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On Making Commitments (Lesson 29)

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Turns out, I’m afraid of commitment!

But not the sort we usually mean when we toss around the phrase “commitment-phobe.”

If anything, I’m too eager for the kind of commitment that involves long-term partnership and till-death-do-us-part.

But when it comes to myself?

There are a few leaps I could stand to take.

“Commitment is the matter from which miracles are made.”

The way Katherine describes commitment, it goes hand in hand with a leap of faith.

True commitment is not about a sure bet or a guarantee. It’s about a fierce devotion that makes way for possibility.

Because as tempting as it is to play it safe, “there is a certain synchronicity that reserves itself for when one makes a wholehearted investment of oneself that simply cannot be foreseen.”

And according to Katherine, “everything of substance you will ever have to offer to anyone else in this lifetime begins with a commitment to yourself.”

Especially for “those of us who had less than ideal parenting where the ability of our caregivers to commit to our happiness and well-being was somewhat limited or compromised.

I am committed to my happiness and well-being

One of the more uncomfortable parts of this whole Calling It In process has been observing how effectively my parents failed me.

It’s hard for me not to associate failure with blame. And I since I don’t want to blame my parents, it is hard for me to call out their failures.

But what if failure is part of the plan? Because the more I talk to spirit guides, the more I think it is. And that means my parents did not do anything wrong.

Just like everyone else, they did their best. And just like everyone else, I am responsible for making my life better.

So, yes, internet, my parents made some mistakes. They did not, in fact, provide me with a consistent sense of emotional support security.

And according to my therapist, this has likely led to some attachment issues: I so very dearly want someone human to hold on to.

Which is not wrong. In fact, it is good and normal to desire a secure attachment to others.

It’s just that before I seek unwavering commitment from someone else—especially someone else in an intimate context—I need to be sure I am offering it fully to myself.

Finally, I see: letting go of Paul means committing to me

I completely underestimated the impact that seeing Paul would have on me.

I honestly thought that if I came from a grounded place of peace, all would be well.

And, I mean, all is well.

But Saturday night, I didn’t exactly come from a grounded place of peace (more like a place of caffeine-fueled anxiety and bravado).

And yesterday was hell.

I felt oddly hungover and unbearably depressed. Reviewing old journals and reflecting from my bed, I processed the separation with Paul all over again.

Except, I don’t think it is appropriate to keep calling it a separation.

Paul and I are broken up.

Will we get back together? Who knows! But I absolutely cannot continue to care.

Seeing his body yet not connecting to his spirit was deeply distressing. It felt WRONG. Yet we both acted happy, which means at least one of us was lying. (That’d be me.)

I don’t want to be a liar in any relationship. And what I witnessed that evening, both from myself and from him, was painful to see.

But also, I do see more clearly.

So in a very uncomfortable way, Saturday night was exactly what I needed to destroy any lingering illusions.

(Om Namah Shivaya FTW, indeed.)

And as a direct consequence, for maybe the first time in ever, I am fully focused on me.

Lesson 29 in practice

I already know—and you probably do, too—that you cannot give away what you do not have.

If you don’t deeply love yourself, good luck truly loving somebody else.

And if you are starving, how can you feed another?

Still, I have never explicitly considered this concept in terms of commitment.

So I made an internal inquiry: What commitments I am expecting from others that I have not made to myself?

Turns out, I’m mostly doing pretty well. I don’t expect someone else to feed me or clean my house. (And that is actually progress, LOL.)

I don’t expect anyone but me to pay my bills or buy my clothes. I don’t even expect anyone else to love me unconditionally. (Well, except god, but, that’s thankfully a given.)

But something WAS missing: I’ve been wanting someone else to believe in me.

Rather than take the full leap of declaring the indisputable value of my talents, my business, and my decision to follow my heart, I have wanted assurance from others.

At some level, when I took the plunge to quit my job in August, I actually was counting on Paul to help me carry the commitment I was ostensibly making to myself.

Oops.

That was a sincere mistake, and I am sorry for it.

And in a weird way, I am quite grateful to Paul for rejecting my unspoken expectation. It was not his job to emotionally support me through this challenging transition.

Don’t get me wrong—I do think that, in general, it is appropriate to expect it emotional support from a partner during a challenging transition.

But Paul had specifically told me, many times in many ways, that he was not prepared to help shoulder my burdens. He was very honest with me—about his love for me, yes, but also about his (un)availability.

And I chose to hear only part of what he was saying in those last few months, in part because I was so afraid to commit to myself alone.

I am not committed to myself by myself

But here’s the cool thing: I can commit to myself without being alone.

Partner or no, I have all the support I could ever need, and that starts with an unwavering commitment to my own success.

And it is heartening to realize that in fully releasing Paul, I am also fully freeing myself.

I get to stand on my own two feet and claim 100% whatever I create. It’s not that I will succeed without help from others—I definitely need a lot of that, and I am already asking for it.

But I do not need the vote of approval from a parent or partner before I proceed.

And for me, that’s a commitment to being freed.

Love > fear,

Christina

Want to know what happens next? Proceed to Chapter 30.

Missed what happened before? Go back to Chapter 28, or start from the beginning.

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Love > fear