Three weeks ago, Maya found me at midnight standing in the kitchen, holding a spoon, staring at the fridge. Not eating anything. Just standing there. She asked what I was doing, and I said, "Practising being married." She took the spoon out of my hand, turned off the light, and led me to bed. That's basically the whole story of us. Me, overthinking. Her, quietly fixing it.
So let me try to get some of this right tonight.
To everyone who travelled to be here — Nana Ruth, who informed us she'd only make the trip "if there was proper cake" — thank you. There is proper cake. You can relax now.
To my parents: everything I know about staying, you taught me by staying. Thirty-eight years, and Dad still opens the car door for Mum. I noticed. I always noticed.
And to Maya's mum and dad — you didn't just welcome me, you fed me. Constantly. I arrived as a boyfriend and somehow left every Sunday two kilos heavier and part of the family. Thank you for trusting me with her.
To my best man, Theo — we've been friends since we were seven, when you traded me your entire lunch for a conker. Terrible deal. You've been making terrible deals for me ever since, and I wouldn't have wanted anyone else standing beside me today.
Now. Maya.
People kept asking how I knew. And it wasn't the big things. It was the Tuesday I came home wrecked from work, and you'd already reorganised my chaos of a bookshelf by colour, "because your brain needed a rest even if you wouldn't admit it." It was you learning the names of my football team so you could pretend to be furious with me when we lost. It was every small, unasked-for kindness that added up to a life I didn't know I was allowed to want.
You make me braver than I am. You make the ordinary days feel like the good ones.
So here are my promises, simply. I'll keep noticing the small things, because that's where you live. I'll turn off the kitchen light when the overthinking starts. And whatever comes — the good, the hard, the gloriously boring — I'll choose this. I'll choose you. Every single time.
Everyone, please raise a glass. To Maya — my wife, my calm, my home.
To Maya.
Talk through your stories and we'll shape them into a heartfelt groom speech that's unmistakably yours — in minutes.
Make it mine →This speech works because it's genuinely personal. It avoids generic praise and instead tells specific stories that show who the person really is. That specificity is what moves a room.
At 397 words, it proves you don't need length to make an impact. Every line earns its place.
If you're not sure how to start your own version, it's often easier to talk your speech out first and shape it into a structured version. You can also explore our guide to writing a wedding speech for a step-by-step approach.
Talk through your stories and let Nail The Speech turn them into a groom speech that sounds like you.
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