Writing Your Own Vows: What to Say When You Don't Know Where to Start

It's that time of year again. The days are getting longer, the paddocks are looking greener, and my inbox has quietly shifted from "are you free on our date?" to "Kathryn, we said we'd write our own vows and now we're both a bit terrified."

If that's you — sitting with a blank page and a wedding creeping closer — this one's for you.

Because here's the thing I tell every couple who rings me in a mild panic: you already know what you want to say. You've been saying it to each other for years, in kitchens and car rides and text messages. Writing your vows isn't about inventing something new. It's about noticing what's already true and putting it somewhere everyone can hear it.

The law only asks for one sentence

This is usually the first thing that takes the pressure off.

Under New Zealand law, the only words you're actually required to say are these: "I [name], take you [name], to be my legal wife or husband" — or words to similar effect. That's it. That's the whole legal requirement.

Everything else — every promise, every story, every terrible in-joke about whose turn it is to put the bins out — is entirely yours to choose. There is no template you're failing to live up to. There's just one sentence the law needs, and then a wide-open space that belongs to the two of you.

Start with a moment, not an adjective

The most common first draft I read goes something like: "You are my best friend, my rock, and my greatest supporter."

It's lovely. It's also true of a great many people. The trouble with adjectives is that they tell us how you feel without ever letting us feel it ourselves.

So try this instead. Don't tell me they're kind — tell me about the night you were sick and they drove to three different servos to find the right ginger beer. Don't tell me they make you laugh — tell me what you were both laughing at when you realised you were in trouble.

Specific beats poetic, every single time. The moments that get the biggest reaction in a ceremony are almost never the grand ones. They're the small, particular, slightly ridiculous ones that could only ever belong to you two.

Agree on the shape together, then write the words apart

Keep the words a surprise if you'd like to — that's part of the magic. But do have one honest conversation first, and agree on the shape.

How long, roughly? A minute each is plenty. Are we funny or are we serious, or a bit of both? Are we mentioning the kids, the dog, the ex-flatmate who introduced us? Are we saying "I promise" or "I vow"?

I've stood beside couples where one person delivered three heartfelt minutes and the other had written two sentences on the back of a receipt. Both were completely sincere. But you could feel the room doing the maths, and neither of them deserved that. Five minutes of planning saves it entirely.

Promise the small things

Big promises are easy to make and hard to picture. I'll love you forever is beautiful, and also slightly weightless.

The vows that land hardest are the ones people can actually see happening. I promise to keep making you a cup of tea you didn't ask for. I promise to take your side in public and argue with you in private. I promise to keep learning the names of all your cousins.

Those are the ones that get the laugh and the lump in the throat at the same time — because everyone sitting there knows that's what a marriage is actually made of.

Say them out loud, well before the day

Words behave differently in your mouth than they do on the page. Sentences that read beautifully can turn out to be unsayable, especially when you're emotional and your hands are shaking a little.

Read them aloud a week or two out. Read them to the dog, in the car, in the shower. You'll hear immediately which bits are yours and which bits you borrowed from the internet at 11pm.

And on the day — print them. Please, print them. Phones lock, screens glare in the sun, and a folded piece of paper has never once run out of battery. I always carry a spare copy of everything, but you'll feel steadier holding your own.

And if writing your own vows isn't for you — that's completely fine

I want to say this clearly, because some couples feel they've failed some sort of test.

Not everyone wants to stand in front of their people and read something they've written. Some of you would rather be present in the moment than performing from a page, and some of you simply don't enjoy writing — which is entirely allowed.

There are lovely alternatives. I can ask you questions and you answer them, so the vows unfold as a conversation. I can write them from the stories you've told me, in your words, and you simply repeat them after me. I can write two versions and you pick. A ceremony isn't less personal because I helped find the words — that's rather the whole job.

What matters is that when you say them, they sound like you.

One last thought

Your vows are the few minutes of the day that nobody else can supply. The venue can be gorgeous, the flowers can be perfect, the photos can be stunning — but this is the bit that's just yours.

So don't aim for impressive. Aim for true. Say the thing you'd feel silly saying anywhere else, and then say it anyway, because your favourite people have driven a long way to hear it.

If you're getting married in the Waikato this season — Morrinsville, Hamilton, Cambridge, Matamata or anywhere in between — and you'd like a hand with your vows, I'd genuinely love to help. No pressure and no hard sell, just a cuppa and a conversation about the two of you.

With aroha,

Kathryn x