Why I gave up chasing 'The One' and married myself

Two years ago, I married myself. The wedding was the best day of my life, complete with vintage gown, teary dad giving me away, and dancing bridesmaids.

Sologamy, as it’s known, is a growing movement for men and women, with consultants and self-wedding planners popping up all over the world. I got married on a sunny day in Brighton, where I live with my Labrador, Ella. My marriage isn’t legally recognised in the UK, but, for me, it was an important ceremony that demonstrates my commitment to self-compassion.

I’m 38 now, and have had my fair share of disastrous relationships. With my last partner I fell in love – big love. I got swept up and he moved in quickly. Eighteen months later, it was over. He cheated on me with my friend. The pain was horrendous: betrayal, shell-shock, crying and questioning myself. I’d been cheated on before and I’d seen the signs - him checking out girls over my shoulder, and running me down - yet I’d fallen for the wrong guy again.

I’ve never been that girly girl dreaming of my big day. But, as I started to find myself again following my break-up, I thought, what could be more romantic than to show myself, and everyone else, that I deserve this, the ultimate day? I don’t need to put up with bad men, or to be constantly chasing ‘The One’. Perhaps I am 'My One’.

Organising the wedding was easy. There was only me to please! I bought my vintage dress in London, booked an area on Brighton beach, ordered lots of Pimms and adapted some of the traditional wedding vows to reflect my promises to myself.

I vowed to face my disappointments, accept my failures, be my own best friend in sickness and in health, but also to be the best I can be and celebrate my successes.

As the vows were read out and I said "I do," a hush fell over the wedding guests as we all absorbed the significance of what I was promising myself.

It was an incredible atmosphere. I looked out at my loved ones, who’d all chosen to humour me in my quirky little ceremony, and there was a real sense of affirmation.

I asked everyone to join me in my first dance – Trini Lopez’s If You Wanna Be Happy - and everyone wiggled their hips and put their hands in the confetti-filled air. My friend Kath danced with her baby and I grabbed his little feet as he beamed at me clapping. A few people told me afterwards that it was the best wedding they’d ever been to.

My dad took his role seriously, straightening his tie nervously and taking my arm when he gave me away. I remember thinking how much I loved him, for always supporting me in being who I want to be, for always being open-minded and embracing the ridiculous.

If I never marry anyone else, I’ll still have that. It’s our memory – dad and daughter.

Marrying myself has helped me to appreciate my own company, to make time for myself and, quite simply, to love myself. We all have days where we feel crappy about ourselves or tied in knots about something. I always go back to my vows and make a real effort to act on them and move on.

My wedding night wasn’t sexy. I didn’t get carried over a threshold, have the wedding night sex, or have the romantic, "This is IT!" moment. But I danced all night with the people I love. And the next morning I woke up – a married woman. And it felt good.

Some people have called me 'a sad feminist', and on down days I think, 'Have I just made myself the most unavailable person ever?'

I’m not closing myself off from romance with another person. I haven’t signed up to be a nun. If someone comes along, great. But I’m on a man-diet of sorts. I’m saying to myself, "You don’t need to be treated badly, Sophie. You don’t need to spend your life waiting for the one. You’re already the one." I have faith that the right person will love me for that.

As told to Jo Deahl for BBC 5 Live, external.