many photos!) were taken, I swigged down a glass of ice water, bent over, removed my beige Spanx shorties, and tossed them in the nearest trash can. I had a few minutes to recover and take some deep breaths before throwing shapes to "Turn Down for What" as the DJ officially introduced the wedding party. (Confession: I actually loved that part.)

It ultimately ended up being a beautiful ceremony, and I'm honored to have been a part of it. I'm proud that the most important people in my life have wanted me to be involved in their special days. And now, I feel like I can hang up my bouquet and strappy, metallic heels and move on to simply being a guest.

What's triggered this new aversion to being a bridesmaid? Part of it is my age. I just turned 38, so the whole matching dresses-and-big updo thing is starting to make me feel like I've showed up to prom 20 years too late. Also, at this point, most of those nearest and dearest to me have already tied the knot.