In the immortal words of Anastacia, yes, they do.

But some things always stay the same.

It was 7:30am on my wedding day, and my best friend and I were hiding in a spider-infested kids' cubby in the backyard, wondering how long it would take my parents to find the knotted sheet dangling out our bedroom window and and realise that I had done a runner.

Two hours later, our butts were decidedly numb, the hair and makeup artists had arrived, and my other bridesmaids were happily getting dolled up. No one however, seemed to have noticed that there was in fact no bride in the house.

I made a mental note not to ever try a "let's-see-how-much-people-care-about-me" stunt like that again. I don't have the mental toughness for it.

Exactly a week later, I was wishing I really had done a runner, instead of just pretending and hiding in the backyard. Turns out co-habiting with someone else, even if it's someone you're fairly sure you love, is not that easy. It's hard not to feel like you're giving up a chunk of your identity.

And admittedly, I tend to be a bit gonzo when it comes to my identity. There was a time when it felt like the only thing I had.

Which led us to here. In a bid to do something that I felt was deeply associated with my own identity, I had convinced my new husband to join me on a relaxing horseride through the Sunshine Coast bushland.

When we turned up at the Trailriding Centre and found a mostly non-English speaking German backpacker (earning money for the next leg of his journey) trying to put the bridles on the horses upside down, I began to suspect that this operation might not have been entirely on the up and up.

An hour later, as I yelled "Holy crap!" and waved my arms about my head to beat back the latest tree my horse had deliberately walked over, I decided that no, this was definitely not one of those horseriding places that featured on shows like Getaway.

They say that trailride operators try to match horses to personalities. My horse was a stubborn beast that jagged his head up and down if I did anything that even suggested I might be trying to steer, and he also had a penchant for walking over ten-foot saplings so that he could scratch his belly on their trunks.

I gripped the saddle horn hard, grit my teeth, and willed myself to enjoy the ride. After all, it was my identity at stake, here.