As I jumped from one man to the next, the end result was always the same. I’d settle into a relationship, only to be left feeling trapped and imprisoned by my partner. I would always end up looking for an escape, a means to bail out of what was otherwise a seemingly happy and healthy relationship. Craving my freedom and the world of possibilities outside of the union, I would fashion a mental prison from which I’d flee to singlehood with reckless abandon.

Perhaps I wasn’t meant to settle down. I’ve bailed out of every major relationship in my life after feeling smothered, sacrificing any future the relationship had.

But then, how is it that I ended up with this rock on my finger?

My constant musings about freedom and my lack thereof left my live-in boyfriend, a finance professional, with feelings of instability. Every other weekend I announced wanting to split, until I finally did so in dramatic fashion. This scene played over and over again, as I left a small army of broken men scattered across the globe.

These haven’t been unhappy relationships by any means. The men have been considerate, loving, genuine, and romantic. They’ve offered me the world and then some. But something within me always shouted, “Run! Get Out!” I’ve tried to quiet this inner voice over the years, with little success.

I’d find ways to ease my escape. I’d nitpick at his habits and perceived flaws until he’d almost beg me to leave. Oh, the egos I have crushed.

I had incessant nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat with images of white dresses and babies fresh in my mind. As I escaped to the next room to lie alone and contemplate in solitude, I’d feel a rush of relief as I left his side. His mere presence gave me anxiety.

To what can I attribute this fear of relationships? My parents have been happily married for 32 years, though they might argue about the “happily” part. All my aunts and uncles married their high school sweethearts, forming a 12-person coalition of long-term love advocates. With not a divorce in my family tree, where did this fear that gripped me so powerfully come from?

Some pointed to a fear of intimacy, while others explained my trepidation as a manifestation of my own discomfort with the idea of marriage. For years I took solace in the male propaganda that monogamy was an unnatural state. My beer-swigging buddies pointed to examples in the animal kingdom, and I wholeheartedly agreed, as did my female friends.

But as I grew older, those women shed their roaming tendencies and donned the gown in all its traditionally assigned glory. I watched these friends marry off, headed to the no-man’s-land of married folks, and I wondered, “Is there something wrong with me? Why do I always bail? Why can’t I stick around for the long-term love?”

Just as I jumped from place to place during my twenties, I jumped from man to man. In the same way I’d feel the need to go as soon as I became comfortable in a locale, I’d let my instinct for freedom take over as soon as I saw a future with a man.

Like a child who assumes that the world rides ponies and eats cake while in bed, I couldn’t help but wonder: Isn’t there something better?

And then I met *Kevin. He was everything I didn’t want in a man: blue-collar, simple, and incredibly masculine. But he fell for me and professed his love, to which I responded with utter horror. I shot him down instantly, wounding his confidence, no doubt.

But as we continued to spend time together as friends, I noticed something quite profound. He didn’t want to keep me from exploring or from seeking my freedom — he wanted to watch me do so. He pushed me to leave a career that I hated to pursue my love of writing. He encouraged me to head off on solo vacations and volunteer missions. Eventually his kind spirit and nonthreatening demeanor won me over, and we began to date.

Now I’d like to say that once I met him, my thoughts of imprisonment evaporated. But they were still present, and I voiced them liberally. I’d tell him I was leaving him, off to Japan to teach or to the District of Columbia to volunteer. And he’d calmly nod his head and proclaim he’d wait for my return.

Where all the other men had fought me, he agreed to give me my freedom.

All the men in my past had wanted to make a housewife out of me, to restrain me from all the world had to offer. In this new one, I found someone who took pleasure in watching me take on the possibilities and potential of my future.

Now we have made a home together, and he proposed this past Christmas Eve. For 10 years, commitment was a four-letter word.

But now the weight of those prison bars has been lifted.

*The name has been changed for this story.

Related: Victoria Witchey

In The Fray Contributor