The Wrong Kind Of Commitment Issues

When I first admitted out loud to believing I suffered from a fear of commitment, the first immediate question from a coworker was, ‘What has been your longest relationship?’  Then inevitably came that awkward reveal of being in a dedicated five year relationship that actually comes up shy on my prior dating history of a whooping seven years. Committing myself to one person in total monogamy bliss has never been a problem for me. Sam is deeply intelligent, caring, ambitious and so charismatic that I look like a hobbit or general recluse next to him.  He is great at jeopardy, knows a bit of everything and is completely useless when it comes to closing cupboard doors after himself or putting empty glasses in the sink instead of stock piling them on the coffee table. I love him and look forward to a future with him. A couple years ago we tentatively talked about moving in together, a year ago we seriously discussed it, the past few months we have casually hatched out our plan of action and in the last week we’ve looked at places, figured out finances and applied for a two bedroom rental in a four floor walk-up in the Village.

If you plug ‘Commitment issues’ into google, the results on the top of the page are, “8 ways to know you’re dating a guy with commitment issues” and “How I ditched my commitment issues…by snooping”. So clearly I’m not in the hip loop when it comes to commitment conundrums. When I reveal my relationship status to people they immediately disregard my fear because it’s not the ‘right’ sort of commitment-phobia. It’s not juicy or worthy of Cosmo and it’s actually more confusing than I gave it credit for when I first jokingly labelled myself with it. But I see it slipping into every aspect of my life and I feel it robbing me of the happiness that I shouldn’t be limiting.

The small commitments I keep this year, like maintaining a tidier home or blogging daily, are stepping stones for the larger ones that can only happen when I start appreciating myself. I’ve never committed to myself because there’s always so much more to be doing. I don’t commit to big ideas or dreams because it feels almost ‘too good to be true’ or too unrealistic. I suppose it’s why I have reservations about moving in with Sam – I will happily, and readily concede to a forever with him but if it happens it’s almost too good of a thing. To commit to living with him means I commit to my hopes for our future together. It’s a strange kind of commitment fear, but it’s a fear nonetheless.

Cheers to a year of keeping track.

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