My therapist loves "Jack."
I guess I should've mentioned at some point in the last couple of months that I have a therapist, but people get really weird about that sort of thing. And they look at you weird. And they talk to you weird. And they get nervous around you when someone brings up mental health during a dinner conversation.
To be clear, I am not less mentally healthy than anyone else I know. In fact, I think my therapist would argue that I'm actually fairly stable and healthy in the cerebral department. But I have one very large psychological flaw, and that is that I am a huge commitment-phobe.
I'm not exactly sure when it started. I always assumed that people with commitment problems were immature men, or women with daddy issues, and I'm neither. Definitely female. Probably too mature for my own good. And my father is one of my favorite people in all of the world. In fact, we had dinner together last night, just the two of us, soup and sandwiches at a restaurant near my house. It was so pleasant and reminded each of us why we're each other's favorite. Not that he's told me I'm his favorite, but my siblings and I have discussed it and come to agree that it's probably true. Then again, my name is never used as part of the Netflix password like some other siblings I know. So maybe not.
This whole therapy and commitment issues thing began a little more than two years ago, when I was dating a really nice lawyer. Things were perfect when we were together, but he was busy, and so over the course of our relationship, there was a lot of alone time for me to over-think things. After three months of exclusive but sporadic dating, I felt myself getting quiet and detaching emotionally, resenting the little effort he seemed to make in order to see me. We probably could've solved some of our problems with an honest heart-to-heart, but instead, I silently hoped and wished that he'd figure out what I was thinking and that things would magically resolve themselves. As I felt myself withdrawing, I contacted a friend's therapist and got on her schedule. I think we only met once before I broke up with him. He and I had just spent two hours at his apartment, eating a pasta dish I'd cooked and talking and laughing, and I broke up with him at the end of it. In hindsight, it doesn't make sense that I let him go after all that, but at this point, it really doesn't matter. I think he got married a couple of weeks ago, and I've moved on anyway.
Therapy was the best thing to come out of that relationship. My therapist and I spent the first year helping me to get to know myself better and encouraging me to be proud of who I am. Within the last year, we've worked on bigger-picture things: dating, career moves, personal challenges, house purchases, and the like. You know how girls in movies always have that aunt that they can tell anything and who always has the best advice? Well, I'm pretty sure my therapist is only like 35, but she's my super wise aunt. She is the only person I can be completely honest with, and she is my advocate in all things. Which is why, when she tells me not to break things off with "Jack," I know I'm letting my commitment issues get in the way of a good thing.
I told her the concerns I have about him, most of which I wrote about yesterday, and she listened to all of them. And then she said, "You haven't told me anything yet that actually worries me." Instead, she encouraged me to talk to him about some of the differences I'm worried about. I have to clarify for him what being Catholic actually means to me. What career ambitions mean to me. What drinking responsibly means to me. The good news is that he's really easy to talk to. We've already unloaded our fair share of confessions, and the two of us have been really open to respectfully hearing out the other person: our concerns, our insecurities, our passions. The bad news is that I'm a wimp, and I don't like putting myself out there.
She likes him because he likes me and he's respectful, and because I clearly like him. And because his weird obsession with nutrition and his love of alternative music/philosophy/world religion and his affinity for drinking when he goes out might just be the kind of thing I need in my life. To balance the hyper-responsible, sometimes uptight, mostly-mainstream woman that dominates my personality. As she said, "Maybe he can help you be more like the 'vacation you' that comes out every time you travel or play volleyball in Florida." If that's the case, he'd better watch out. Because vacation me is awesome.
So I don't know, maybe this relationship will last yet.
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