The Truth About Commitment Issues
Who doesn’t daydream of a horse-drawn carriage pulling you through a picturesque snowy Central Park with the person of your dreams?

The answer is me. Yes, I will admit it was a sad day in my household when my mother realized this. She was folding laundry while I was suffering through yet another episode of Say Yes to the Dress. I agreed to watch it if only to get out of another Hallmark Christmas movie in October.

“You really don’t think that’s romantic?” She asked me as a fabric softener sheet floated off the towel onto our pale wood floors. I looked up at her, my brain in full panic-mode as it tried to find a tender and honest way to break her heart before my mouth did.

“While you see romance, all I see is the potential for frostbite behind a horse I hope hasn’t eaten beans for dinner.” Well, I guess my brain lost this one. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a stack of towels in silent frustration. “Take your clothes to your room.” And that was that.

It wouldn’t be long before I realized something that most people spend half their lives denying: I had commitment issues. When did I first realize this? Well, I’m glad you asked.

I was all of fifteen; I had a perfect GPA, a cute little Kia, and no clue as to how romance worked. And then, we met.

I decided to audition for a play, and so did the boy who was about to become my best friend, and first love. I can’t honestly remember what the first meeting felt like, I just remember that every time we were together, it felt easy and right. We knew one another for about a year before he finally broke up with his girlfriend and tried to pursue something with me.

Everything I had ever wanted romantically was right in front of me, and so naturally, I ran away faster than our cross country team. I couldn’t explain it at the time, I just knew that whatever I was feeling was freaking me out. My stomach felt knotted, my anxiety was high, and for the first time ever I found that I couldn’t return his direct gaze. Here was someone who wanted to be all up in my personal space, and I felt exposed and under-prepared for the amount of vulnerability it would take to actually date someone. What if he wanted to kiss me? What if he wanted to hold my hand and it was all sweaty because it’s hot out?

What if he liked watching horses’ asses while riding in a carriage through sub-zero temperatures in Central Park!??

Some things can just never be un-thought.

We would go back and forth like this for years: He would date someone, they would break up, he would pursue me, I would run, he would leave, I would feel bad and apologize, then he would apologize, and the cycle would begin again. The universe found strange humor in bringing us back together when we were too stubborn to complete the cycle. For example, I made friends with a girl in college who ended up dating *drum roll* my ex-best friend.

The first real betrayal I felt, however, wouldn’t come until college. He had gone up north with his girlfriend at the time to finish his BA. I remember being on the phone with him one night, my heartbreaking as I told him I felt like he had abandoned me, while he just kept yelling, ‘Why!?” I know he wanted more, he wanted me to say because I love you, and honestly, I wanted to say it, too.

But that’s not how this game works.

Even though he was my best friend, and even though it sounds weird, there was a comfort in the fact that he was dating someone else. I didn’t have to step into the unknown. I didn’t have to try new things. I didn’t have to risk having my heart broken. All I wanted, was everything I had. The more was only a tiny calling — a request to give in and let someone see the fragile bits of me I kept tucked away out of sight — but I shoved it down because I wasn’t ready to be in a place to give him more.

He got even with me by inviting me to dinner when he came home one college break. I sat across from him and his girlfriend, awkwardly, as she proudly stated, “we’re engaged!” My stomach dropped, and I could feel him staring at me to gauge my reaction. It shouldn’t have hurt, because he had also been engaged to his girlfriend in high school (does that even really count?), but it did. “I thought we were best friends? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” I felt blindsided, and he knew it. His response hit like a whip, “Why do you care?”

When anger meets pain the result is often irreparable.

It’s like stepping on a seashell with the force needed to crack a brick. And honestly, how do you come back from that?

One day, I would get THE call, from him. “I ended things because I realized I just want to be with you.”

Somewhere, my mother is rejoicing.

“I don’t think that's what I want anymore,” I said quietly.

Somewhere, my mother is cursing.

Of course, it didn’t go that smoothly. OH NO. I was barely in my twenties and not quite so articulate. I had started to move on, and I realized there were other people, other “types,” in the world. And honestly, I couldn’t help but think about the last two women he had dated and proposed to. Those same women he had told, “I love you, let’s be together forever.” My heart wasn’t safe, and so I shut him out because I felt cornered again; and he did what any other totally logical person would do, and married the next women he met. I wasn’t surprised, and about a year or two later they divorced.

We would meet one more time before all was said and done, and it would not be so forgiving.

It was a few years after his divorce. I was going through a lot — emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. Another ego death, as they say in the spiritual world. A quarter-life crisis, I say, in the “small town where people have five kids by my age” world. Naturally, I reached out to my best friend, thinking he would show up for me in the same way the universe seemed to always have me showing up for him. Man, was I wrong.

In retrospect, I can empathize. Rejection is the hardest thing anyone can face, and he had heard no from me for over ten years. All I had wanted, and all I had needed, was to feel safe. But how do you express that at fifteen? When we connected this time, I was met with the feeling that he was OVER-THE-MOON that I was in a terrible place.

It was DEVASTATING. I wasn’t perfect, and I had my share of the blame, but I truly believed I was always there for him when he needed me. I was the one who had always been making amends and bringing us back together. For someone who loved me so much, it seemed odd that he never had a problem walking away for good. I had always put our friendship first, but it wasn’t the same for him, and suddenly — it clicked.

Bleeding hearts are only good for a coroner, right?

I think it took all this heartache for me to understand that a fear of commitment is just a fancy way of saying, “I’m afraid to be hurt.” Once I realized that, I understood that I didn’t have to chase anyone or anything to feel loved and whole. I was worth being found. I was worth being kind, patient, and understanding, too.

Some people can throw their hearts into the ring without a second thought, and ride the bull 500 times until they win something or break their back. Others stare at the edge of the pool with only their pinkie toe dipped in waiting for someone to offer to sit on the edge with them while they acclimate and find their own pace into the water.

If love was a physical place, it would be my own personal and deepest circle of hell, because it’s the place where I have to let every wall down and let someone see me exactly as I am. And yet, how terrifying and exciting can it all be at once when you’ve found the right person to share it with? You say I love you, and I say well…Sh*t. Because odds are, I love you too. I just haven’t learned yet how to be okay with it.

My heart is a seashell, and you might be wearing brick-cracking shoes.

But that doesn’t mean we shouldn't still try. I might be a slow starter out of the gate, but every day I’m learning how to run. Every day I am realizing that no one can love you more than you can love yourself. I no longer believe that a fear of commitment is what holds us back; instead, I think it has more to do with our fear of being looked at and not looked through.

I don’t need someone to complete me, I just need someone to see me.

And when they do, maybe then it won’t seem so bad to sit with them in the cold behind some random horse’s ass.

After all, it’s what my mother’s always wanted.
['Ariel Barrios']
['Love', 'Self Improvement']