Testimony of a Commitment Phobic

Last week, I was asked by a fellow commitment phobic why I am one as well. Since I'd had several margaritas at that point, I told him.

I told him about Nick, who cheated on me with a senior when he was a freshman and I was in 8th grade.

I told him about Jed, who read my emails for a year, read my journal, and looked up my phone calls without my knowledge, and later abandoned the cat we adopted together.

I told him about Tim, who couldn't stand up for himself and made me the villain. He's the one who's engaged to my coworker and still! neither of them have the guts to tell me so. When I see either of them again face to face, they'll be married.

I told him about Adam, who I really let in, really treated like a boyfriend, really was a good girlfriend to . . . and who dumped me after 4 months. He told me he had considered cheating on me to make it easier, and he told me he wished he could be proposing instead.

So yeah, I've been hurt. Each of these men broke my heart, and I'm not really that excited to take another chance. I am not so much of an idiot that I believe it will never happen again, and perhaps I'm only delaying the inevitable, but I have gone over a year without a heartbreak now. And it's been a good year, full of flirting and fun and friendships and martinis and vacations and time with the people who mean the most to me.

Sometimes I wish I could be like those other girls, the ones who actually have a "bride gene," who believe that their whole purpose in life is to meet the right guy, fall in love, get married, and have a family. Then I see people whose lives have been torn apart by divorce, cheating, financial co-depencency, custody battles, "irreconcilable differences," and just general relationship trauma. The worst are the folks who just aren't strong enough in their senses of self to move on and go it alone after a heartbreak. I just don't understand how someone can rely on another person for their ultimate happiness. It doesn't make sense to me.

Fifty percent of marriages end by divorce. I'm no math genius, but that's half. Would you invest your money in something that failed half of the time? Would you buy a car that only started half the time?

And OK . . . maybe it's because I haven't met the right guy. Maybe it's because I've met too many of the wrong ones. Maybe it's because I've seen what married men act like away from their wives. Maybe it's because I've had it with my snivelling, needy girlfriends. Maybe it's because I know my parents' 38 years together might not have been exactly what either of them wanted. Maybe I've lost faith in the dated, patriarchical institution that seems more like self-abandonment than "marriage." Maybe it's because I'm just scared of being that vulnerable to someone who could possibly mean the emotional chainsaw massacre of my heart.

But I know what I want. I know who I am, I know what makes me happy. I know what I want my long-term partnership to be like, and I know that someday it will happen.

In the meantime, I'm playing it safe. I'm playing it safe and making myself (that is, my SELF) strong . . . so when I choose to join my precious heart to another, it's the best heart it can be. And it will be strong enough to stand on its own, yet stand beside another heart, not because it needs another, but because it wants another.

And it's gonna be great.