If I might say so myself, I'm good at a simcha. I really do give the Ushavtem Mayim my all, often demonstrated by the sweat beads rolling down my face, but then I'd much rather be shvitz than nisht (which is something I might get printed on novelty sweatbands).

So I was very much looking forward to my first simcha of the year, celebrating a much loved cousin's barmitzvah. Being the first barmitzvah I've attended as an adult guest, I inevitably felt old but also conversely relieved that I am no longer 13. You couldn't pay me to relive that era of hormonal angst.

Another way in which this celebration made me feel like a proper grown-up was the fact that it was the first one I attended as a bona fide, ring-on-finger, chair-lifted, honeymooned wife.

Not yet married six months, we were, understandably, asked the question most appropriate for newly weds: "how's married life?" Like a lot of couples today, we had lived together before we got married (rest assured, I've not scandalised my grandmas with this admission. I was, after all, following a great aunt's advice "to try before you buy") so it is a tricky question to answer as, on the surface, it feels pretty similar to life before the wedding. I found myself responding with a quip about the one fight we had over taking out the bins, which I figure makes us officially, or at least stereotypically, married. Then I changed the subject because that's all I've got.

But in reflecting on what was a truly wonderful weekend, full of joy, fun and real warmth, I realise I've got more. And that's thanks to the hat I wore to shul. Or at least I think it was a hat. It wasn't quite a fascinator, it had a band and some smoosh on it, which I think is a technical term.

As you might be able to detect, I'm new to this hat game. So new that the lovely man in the shop had to talk me through how to wear it (and if you think it's just a matter of putting it on your head, think again) which I promptly forgot as I walked into shul. It wasn't really comfortable, due to my abnormally large head. My husband wasn't best impressed (I could tell by his expression - he is too clever to actually articulate that sort of opinion) and, it transpired, it wasn't actually mandatory for the shul I was attending. But I loved wearing it all the same.

As I sat there with a sore head and watched my new husband wear his tallit that I had bought for him to wear under our chuppah, I felt proud. I'm pretty sure the two of us wearing those things should technically have a more spiritual significance but, for me, I felt I was wearing a hat because I am his and he was wearing that tallit because he is mine.

I am still my own woman and he is very much his own man and what's become clear to me in these first months is that marriage is less about owning and more about belonging. We are a team, taking on what life throws at us together and wearing those items in shul is like putting on your team's kit. Maybe this is just the honeymoon period talking and as I get older the hats and/or the marriage might give me more of a headache. But for now I'll wear my hat with pride. Hey… maybe I'll wear it when it's my turn to take out the bins.

Abigail Radnor is Commissioning Editor of Guardian Weekend