Why are we afraid of commitment?

For all the commitment-phobe men I have cursed, it has recently dawned on me that I am essentially one of them. In keeping with the theme of my last blog post, where I discuss actually committing to a career, I realize this feels like such a big step because I have focused on keeping my options open. This is the ultimate embodiment of the Sylvia Plath fig tree metaphor—on polyploidy steroids. I spent my twenties job-hopping, changing roles and industries every couple of years. This was mirrored by my moves from one apartment to the next every 1–2 years. I have hired movers more frequently than I’ve been in relationships. I’ve only been in one long-term, committed relationship when I was in my early twenties and have essentially been single for a decade—yikes, that sounds even worse when I type it out.

Today, I learned about a big financial decision that my parents made that was a bad decision both for them and their ability to ensure intergenerational wealth. I’m not talking about a few thousand dollars here and there, but a seven-figure mistake. It’s hard not to think about the what-ifs… and it’s hard not to be frustrated, annoyed, and in some ways, guilty. If I had better financial education, could I have helped them choose a better path? This is a moment to remind myself that it is my parents’ first time living, as well as mine. Especially given that my dad is a self-made immigrant who came to this country with nothing and no English at the age of seventeen, he’s done incredibly well for himself. Maybe that’s why seeing him squander the fruits of his labor is even more upsetting—because I know how hard he had to work and how much he had to sacrifice to get there in the first place.

Living with my parents has naturally given me more insight into their financial decisions—both big and small. My mom is the frugal saver, and my dad is the generous spender. As I pick up more information, it’s natural to want to learn from their situation and avoid choices that seem like bad ones in their aftermath. I’m slowly starting to piece together why I have always had so much fear about committing to anything. It’s largely driven by the desire to avoid mistakes that I’ve seen play out in front of me. I think I’ve seen it as a way to keep my options open and ensure I don’t make any drastic, life-altering decisions that I might one day regret.

One example where I didn’t even realize the extent to which this was affecting me has been in my house search. As crazy dedicated as I had been about looking for a house—having gotten my real estate license to save on commission costs and touring 70+ homes—I’m realizing the entire process was driven by all the wrong things. I was not approaching buying a house from a place of excitement and abundance, but trying to do what you’re supposed to do without it feeling like a financial disaster. My parents bought their home at the peak before the financial crisis in 2008, and in over 20 years, it essentially hasn’t appreciated at all if you include the hefty renovation costs they paid. Even though my dad retired a few years ago, they are still paying off their mortgage. When I think about what the equivalent down payment would be worth if that money had been invested in the stock market, it really makes me think twice about buying a home. As I previously shared, I did put in three offers while I was looking, and every time I did, I just felt so anxious—and for at least two of the homes, I was relieved when my offers were not accepted. Yes, part of me doesn’t want to commit to a 30-year mortgage, but a bigger part of me is concerned about making a big financial mistake. It definitely was the right decision to put the house hunt on hold—both for logistical reasons and to work on all the conflicting feelings I have about buying and owning a home.

At the same time, this house has been their home for the last two decades—it’s the place they’ve spent the most time. It provided the excellent schools that my sister and I attended. It’s where we sheltered in place during the COVID-19 pandemic. They’ve hosted many wonderful parties here, and my dad gets so much joy from working on his garden. As much risk and downside as commitments can result in, not committing comes with the downside of not having been fully in something and experiencing the highs that come along with the lows. You have to be on the rollercoaster to enjoy the ups and the downs. If you’re always watching from the sidelines, you won’t really know what it’s like.

There’s clearly still a lot to process and work through here. I’m recognizing that so much of the same commitment-phobic energy and patterns are showing up across multiple facets of my life, even though they probably stem from the same basic fear of not wanting to make high-stakes mistakes. This is the perfect opportunity to remind ourselves that it’s our first time here on planet Earth, and that we won’t get things right all the time—and that it’s okay if we make choices at one point that no longer fit where we are. In some ways, being cautious has been beneficial and improved my decision-making, but in other ways, it has probably held me back. They say that the first step is awareness, so now comes the hard part of using what I know to do better.