My mother is a character from a Tennessee Williams play... but without a Southern accent. I am her second child and was born when she was 16 years old. Her childhood was cut short and never spoken of in a way that imparted a sense of safety or innocence. Each man she ran away with she hoped would rescue her from the last. She gave up every child she bore to some degree.
So, yes, perhaps I can't commit to a marriage. Perhaps the way I see the world renders me forever incapable of the aisle, the white veil, the vows. Instead, I commit to a person. I commit to always being there for him, as he will always be for me, and I refuse to define it under so narrow a term of "husband" or "spouse."