It wasn’t a relationship until we’d been dating for four months.

I need to take my time with this he said. I can't rush into things like I normally do.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard words of this kind. Both from others and from myself. Were they genuine, though? Could I trust them? Where would this lead us three, six, 12 months down the road?

There was many a time they'd been said, me nodding along furiously, making myself so elastic in order to accommodate their precious space.

Totally!!!! I'd trill. I sooooo get the need to work on one's self.

Let me let you do that. Let me let you do that, so much so, I lose myself in the process. Except, this is the only self I know, the one that finds safety and worth in molding to others. So I'm gonna do it anyway. Will you like me more if I do? I'm so sure you will.

The last time these words were uttered to me were by my fiancé, a few weeks into our courtship. As before, sexual exclusivity wasn't the issue. It was the label. 35 at the time, I had a new vantage point. As if looking down upon us, two souls who'd crossed paths, who couldn't bare to not drink one another up on the daily— at present— what was really going on? Was it true it was just about labels when we were spending five our of seven nights a week together, making meals, walking our dogs, getting up to work? Or was he full of shit?

James and I met seven months out from his own crash, boom landing. One of those, “We were slated to get married, and then we weren't" situations. He was still hurting, very much so. And up until me, mostly nursing his wounds in running everyday (so much so he now has a knee injury) and sleeping around (he'd tell you just as much).

Was I fool to entertain this? I knew he was in therapy. I knew he'd been there for a while. The conversations we had, of his family, of his past relationships, of his faults and flaws showed depth and self awareness. But was it enough? Could I reach far enough into the future to know I wouldn't be one of the women to which he said, “I can't do this.”

I couldn't.

It was an active decision on my part, to take that risk. I knew it was a risk. I had no idea. I had a strong feeling we'd grow together, but I couldn't be entirely sure. I didn't risk it because I felt like I had to settle. Or didn't have options. Or couldn't live without him. Or that I didn't think I could feel this way about someone again (I can). I risked it, because I knew I could pick myself. I knew if the whole thing went up in flames a few months down the road that it would hurt like hell, but that I'd be ok. I knew I could entertain this, while not losing myself in the process. And so in that way, it was a choice, not an obligation.

But every time before that? Every other man or scenario I entertained because they needed space or they were working on themselves? It absolutely came at my own self sacrifice. It also came with the hope (the prayer!) that me doing so would change them. Would make them want to commit to me. Even when I told myself, “I'm not doing it for that reason,” I absolutely was. And in so doing, was absolutely lying to myself.

A reader, follower, podcast listener recently dropped into my DMs. She outlined a similar spot. “We're three months in. He came in strong. He initiated everything. And now, he has commitment issues. I want a relationship. Which way do I go?”

Much like a child burning their hand on the stove, you have to go enough times in the wrong direction, the one where you (your energy, your well being, your heart) become collateral damage, to know when you're doing it again. To know when your mouth is motioning, “It's fine,” but your heart is uttering, “Here we fucking go again.” You also have to understand why you have the propensity to do this in the first place.

I find we generally seek outside opinion when we don't like the truth that's arising within ourselves. When we know something or someone isn't right for us, but the pain of that reality is too much to bear. So we poll our friends, we type run on sentences into Google, we ruminate endlessly, hoping a different permutation of what we're feeling will come through. And all the while, we go along with the other person's wishes and needs. We do so until the delta between their needs and our emotional landscape becomes so great, we break. We can't possibly go on. We need our oxygen mask back. And the pain of all THAT is worse than losing them. Because in truth, we never had them. But now we've lost ourselves.

More and more in my coaching, I'm flipping the whole damn thing. I'm bringing the person back to themselves, over and over again. Because they don't need me to tell them what's right. They need to develop a relationship with themselves such that that self trust thrives. Such that when those difficult truths arise (because relationship or not, they don't ever stop) they're able to take a step back and a big deep breath and say, “Okay. This is what's here.” And then, holding their own hand and their own heart, decide how to integrate that truth into their life.