“Can I call you my boyfriend?”

I was so nervous. He and I were sitting on the couch in his parents’ living room—nobody else was home. The night before, we’d been to a family gathering where his mother introduced us to a colleague. She said, “This is my son, and this is his um…this is…his…” Her eyes darted back and forth from me to him waiting for one of us to say the word, “Girlfriend.” I said nothing, politely smiling, waiting for this moment to be over, secretly wishing I was hiding at the bottom of the pool outside. “…This is, um, Eli.” His mom finally stated, making little attempt to hide her embarrassment as I shook her colleague’s hand and said, “So nice to meet you.”

It was the summer of 2022, and I’d just come out of a bleak and lonely quarantine after moving from New York City to the Hudson Valley mere hours before lockdown started. I’d been single for a long time and longed deeply for a committed romantic relationship. This was the first time I’d mustered up the tenacity to instigate the dreaded, “What are we?” talk in this hellish age of dating apps and *situationships. (IYKYK) 

I held my breath as I waited for his answer. I assumed it’d be a quick, “Yes, of course you can call me your boyfriend. And you’re my girlfriend.” Alternatively, I was also prepared for the less desirable alternative, “I’m sorry, but no.” Either because he didn’t want a girlfriend, or he didn’t want ME to be his girlfriend. Honestly? The only thing worse than, “I’m sorry but no,” was the weird, wishy-washy waters of uncertainty we were presently swimming in.

I could have never imagined the answer I received, which was an unhealthy combination of everything a woman doesn’t want to hear. He responded with, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m not really in a place to…I feel like I still need to get to know you better. I’m not sure we’re compatible yet.” 

He and I had been dating exclusively for six months and had spent considerable time together. We kept belongings at each other’s homes, cooked meals together, stayed up late into the night talking about the vast intricacies of life, ran errands together—even popped each other’s zits—(Chill, okay? Only when we couldn’t reach them ourselves). I’d also spent a great deal of time with his family—because he was living with them. He’d moved home during the pandemic with his siblings, but now that Covid was “over,” he needed to decide where to move. Staying in the Hudson Valley was on the table, but so was moving to New York City, Vermont, Austin…or Portugal.

I pressed, “I guess I just want to know, are you and I just having fun? Or is this turning into something more serious?”

“Obviously we’re doing more than having fun,” he responded with the sound of an eye-roll—if an eye-roll had a tone of voice.

Feigning confidence, I said, “I don’t feel comfortable getting any closer to you without knowing who I am to you—because you might move away soon—and it’s unclear to me if I’m going to be a consideration in your decision.” It felt good to express my previously unspoken fear. Finally, I thought, we could get on the same page so that I could enjoy this relationship on a deeper level by knowing where I stood within it.

“I guess we’re just in a chicken or egg situation then,” he declared. Observing my stunned silence, he added, “I mean we’re either dating or we’re not.” He left it at that, changing the subject to, “We should probably get going, we’re going to be late.”

I wish I could tell you that I gave my hair a sassy toss and said, “Call me when you know what you want,” as I strutted out the door with the badass-ness of a 33-year-old woman who truly believed that not all of the good men were taken. But I did not. Instead, I continued to be his girlfriend-not-girlfriend for another six months, and it was the most bewilderingly agonizing experience I’ve ever had, mostly because it was also so almost-wonderful.

We carried on simulating a conventional committed relationship, sans explicit verbal commitment. With no clear container for our dynamic, a base level of anxiety and uncertainty was ever-present, making it nearly impossible to navigate conflict when necessary or plan for the future. I could see a sense of belonging with him and his family—sort of like I was standing outside in the middle of winter peering at a glowing fireplace through a glass window inside, but I could never quite embody it. Indeed, hell is “almost home.”

Belonging means knowing where you are, why you’re there, and choosing to be there. It’s a living, breathing practice, like going to the gym and eating your vegetables. Belonging is that feeling of “right place, right time”—centered within our circumstances and empowered to move from potential into action. In a way, my experience mirrored Schrödinger's cat theory: until we make a clear decision, we exist in a state of uncertainty, caught between two probabilities—belonging nowhere yet everywhere at once.

This experience showed me that the enemy of belonging isn’t aloneness, it’s indecision.

Commitment—or the lack thereof—can drastically influence our sense of belonging. In both personal and professional settings, verbal commitment to people, projects, and shared goals is key to cultivating the trust and safety essential for not only genuine connection in the here and now, but also engagement and loyalty that can stand the test of time.

Here's how embracing commitment can transform our experiences of belonging:

1. Creates Clear Boundaries and Reduces Ambiguity

   • Just like in a romantic relationship, a lack of clear commitment creates uncertainty, leaving individuals in a constant state of anxiety. This is true in workplaces and communities as well. Commitment establishes clear boundaries, roles and expectations, allowing people to know where they stand, which reduces stress and fosters a sense of security. When team members and individuals within a community feel secure in their roles, they’re more likely to engage fully, share ideas, and contribute meaningfully. Without commitment, people are left feeling like outsiders, always questioning their place and purpose within the group. In other words, clear boundaries offer us the freedom to enjoy the present, sans the added weight of wondering, “Where are we, exactly, and how do we show up for this?” (Reminder: Even the definition of paradise is a walled-in garden.)

2. Fosters Trust and Accountability

   • Belonging thrives on trust, and trust is built when we commit to showing up consistently for others. Whether it’s committing to a project, a role, or simply to being present in a community, following through on our promises makes others feel valued and seen. For leaders, this means committing to transparent communication and setting clear goals, which in turn encourages employees or members to trust the organization's mission. When people feel they can rely on one another, the entire group becomes more cohesive and resilient in the face of challenges.

3. Encourages Deeper Connections and Investment

   • Commitment is an act of choosing to invest in something or someone, which naturally leads to deeper relationships. In personal settings, this could mean the difference between a situationship and a partnership. In professional environments, it means employees and community members are more likely to invest their time, energy, and creativity if they feel a strong sense of belonging. The act of committing itself signals to others that they are worth the investment, which can inspire loyalty, boost morale, and even increase retention rates.

4. Commitment Creates Shared Purpose
   Making a commitment to a group or goal aligns everyone around a shared purpose. Whether it’s committing to a team project, a community cause, or a collective vision, this shared sense of purpose binds people together. It reminds us that we’re part of something larger than ourselves, fostering a deeper connection to the people and the mission we’re committed to.

Commitment is the glue that holds the fabric of belonging together. Whether you’re cultivating a romantic relationship, building workplace belonging as a leader, or cultivating a community, the willingness to make clear decisions and follow through on your promises is what transforms superficial connections into meaningful bonds.

One more time for the people in the back: the enemy of belonging isn’t isolation; it’s indecision. So, if you’re feeling disconnected, ask yourself: Where can I commit more fully?