For the past six months, whenever I see a proposal video on Instagram or hear the word “fiancé,” my stomach knots. Sarah and I have been together for four years. We live together, have a Golden Retriever, and I love her enough to picture us in our seventies, sitting on a porch drinking beers. That is what makes this so confusing: my fear of marriage does not feel like a lack of love.
Sarah knows what she wants. Her friends are getting engaged, and she drops comments about rings or lingers by jewelry stores. I feel the pressure without her ever saying, directly, that I have to propose. One voice in me says that loving her and wanting a future together should make a ring the obvious next step. I’m terrified that if I say I’m not ready, she’ll hear that I’m rejecting her or stringing her along. The thought of losing her makes me panic.
The other voice resists. When marriage comes up, it feels like someone is pressing a gun to my back and forcing me forward. I’m twenty-eight, carrying more than $30,000 in student loans, and only beginning to establish my career. My parents’ messy divorce left a shadow over me, too. Marriage feels like a massive commitment, not just a party or a milestone to reach after four years. I want to propose because I want to get married—not because it is supposedly time, or because I’m afraid she’ll leave.
I keep imagining the conversation going badly: I say I need more time, she cries and asks whether four years isn’t enough or whether I ever want to marry her. But that is not what I mean. I do want a future with her. I just don’t know how to tell the truth about not being ready without risking the relationship, and I don’t know whether to swallow my panic and buy a ring or be honest and risk losing her.
For the past six months, whenever I see a proposal video on Instagram or hear the word “fiancé,” my stomach knots. Sarah and I have been together for four years. We live together, have a Golden Retriever, and I love her enough to picture us in our seventies, sitting on a porch drinking beers. That is what makes this so confusing: my fear of marriage does not feel like a lack of love.
Sarah knows what she wants. Her friends are getting engaged, and she drops comments about rings or lingers by jewelry stores. I feel the pressure without her ever saying, directly, that I have to propose. One voice in me says that loving her and wanting a future together should make a ring the obvious next step. I’m terrified that if I say I’m not ready, she’ll hear that I’m rejecting her or stringing her along. The thought of losing her makes me panic.
The other voice resists. When marriage comes up, it feels like someone is pressing a gun to my back and forcing me forward. I’m twenty-eight, carrying more than $30,000 in student loans, and only beginning to establish my career. My parents’ messy divorce left a shadow over me, too. Marriage feels like a massive commitment, not just a party or a milestone to reach after four years. I want to propose because I want to get married—not because it is supposedly time, or because I’m afraid she’ll leave.
I keep imagining the conversation going badly: I say I need more time, she cries and asks whether four years isn’t enough or whether I ever want to marry her. But that is not what I mean. I do want a future with her. I just don’t know how to tell the truth about not being ready without risking the relationship, and I don’t know whether to swallow my panic and buy a ring or be honest and risk losing her.
