pussy.
When she asked why I have trouble with commitment, I said, “Because I’m a pussy.”
Except I didn’t say pussy. I caught myself and used a woefully inadequate and slightly less offensive synonym.
“You’ve been hurt?” she asked.
Sure, I said.
Yes.
Well, who hasn’t been hurt? Pain is important for perspective.
I know I’m a pussy because six or seven years ago, I took an ex to task for being a pussy himself. He claimed he couldn’t be vulnerable. He said he’d been hurt, that he was too afraid to open up. To my ear then, it sounded like some sort of pick-up line — “I’ve been hurt. I can’t love.” Implied within: “Help me. I’m wounded.” I took him to task, unfairly, for being disingenuous. And I said, with a clenched jaw, that there’s no excuse for his games.
I was right about the games. I’m not sure if I were right about him being a pussy, but if that made him a pussy, then I’m a pussy.
It’s been years since I’ve had that sort of conversation with a significant someone, the emotionally crushing, all-night death throes where every nuance, every hitch, every clumsy conversation and quirk is rehearsed and dissected, as though all that arguing could somehow purge the negative baggage, and it never does.
(At some point, I just stopped arguing altogether. I just… stopped. Completely. It’s as though I’ve managed to exhaust all of my energy to argue, forever.)
Going back further still is my friend Sybil, who dated a French poet. And he, too, claimed he couldn’t be vulnerable because he’d been hurt. He also said this hurt made it impossible for him to date just one woman. Casanova-complex bullshit we’d said, as a couple of perpetually drunk twenty-year-olds who believed firmly that we understood all the delicate workings of human relationships. We were wise beyond our years, we thought, and when I think back on those memories, I wince.
But, sure. I’ve been hurt. I’ve been hurt by my own doing. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve opened up at the wrong times, to the wrong people, under the wrong circumstances, and I’ve been involved with the emotionally distant and the scary obsessed. I’ve been unable to reciprocate someone else’s love, and I’ve loved without reciprocation, and both situations have been crushing. I’m okay with that.
I don’t think it’s because I’ve been hurt.
This fear of commitment is more like a yawning expanse of existential dread. A fear of those exhausting, drawn-out arguments over meaningless minutiae. A fear of committing to someone, and then waking up with the realization that I don’t love them. Or that they don’t love me. Or that I’ve lost myself, who I was, who I wanted to be. It’s a fear of inertia. A deep, gut-wrenching, heart-stopping fear of inertia. That’s what I meant to say when she asked why I fear commitment. I meant to say, “Because I’m afraid that if I commit, I’ll lose my autonomy and disappear.” I called myself a pussy instead, except I didn’t use the word pussy.
I can be fearless to the point of stupidity and I have a reasonably high threshold for pain. But there’s fear there, under the lady-bravado. No question.
re: those agonizing late-night conversations, i used to have a rule – no “relationship” conversations after 10 pm. fuck, cuddle, or sleep. but no processing. at that point it’s just drama.
This post choked me up. So many great points and insights into who you are and even who I am. I’d have to say I’m committed. I’m married. But, being vulnerable is something else, entirely, and in my experience no good has ever ever come from those awkward, painful moments. I’m sure it’s me and not the fault of those around me, so I’m committed, but not committed, I guess, and probably never will be.
Commitment, vulnerability and independence can be three things that exist at the same time, I think, but it’s like the Holy Grail that few ever find.
I vigorously applaud your ability to maintain a strong sense of self. I’m standing on my chair holding a flicked bic. Seriously.
i wish i could eat your prose with a fork. there is something about how you simultaneously take responsibility, but also recognize your limitations that is awesome here. substantive. meaty. thanks.
Commitment should be scary. Signing on to a life, or a long-time or tomorrow is hard. People change and you have to change with them, agree to accept the mistakes they haven’t yet made in addition to the ones they made with you already. Agree to believe in them, forecast the future life and its joys and burdens and weigh this against the one you would have on your own. These are hard tasks and we get very few chances to get them right. Failure can be devastating.
That said, given in to these fears in the long run prevents you from seeing some human truth; part of what makes us special is giving part ourselves over to a union, that, when healthy, is so much stronger and more special than what any of us can build on our own. Something that often doesn’t happen, and might not be worth the risk, but is special enough that you can still see the spark in some couples that have been together for decades… just as you can see newlyweds falling apart just weeks post-nuptials.
However.
The fear is telling you something, and its nothing to be shamed of, nothing that makes you a “pussy”; it tells you that these decisions are important, and important to you, and to take care in making them. After all, done correctly, you only commit once.
But that’s just my take.
I understand this completely.
Yes on not using hurt as an excuse.
Being hurt comes with the territory. We become our own worst enemies by allowing that to stop us from chasing flames again.
I think the fear of losing oneself matters more. You strike me as someone who keeps changing. As someone who knows herself very well, but has no idea who she will grow into later.
But perhaps, I am projecting. The sentences above describe me, and I want to think we have some similarities so I could use you for inspiration.
So you be the judge of the accuracy of my statements as they relate to you.
Nonetheless, when you are committed to somebody, you have to change together. You no longer have the freedom to evolve just as you please, you have this other person to consider.
I suppose it is possible to give each other room to grow. But that strikes me as what a good friendship is about: support, understanding, acceptance, and a certain amount of distance. Commitment to me means there is very little distance. And for somebody like me who is so used to solitude, to being on her own and not belonging that it scary.
On the other hand, I have one committed relationship where we total soulmates and almost enmeshed with each other. But it is not a sexual relationship. And I’ve known her for 25 years: that was enough time to go through and resolve tensions and learn how to manage commitment. Also, it wasn’t like either of us really ever had a choice to end it. We were stuck together, and that made us work on it.
Wow, this is almost too deep – I’m tempted to go back to the kiddie pool. But I agree with Thais above that the fear of losing yourself is the hardest part, at least for me. Married almost 19 years, I find myself blaming any ‘loss of self’ on my wife instead of myself, and its not fair.
And I submit that having those hard convos (whether late at night or earlier) is better than not having them: assuming you know what someone is feeling and why, just because you’ve been together a long time, can kill (or permanently injure) a relationship. The trick is to avoid having the same fights over and over again – and that’s really hard.
Here’s my recurring real-life nightmare, and I think its common: the old ‘ball and chain’ ref many of us men use towards our wives is because we’ve allowed them to become a mother figure. Housekeeping duties, mothering the kids and taking care of me more than I take care of her, etc. leads to me taking her for granted. Meanwhile, she takes my paycheck, help around the house and occasional night out for granted too. And the daily/weekly/monthly grind of 16 hour days of on-call duties takes it toll. That last ‘free’ hour or 2 every night we spend reading our own mags, watching tv or sometimes talking or fucking (rarely!)
Flipping on the romance switch is as hard for me as it is for her, but for different reasons. In fact, men only do the romance thing to get to the sex, whereas its the opposite for most married women – sad. That is, I tend to underestimate my wife’s need for emotional intimacy – and ‘putting her on a pedastal’ – almost as much as she underestimates my need to feel desired sexually more often than twice per month. Hence the reason I frequent these sex blogs and porn sites – it fulfills the one area she is not, at least as often as I’d like. I’ve managed to avoid infidelity so far – but came close once – and I resent her getting pissed at the porn thing (due to her moral/religious background). But hey, it keeps me away from those expensive hookers, ya know?
Have I mentioned this to her? Of course, about a 1,000 times, and she counters with the tired/stressed/unhappy excuse, and then the ‘you need to help me more around here’ part. To which I say, ‘give me a list’, she says ‘you should know better, you’re not a child’, and…repeat. We maintain an uneasy truce and just muddle through.
Sorry to be so long here. I guess I’m just trying to say marriage – or any long term committment – is hard, and you’re bound to lose a big part of yourself at some point. The question is, do you have enough of yourself left to enjoy life, and do the benefits (i.e. happy kids, social status/mutual friends, etc) of the relationship outweigh the partial loss of freedom? I have answered yes for 19 years, but I keep asking myself. And I’m sure my wife does too….
hehehe – I like how its says ‘blackdog on pussy’ under Recent Comments…
Strong word commitment. The problem is that commitment is almost always associated with one person making a commitment to another person, that is where the problem lies.
First make a commitment to yourself not to the other person. Second, and I have to disagree with a comment above, it is not necessary to make changes ‘together’, changes can be made individually. People loose their individuality a lot of times when they commit to a relationship, this is ‘bad medicine’. Be who you are and grow as you see fit to grow within the context of the relationship, but never stop growing. After all it’s not about finding the perfect person, it’s about being able to see an imperfect person perfectly.
A fear of committing to someone, and then waking up with the realization that I don’t love them. Or that they don’t love me. Or that I’ve lost myself, who I was, who I wanted to be… That’s what I meant to say when she asked why I fear commitment. I meant to say, “Because I’m afraid that if I commit, I’ll lose my autonomy and disappear.”
I couldn’t agree more.
I’m grateful to be of an age where it’s pardonable.
d, hopefully you can smile once in awhile.
I think I’ll put this post in the sidebar, maybe along with the fucktoyism (rape-ish) post, because the comments are really great.
I feel like i want to re-read both the post and all the comments. it all smells of so much more richness than i know i’ve taken from it yet, but i did have this thought today, D., while i was out and about.
1 – the first thought i had when i read you this morning was “is there some assumption ‘commitment’ is a good thing, i.e. if one doesn’t want it….we need some explanation or diagnosis, e.g. fear of commitment?”
2 – in truth, we are all, always, committed. the work is to be aware of what one is committed to, e.g. freedom, autonomy, growth, or being unchallenged in one’s thinking, not feeling a particular emotion, etc. there is no such thing as not being committed.
now i have to pack for DC.
Wouldn’t it just rock-n-roll if someone said “I cannot commit or be vulnerable because I’ve been hurt”, and then we’d all turn around and walk away? I think it was Maya Angelou who first said, “when someone tells you who they are, believe them”. I remember after uncontrollably falling in lust with him thinking, “he told me, God damn it” … He called himself “relationship challenged”, told me he’d never told a girl he’d loved her, etc. etc. I still allowed him to seduce me, slowly until I didn’t know where my head was half the time.
That was nine years ago. Last night I flew through New York from Paris and he met me there. The first full night of amorous desire with him since November and I needed it. He loves me, and now, after all this time tells me he loves me. I’ve decided, after last night of course, that we are perfect for each other.
It takes two. One doesn’t get involved with someone who has commitment issues if they themselves don’t have some of the same tendencies. But, yes, I’ve had it both ways, as well. I’ve run pretty fast from men who are capable and have suffered unrequited love. You are right, Ms Debauchette, they both suck, but remember to ask yourself what the pay off is, because that’s where your answer is … and it’s always there when you’re ready to look.
fear means you have something to lose?
fear and excitement are the same thing?
change is scary?
space is a hard thing to negotiate?
i dunno, all i have are cliches :)
I gotta admit I’m a little amused (but not amazed tho) at your fear. I’m almost reminded of the nature vs nurture argument from Eddie Murphy’s and Dan Aykroyd’s “Trading Places” movie. Was it environment or circumstances?
The problem with commitment which I’ve seen is it becomes routine. And predictable. And boring. And safe. And then life speeds ahead on cruise control.
Another person I know is the exact opposite. For her, it’s all about the ring and commitment but not necessarily complete monogomy (girlfriend). She passed the sportfucking phase and didn’t look back.
But then again what do I know, I was born at a very early age.
Ahh commitment…when one is smitten and getting great sex …it is all too easy to become confused and start making assumptions…the first is that you are getting more pleasure than the other SO…you feel you have to OFFER something in return. Reciprocity appears to be hard wired into humans according to studies of humans and even primates…and what do you offer…well …then one tends to want more sex…(self interest) …so you dress it up as “offering” a longer term relationship because you want the good times (sex) to keep rolling”… but don’t want to phrase it that way so you try to provide a socially acceptable approach of various…pick one…going steady/living together/engagement/marriage. So then you get into all the compromises and “ownership” issues of trying to have your partners sexual energy all to oneself. Which of course is crap, as with modern birth control it’s not as if men have to guard the portal so to speak or risk raising some other male’s offspring. Frankly if I wanted to have a family again I would probably have my partner go do just that…as I had a vasectomy a long time ago and my wee wrigglers have been swimming in circles ever since.
Anyway (I tend to digress) …my current sex partner insists on NSA sex …frank admission here… I initially thought was unfair to her…but then I started to see the wisdom of her stance…(sorry just pictured her stance in a bustier with a feather boa )…so boundaries do lead to more joyful and creative sex …at least it does for our relationship…and I think you can use the term relationship as it is clearly defined unlike the traditional…”you married me so you have to get along with Aunt Agnes” sort of stretchy boundaries to include whatever your spouse feels like.
Excellent writing, seriously. Just the kinda style I like :-) Cheers!
Commitment doesn’t have to mean a loss of self or a death to growth, even though it often does.
After a nearly fatal first marriage, I was given a miraculous second chance.
I’ve watched my beautiful, smart, soulful wife grow into what she always (secretly) wanted to be – a writer. At times it felt like I was running to keep up and sometimes it was hard to be supportive.
She watched for 8 years as I lived out my unfulfilled adolescent fantasy of being a working, touring musician. At times it felt like she was left behind and sometimes it was nearly impossible for her to be supportive.
Both of us have blossomed, we have vibrant and fulfilling work and we adore each other more now than we did when we met 13 years ago. We don’t have endless, mind-numbing arguments over minutia and we don’t beat each other up for our very human failings.
And you’re right, there are big risks and a lot of fear involved. Both of us had to make our own leap of faith to get here. The dread for her of making that leap was nearly debilitating. Her fear of leaving her safe and comfortable preconceptions for the great unknown was almost too much.
RIsking what is safe and comfortable, even if that safe and comfortable is your existential dread of inertia and your fear of commitment, isn’t kid stuff. It’s hard. It’s scary. And there is no guarantee that it will work out.
But if it does work out, it’s worth it.
Watching my wife grow into who she wants to be is more fulfilling than anything I could have ever imagined. She is her own masterpiece-in-progress and I have a front row seat.
I’m sure I sound like a new-agey, preachy, self-righteous wanker and I apologize for that. I certainly don’t mean to come across that way.
You write well. I enjoy your blog and your honesty. I found your blog through gawker. I hope everything is settling down for you after all that.
“But, sure. I’ve been hurt. I’ve been hurt by my own doing. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve opened up at the wrong times, to the wrong people, under the wrong circumstances, and I’ve been involved with the emotionally distant and the scary obsessed. I’ve been unable to reciprocate someone else’s love, and I’ve loved without reciprocation, and both situations have been crushing. I’m okay with that.”
What an amazing paragraph.