You Fell For the Perfect Guy, but His Open Relationship was Only Part of the Problem: An Open Letter

Dear Jess,

Having been polyamorous for over six years, your article, "I Fell For The Perfect Guy, But Not For His Open Relationship," piqued my interest. I wanted to be there along with you on this journey, and even felt a lot of hope in your claim that this relationship helped you to "better understand and accept the kind of relationship [you] really needed." After all, you seemed to treat each other fairly, and admit that this was a hard relationship for you. I appreciated that honesty.

But by the end, I felt ill at ease. It wasn't just because you called your relationship (even facetiously) a "social experiment" and gathered "evidence" (which made wonder if you had started dating 'Greg' in order to write an article in the first place). It wasn't even just because of what I thought were completely irrelevant comments about his "equipment."

It was that when I got to the end and you said that you grew to "understand the qualities that will make [you] a great girlfriend," I wasn't convinced.

The part that convinced me the most was when you admitted this:

It’s really difficult for me to talk about feelings in a relationship.

This fact was shown to me so many times in this article that, had this been one of my students' essays, I would have suggested this be the thesis instead. You are absolutely correct that feelings are difficult to talk about. I learn this anew every day. But trying to get better at it is crucial, because you will not have the satisfying, healthy, loving, monogamous relationship you want if you don't work on communicating with yourself and with anyone you date in the future.

You started out your article by claiming you wanted no expectations in your relationships, but this is an impossible goal. Every relationship we have with every person we know comes with expectations, and the most healthy relationships are those in which expectations are managed realistically by all parties. We're sad when friends aren't there when we need them. We're disappointed when family members fail to call on our birthdays. And yes, we're devastated when a lover is unfaithful. We value things like "reliability" and "loyalty," and those values are based in meeting expectations. And you can't ask someone to meet your expectations if you don't tell them what they are.

For example, you were upset when, after sitting through Greg's art class, he didn't come home with you. You even said you had "thrown down the cash to attend," your vocabulary making it sound like you had not only expected it, but were owed it. If you had merely asked him what he planned after class, maybe you wouldn't have felt so cheated out of your money and time. Maybe you would have realized that yes, this was work, but he was probably also very happy to have you there, and it was nice to see him in his element. Or maybe you would have decided you'd rather meet on a different night, when he was more free to give you what you wanted.

You also seemed to have very specific expectations about the relationship label you wanted, and what that label meant to you; where you wanted a relationship to go, and how quickly you got confirmation it was going there; and the distance you wanted to keep from Greg's fiancée, Cassy. And although you do talk about learning all of these things by the end of the relationship, it seems very clear that you were not able to communicate them early enough (or maybe at all) to Greg himself.

I think you've already started doing the work - you're clearly reflecting on your feelings and assessing how different your expectations were. As you go forward, I hope that you will ditch the vague assertions in your dating profiles and really think about you want. And after that, tell them. Tell all your future boyfriends that to you, love means staying over after sex every time. Tell them that it means wanting the relationship to go somewhere committed. Tell them it means exclusivity. And after you tell them, listen to what love means to them. The expectations will not always match up. But I can guarantee that you will always be closer to your goal than you were before.

Best,
Kate

Comic: Elastics

Full Health

For the past six years, I've been playing the real-life RPG called "Poly Adventures." I was pretty good at it too, until last year. I started coming upon harder levels and meaner monsters. I found my weapons cache to be sorely empty, and my emotional health bar always empty or nearing empty. I had a lot of people trying to help me play through those levels, but for a while, nothing seemed to work. I never lost any lives, and I never thought I'd stop playing, but there were times in there that I didn't see how my health could ever get back to full. I lost interest in activities and almost lost friends.

But like many games, it takes time and practice to get through those hard levels and onto better ones. I started finding things that gave me more health, like therapy, medicine, and activities I enjoyed. I especially found art, which I had dabbled with for a long time but never really put the time or effort into getting better. Suddenly, I became enthusiastic to better myself at something, and the health just kept coming back. The better I felt about my own emotional health, the more I felt I could tackle the challenges I had with friends, and everything started to fall into place. 

Yesterday, as I sat around the living room with two of my closest friends, I realized this was the most fun and easy level I'd played in a long time. The hard levels I'd played over the course of last year, though still remembered, were not affecting my ability to play through this one. In fact, I probably have become better at the game as time has gone on. I'm even ready to meet new romantic allies to play new levels with, and know that I wouldn't have been able to do so without that expert-level experience. 

I'm not actually that good at video games, but this one is thankfully not the kind you need to learn how to beat. You just need to learn how to keep at it, even though the tough levels. Because it's a pretty fun game, and I'd like to keep playing it for years to come.

A million, billion thanks to Make 8-Bit Art! It's super fun and everyone should check it out.

Homesick

For a while now, I've had a blog post in my drafts called "My Poly Family." In it, I gush about how happy I am that I finally feel like I have a community. That I'm so happy to be friends with my partners' other partners, partners of some type with many of my friends, and close with most everyone else involved. But for some reason, that post never got written. I think it was because I knew there was a dark side to such inter-connectivity, and since Adam and I broke up, I've found it: he is still close with our community, I am still close with our community, but he and I are no longer operating together within it. In fact, it's hard to see him in the same contexts, which is why we've both been treading lightly when choosing which social gatherings to attend.

I know a lot of people have already gone through this, maybe in high school or college. Friend groups, especially back in those insulated environments, all dated around, or so I'm remembering from my own experiences. But many relationships in high school were fluid for me, and I only dated one person in college (my ex), so I've never had this experience before. In fact, other than those high school flings, I've never ended a significant relationship in the same town as the other person. So the only way I knew how to get over someone was to have a lot of space from them, which is quite easy when that person is across the country.

It's much harder when that person is in your living room, hanging out with someone you live with and not you.

Everyone is being great about this, though. Friends are being sensitive when talking about hanging out with him, and we've decided it would be best if we all socialized with him outside of our house for a while. I'm also trying to be better about knowing when I do or don't want to know what he's been up to. He and I are even talking and trying to make plans to hang out as friends. But I can't stop thinking about how much easier this would all be if one of us had just left town.

I don't know how to re-introduce myself into my community without constantly bringing up old memories. I know that it will take time, just as it took time to get over those guys who moved to other states. And I know that things are probably already getting better. But as you know from previous blog posts, I suck at patience. I want to be in those photos of my community having fun together with Adam. I want it to be a pleasant surprise when he comes over to hang out with my other friends, not something that shakes me. And most of all, I want to go out with Joel, Adam, and Adam's wife again. I know it will never be the same, but missing that, right now, hurts almost as much as missing all that relationshippy stuff.

I want to enjoy my poly family again. I want to come home. But I don't know how yet.

Postmortem

I've needed to write for a few weeks now, but haven't. It just didn't feel like the right time. Maybe I wanted to wait until my feelings weren't as raw, so that my post wouldn't just sound like a big jumbled mess of pain. Maybe I was trying to spare others' feelings by being a bit more private than usual. Maybe I just didn't know what to say. I still don't. But I know that ultimately it helps me to write about and process experiences, and sometimes it helps others, too, so I'm going to try.

Three weeks ago, I made the decision to break up with Adam. I was visiting my parents at the time, and miserable in the knowledge that I had to wait another week to meet with him to talk about where things stood. I didn't want to do it over email; even though most of our communication happened online, I felt that this conversation should be in person. But the longer I realized I had to wait, the more miserable I felt. So while my mother was out at a meeting one afternoon, I sat at a local coffee shop and typed the email, knowing I was making the right decision but still heartbroken in it. I hit send. It was done.

A week later, I met him on a park bench near the dinner spot where we intended to eat. Neither of us knew if this was a good idea, and for the first fifteen minutes, I was convinced it wasn't. I voiced serious doubts, sobbing, trying not to look him in the eye. But as we sat there longer, and I allowed myself to look at how sad he was too, I calmed down. We decided that since we were already there, and starving, and wanted to still be in each others' lives, we might as well eat.

For two blissful hours, we stopped talking about the breakup and just were. We ate, drank, caught up from the previous few weeks, and laughed. It might have been the beer, but I felt happier than I'd felt in weeks. And it wasn't because I thought we were getting back together, it was because I knew I wasn't losing him for good. I saw a spark of what we should have had all along - an arrangement that was comfortable for both of us, that allowed us to enjoy each other in the moment and not worry about how we were not being fulfilled or not fulfilling each others' wants and needs.

Since then, it's been a challenge. I've always needed space from someone after a breakup, and have always gotten it - my last two significant breakups were a result of distance, so while I missed talking to them, I could control exactly how much I wanted to know about their lives post-me. 

But this is different. Not only is Adam in my friend group, he's close with who I'm close with, in ways I wish I was, and I'm reminded of this even if no one intends to remind me. He is still in the extended poly family of friends and partners I used to feel was a comfort, and now I realize is a double-edged sword. My close-knit groups are wonderful for support through the bad times and fun through the good, but can also deny me the space I badly need to get over heartbreak. 

Because of this, I have to be cautious, withdraw when I'm feeling I need more space, stay in when I don't think I'll have as much fun at that party he'll be at, and request discretion of those who we're both close to. I have to learn how to handle a breakup all over again, and maybe that's why I waited so long to write about it: I have no idea what I'm doing. 

The only thing I know how to do is strengthen other relationships, focus on other interests, make other plans; see Adam when I feel I can see him, talk to him when I feel I can talk to him, and retreat when I'm feeling hurt. Learn as I go. Ask for help. Cry sometimes. And trust that sometimes, the only way to save one type of relationship is to end another one. It's still something I'm only telling myself and not feeling. But I guess if I'd been good at telling myself how to feel, I wouldn't have had to end the relationship in the first place. 

What is Love? (With Apologies to Haddaway)

I don't know, what can I do? What else can I say, it's up to ewe.

Now that you have that song in your head, let's talk about what I've learned about me and romantic love since being poly: 

There is more than one kind of love.

Love is not just what society tells us it is. It is not just kissing in the rain, marrying your high school sweetheart, holding a boombox outside someone's window, letting them have the whole damned door to float on even though it's clear there's room for you too. It is not just what is written in Hallmark cards. It could be any of these things, or it can be something completely different. It could be letting them have the last bite of cake, checking up on them in the middle of a really tough day, wearing their hair ties on your wrist even though you don't have long hair. The love I feel doesn't have to fit into someone else's mold.

I don't have to love someone the same way I love someone else.

Love is an amorphous feeling, and therefore can be different for everyone I love. I don't love Adam in the same way I love Joel, and I don't love Joel in the same way I loved others before him. I don't expect to be loved in the same way my partners love their other partners. And just because the love is different, doesn't mean it's not significant or shouldn't be communicated (or communicated about - see below).

Love doesn't have to be a floor on the relationship escalator. 

For a long time, I thought that relationships became real when you started saying "I love you" and whatever came before that was just casual. I thought that once you started slinging around love, more things were slated to come, like moving in together, going to (and almost breaking up at) Ikea, getting incessantly bugged about having kids. And then a few years ago, I fell in love with someone who would be leaving town just a few months later and realized that love doesn't have to be on the way to something else, or the end of something. It just is. 

Love can be scary.

In the past, I have taken for granted that love is a concept (and emotion) that has always come easily to me. I love often, early, and strongly. I fall hard. But not everyone is like that. Love is complicated for those who have only ever known it to be one thing for one person at a time (or for that matter, one person, period). Love is hard to express when you don't know if the emotion carries other obligations or expectations, and it's tricky to qualify, quantify, and clarify because it sometimes feels like doing so cheapens it. It's not always as simple as "He loves me, he loves me not."

I need to hear that I'm loved. 

Affirmative language is something I need a lot of in poly relationships, even if my partner and I aren't using "love" to describe how we feel about each other. Even though it does bring me comfort to feel a warm embrace or a tender kiss, the words "I love you" mean a lot in making me feel valued and important in a relationship. Obviously, if love is felt, it should be shown, but I'm wired to need to hear it too.

And finally,

Love should be communicated about, not just communicated.

It took me far too long to realize I needed to communicate what love meant to me versus what it meant to others. I think sometimes we think that it's this subject we have to tiptoe around because saying it for the first time is supposed to be special and important,  and because it means something. But really, it's more dangerous not to find out what that something is to everyone involved before diving in.

I truly believe that it is more enriching to live life with the potential to love more than one person. But at the same time, I know that this concept can be complicated and messy. It shouldn't be kept in a collector's box high on the shelf to maintain its pristine condition. It should be taken down, taken apart, played with, and most importantly, experienced. 

Our Salon Article Disaster

I am, overall, usually quite sanguine about the media's portrayal of things I hold near and dear, like polyamory and bisexuality. When others are raging, I am usually the one going, "Well, at least we're getting press." But this. This throws me so far off my middle-of-center, "let's give 'em a bit of credit" mentality, I think I finally feel what others have been raging about.

The "this" in question is this article, though I want to say up front that I'm not actually against the content of the article itself. I like Nicholas Garnett's writing. I thought the post itself was honest and raw, and the writer in me appreciates phrases like "We burrowed down into a grinding disillusionment and mutual resentment from which our relationship never really recovered." So I don't think I should blame Garnett for the anger I'm feeling this morning. Or, rather, I don't want to blame Garnett.

I want to blame whoever is responsible for the title: "Our Polyamory Disaster."

Yes, polyamory has been kind of a hot topic recently in the news (Yay! We're getting press!).  So okay, Salon, I understand your desire to jump on the bandwagon with some clickbait (a concept I didn't really fully understand the significance of until this very morning). I understand that you want to be on that bandwagon so bad you thought you'd share a two-year-old article on your Facebook page to bring in the droves of readers. The former sorority marketing chair in me really truly understands.

The polyamorist in me really truly wants to write more explicit insults here that I don't feel match the tone of the rest of my blog, so I am refraining. 

The bold italics have probably tipped you off that you have finally reached the portion of the post where I talk about why I'm so mad. Ready?

The article isn't about polyamory. The word "polyamory" doesn't even appear in the body of the article. The word "monogamy" or "monogamous" only appears twice, when the author realizes he has a crush on a woman he is having sex with while both of them are high off the myriad drugs he talks about them all doing over the course of the weekend in question (I'll get to this in a minute).

The title furthers the conflation of "polyamory" with "promiscuity." Related to above, Garnett writes: "Rachael and I were curious. Everything else about [the lifestyle of our partying gay friends] seemed to be working for us. Could promiscuity?" The composition professor in me applauds Garnett for setting up the reader for exactly what he will be writing about: a vacation in which this couple tries having sex with other people at a sex party. Being poly does not necessarily mean an arrangement like this, though it can, and on its own promiscuity is okay (and something to be celebrated when done healthily!). But the two words and ideas are not the same.

The title makes it sound like polyamory is about having sex while high. In short, it's not. I have so many thoughts about how many risks they were taking, not only with the substances but what the substances were doing to their capacity for consent, but that could be a whole other blog post (or two or three). A more appropriate title would have been, according to a friend of mine, "Drug Use and Sex Parties: Not for Everyone, Try Before You Buy." It obviously wasn't for them.

Essentially, the title gives fuel to anyone who wants to argue that polyamory is nothing more than drug-addled sex parties. It gives fuel to anyone who wants to believe that polyamory is a threat to "stable, happy" marriages (which, if you read this article, you can see that this one obviously wasn't, even before the party). It gives people something to point at and go, "See? Polyamory is a disaster. I morally oppose anything having to do with this destructive lifestyle and don't believe these people deserve even an ounce of the legal rights or benefits afforded to NORMAL COUPLES."

Because that, ultimately, is the fear - that misleading titles of articles that thousands of people will click on will send the wrong message. That those clickers who get the wrong message will oppose politicians and laws that would make it possible for us to be able to be visited in the hospital by all of our partners. And laws that would allow our children to be legally cared for by all of their parents. And laws that would allow our insurance to cover all of our family members. The fear is what made me so angry that I ditched grading this morning to write this. It made me realize that there is such thing as bad press, and if anything was a shining example, it's this.

The Price of Admission

Dan Savage was my first introduction to frank talk on relationships and sex. I remember fondly, and with some titillation, listening to the Savage Lovecast on my iPod while I did data entry at a temp job a few years ago. No one ever knew that as I updated databases, I was getting tips on having better sexual experiences and learning concepts like "DTMFA" (dump the motherfucker already).

Now I know that a lot of people are polarized about Savage, which I understand; I haven't been happy with things he's said either. But what I do like is when he takes a simplified look at some of the concepts in relationships that I think get muddled by centuries of idealizing what love and sex are "supposed" to be.

One of those concepts is the "Price of Admission": essentially, what one is willing to put up with, or "pay," in order to maintain a relationship (or what he calls "ride the ride"). In this video, Savage talks about it in relation to the little things: your partner chewing with their mouth open or leaving sandwich-making supplies all over the counter. (One of Joel's prices of admission are his sometimes disturbingly loud sneezes, for instance.) He admonishes an audience member who prompted the discussion for having too many deal-breakers - essentially, for saying he wasn't willing to pay any price of admission. Savage says, "There is no settling down without some settling for."

Beyond the problems I have with the concept of "settling" (which I'd really rather think of as compromise), I believe this is largely true, especially when it comes to loud sneezes and open-mouth chewing. If we are unwilling to pay some sort of price of admission, or make some compromises in our relationships, then we should get used to not riding much of anything at all (and yes, for those of you keeping score at home, that was a double-entendre).

But sometimes, the cost of maintaining a relationship - of riding that ride - is too high. Sometimes that threshold is easy to measure, like if your partner wants to move to a different country and you're already rooted. But sometimes it's not. Sometimes the threshold is simply at a point in time when a relationship, for whatever reason, is making you more unhappy than happy.

And where that threshold is could be muddled. You could lose sleep over it one night, cry over it half the next day, but after a little space and reflection realize you can afford more. Because you've thought about that ride, and it's been one of the best you've ever been on, and you're not ready to get off of it yet. But you're still aware that at some point, you might come up short, and that scares you. And you realize that this risk - the risk of too high a price of admission - is a price of admission in itself.

I feel like some polyamorous relationships have more prices of admission than monogamous ones. You have open-mouth chewers, loud sneezers, and messy sandwich-makers. But you also have jealousy, insecurity, impatience. You have relationship hierarchies and communication challenges and metamours. You have societal discrimination and scheduling issues. A polyamorous relationship can be a really big roller-coaster, which means it has the potential to be expensive and scary. But it also means it has the potential to be the best ride of your life. The question will always be, "Can you afford it?"

I wish I had a blunt Dan Savage-like figure in my life who could answer that for me, but I don't. And I don't know if I'd listen even if I did. Relationships aren't actually rides, after all; they're made up of people with feelings. And unlike a ride, the cost of maintaining them isn't set in stone - it's negotiable. Yes, the ultimate price of admission costs what it costs, but there's no reason you shouldn't try to make that cost affordable for both of you. If you - or your partner - ultimately decides the price of admission is too high, at least, then, you will have done all you could. That is all any of us can really do.

The Comparison Trap

A few weeks ago, a friend shared this comic from one of my favorite websites, Zen Pencils. Gavin Aung Than's artwork always catches my eye, but this time the quote especially struck something in me I've been thinking about recently. In the cartoon, philosopher and writer Juddi Krishnamurti observes that from birth, we learn to measure our own self-worth by comparing ourselves with other people:

In an ordinary school where there are a lot of boys, when one boy is compared with another who is very clever, who is the head of the class, what is actually taking place? You are destroying the boy. 

I didn't grow up with siblings to be compared to, but I grew up with neighbors and cousins, and was never immune to these comparisons. Though my parents tried to balance them out with healthy doses of encouragement, I internalized comparing just like everyone else, and it stuck: "Her handwriting is nicer than mine," "She serves a volleyball faster than me," "He can draw better than me." Over the years that has become "She's a more motivated writer than I am," "He's a more well-read professor," "She's thinner and thus more beautiful according to societal ideals."

Measuring self-worth by comparison can be toxic to anyone in any environment, but in polyamory can be even more damaging. I mean, think about it - I'm constantly exposed to other people who are with, in one way or another, people who I am with. If I'm not comparing myself to the people themselves, I am comparing how I am treated with how others are treated, or I'm comparing how this relationship is progressing versus how this one progressed. (Which is ironic, in a way, because one of the reasons I like polyamory is that all relationships are different.)

But if I've been raised to internalize comparison, and I'm always going to be around those who are easy to compare myself to, how do I escape from the trap?

The conclusion Krishnamurti gives, that looking within to find out who you are instead of looking without, encourages us to avoid the trap altogether: essentially, he's saying just stop comparing. But that's hard, especially in a world that's based on comparison and competition. I would be lying to myself and everyone else if I said that Krishnamurti's solution is realistic for me.

In a response to the cartoon, another friend told the story of the energy she spent throughout high school trying to be better than another French horn player from a different school. Once they'd actually started talking in college, they realized that both thought the other was more talented, and instead of destroying their self-worth, the comparison pushed both of them to get better. She used the comparison as a motivator. What have I been using it for?

So far, nothing. I've been noticing it and letting it make me feel shitty. I haven't been using it as a motivator. I haven't been using it as an opportunity to learn. I haven't been using it as a way to grow. I've been letting it do to me what it does to the boy in the cartoon: destroy self-worth and confidence. I push the successes of my peers away to keep them from bringing me down, instead of using them as a motivator to bring me up.

I know I need to change. I know I need to figure out what motivates that writer, what books that professor has read, what that couple has done to be happy all this time. I need to focus on what's good about my relationships instead of what looks like it's better in others. I need to catch myself comparing and ask, "What am I using this for?" and if the answer is "Nothing" then I need to distract myself with something else until I can stop. It's not going to be easy. In fact, I'm comparing myself to others right now - others who can recognize something in themselves and be like, "I'll change that," and then just do it. (To those of you who might think I am one of those people, and have made peace with all the challenges I discuss in this blog, I'll set the record straight: I have not. Not even half of them. Not even a quarter. This stuff is still hard.)

But thinking about it and recognizing it is probably a good start. I was thankful that my friend who posted the cartoon gave me the opportunity to think about it more. And I'm thankful that Than did such an amazing job of illustrating Krishnamurti's words, because they impacted me more than they would have in text form. I would say that I wish I could draw as well as Than, but instead I'll say that I'm glad he can draw and design the way he can so that we can all appreciate it. (Did that count as a start?)

Holidays in the Closet

When I came out to my parents as bisexual and poly in 2011, I had good intentions. I wanted to have an open and honest relationship with my family the way I can with everyone else in my life. However, their fears of my "lifestyle" becoming public -- to other family members, their friends, or even people my father knows professionally -- made me realize it was going to take a lot of time and gentle information-sharing to be able to get to "open and honest."

So I'd been talking to them about it slowly and carefully since then, only really bringing it up if they ask, being careful not to give them (especially my mother) more information than I feel like they could handle. I'd mentioned casually on the phone that I was dating a married man (though didn't name him) and thought my mom was getting used to the fact. So during her most recent visit from the Midwest, when an opportunity arose to meet Adam and his wife, I wrestled for a while with how honest I could be.

I ultimately considered everyone's potential awkwardness and my mother's possible stress and chose to introduce them as friends. And other than being slightly annoyed as I usually am when I have to act like just a friend around someone I feel so strongly about, everything went well -- until Adam and I (stupidly) decided to share a quick kiss in another room and my mother saw us. I tried to back up, introduce him as my boyfriend and be truthful, but it was too late. She told us she didn't approve, even if everyone else there did, and the encounter ruined the rest of her trip (and the rest of her week after she got home).

On National Coming Out Day, I mentioned in this post that my biggest reason to come out is to be able to be me. I thought that ultimately, if I could be honest about myself and my life and show my family how happy and secure I am in it, they would be happy for me. But in the last month I've realized that being out to my mother is causing more damage than good. Her worries -- that I'm going to be hurt, or end up alone, or somehow not blossom into whatever ideal person she'd imagined -- are hurting her, and those worries bubble to the surface every time I talk about being bi or poly.

At Christmas I talked to my father, who is more open to discussing such things, about how I could be honest with Mom without making her upset. His suggestion was one I should have anticipated: you can't, so don't. Please, he was saying, go back in the closet in front of her, and stay in the closet with the rest of the family.

So despite how I feel about being able to be myself, I did. I didn't talk about any other partners other than Joel for the rest of the trip. I've just started talking more about my "friends," not naming anyone in particular. It was hard, and I felt an immense relief upon my plane landing back home after the eight days we spent together, but so far the relationship with my parents is less strained. I'm happy knowing I'm not causing my mother pain, and I'm trying not to worry.

I try not to wonder what will happen if I decide to move in with more than one partner someday, maybe even marry again. I try not to wonder what kind of toll this hiding will take on my relationship with my family in the future. I don't know what will happen. But I do know that even though they don't want to know everything about me, my family of origin still loves me, and that's more than some people can say after coming out. Taking that comfort with me, and the comfort that I have a chosen family here who also loves me, will hopefully make those temporary closet visits a little less dark for as long as I have to take them. 

A Tale of Two Metamours

When I met my first metamour, or partner of a partner, I was terrified. She was the first girl Joel went on more than a few dates with and I wanted to meet her because I knew that getting to know her would allay some of my fears and jealously. We'd exchanged some messages online so I knew I would like her, but that stomach-cramping, heart-racing feeling I had while waiting for her to meet us at the the bar made me want to go home and forget the whole thing. Maybe I was better not knowing; maybe we should have a don't-ask-don't-tell policy. Maybe being poly wasn't actually my thing after all.

And then she came through the door, and in the minute it took her to walk to our booth, my jumbled mass of thoughts clarified into one: Wow, she's hot. Fifteen minutes later I not only realized I wasn't jealous anymore, I realized I liked her. We had a lot in common, made each other laugh, and both liked so many of the same qualities in Joel. A few days later she and I went on our first date, and though she's not dating either of us any longer, I now consider her one of my closest friends. As with many things in Joel and my relationship, meeting metamours got so much easier after that. (I met the most recent one randomly when I ran into them on their way out to dinner. It was no big deal. It was a quick, "Hello!" and smile and wave. I walked away grinning stupidly at the awesomeness of our lives.)

But as with many things in Adam and my relationship, the metamour situation was a little more complicated. There wasn't fear of the unknown - I knew his wife before I met him, in fact - but once Adam and I started dating, things shifted for me in how I thought about her. She was no longer just my friend - now she was the wife of a guy I'd fallen for really hard. I stopped feeling like I could talk to her as freely as I used to. I felt awkward around her at parties. Instead of embracing her as my newfound metamour in addition to being all those great things she was before, I pulled back from her all together.

But of course becoming more distanced from her made me feel worse, so with some prodding from Joel and Adam I decided to just tell her about everything: about how this was my first time dating a married man, my first time being a secondary to anyone at all, and on top of it, my first time in a long time feeling the way I feel about her husband. Her response was not surprising, and made me feel silly for having waited so long to have this conversation: I never wanted you to be uncomfortable around me, you can come to me whenever to talk about it, and I'm happy you and Adam are together.

A few days later she and I met for dinner, and my anxiety was gone. We got to know each other even better. She told me stories about their past that didn't make my stomach clench. And, best of all, we talked a lot about how great Adam is -- how cute he is when he does or says or wears something, and how much being with him makes us both happy. It might have been the delicious German beer we were drinking, but that dinner left me so warm and fuzzy I was mushy for days.

Since then, I've obviously felt closer to Adam's wife but also have felt closer to Adam, because I knew for a fact that everyone involved is rooting for us. It's not that I ever felt disapproval, it was that I needed that approval to come from personal interactions with her before I truly believed it. There are still times I feel a pang when I think about the ways that they are close that we are not, but that's a natural side effect of both being in love with someone new and also being a secondary (which is something that I'll probably think about and reflect on more in posts to come). At least now I know that I can push back any irrational worries about disapproval and move on.

There are two things I've learned from these two experiences I hope to carry with me when the next challenge comes along: A. My boyfriend and partner are great, and it would make sense that anyone else who agrees with me will also be great, and B. Metamours aren't there to be feared, but to be embraced. They are there to learn from and learn with, support, and commiserate with (in a healthy, non-gossipy way), and best of all, to gush with. Because who better to appreciate the sickening, rambling mush that comes from puppy love than someone else who's felt it too?

As with everything, becoming comfortable with metamours is challenging. Not everyone will always want to form the close relationships I find the most rewarding. But also as with everything I've found in poly so far, working at developing those relationships in ways that work best for everyone involved is worth the challenge. I have too many complicated emotions about relationships to go it alone. Besides, how else will you figure out what to get your new boyfriend for his birthday?

Road to Nowhere: Ignoring Societal Relationship Trajectories

Poly and Partner, sitting in a tree

(I haven't heard this one in a while.)

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

(Might be a little precarious up there, and depending on how high up...eh, I'll allow it.)

First comes love,

(Aren't we jumping ahead a little bit? I mean, first comes lots of talking, cuddling, and processing?)

Then comes marriage,

(Well, erm, this is awkward but, he's sort of already--)

Then comes the baby in a--

(OKAY that's enough. I want down. Someone find me a ladder.)

From the time we are born, rhymes like this one are pounded into our brains. There's of course not the same level of expectation as there was in our parents' generation or their parents' generation, but this trajectory is everywhere nonetheless. We always hear about falling in love with "the one," moving in together, getting married, having children. That's the goal, the end-all-be-all of societal happiness -- which, by the way, is out of reach for single people, couples who don't co-habitate, and the childless (or what I'd rather refer to as "childfree").

It took a long time for Joel's family to come to terms with the fact that I was his girlfriend but we didn't have that trajectory in mind - the years went on and there was no talk of moving in a certain direction, no planning to move in together, no rings. And even though my own parents are happy that I'm focusing on myself after so many years of being focused on my ex's career and what our relationship was doing, they, too, want me to get back on that road to marriage.

And these expected societal trajectories of relationships are a lot of times focused on in poly, too - as stories of ethical non-monogamy trickle more and more into the mainstream, they're very often about domestic bliss, raising children as a community, and planning alternative weddings. But what about those of us who aren't going to follow that trajectory in some or all of our relationships, either by choice or circumstance? What is all this pressure doing to how we view our individual relationships?

A few years ago, I was sad that Joel didn't want to co-habitate. But then as I grew more independent and busy, and we both started to date more, we realized that our setup actually worked pretty well for us. We roll our eyes at our parents, but take solace in the fact that we're enjoying our relationship in the way that is comfortable for us, not in the way that society says should be comfortable for us.

After working through it with Joel, it should have been easy to come into my relationship with Adam in much the same "fuck 'em we'll be who we are" way. But like so many things that come with firecracker-like feelings, it's more complicated than expected. Instead of seeing a lack of trajectory as being freeing, as it has been with Joel, it's sometimes unsettling.  I occasionally think more about what we will never do than of what we will do, or even more disappointing, what we are doing now. It's sad because I miss things. I'll be staring off at the patterns in my textured ceiling dwelling on something unknown while next to me, Adam's just happy to be there.

This is one of those things that made it onto my Poly is Hard list because these trajectories are something I can't escape easily. I want to just cut down the damned tree in the poem so no one has to kiss in it anymore. It is cheering to think back to a time I was sad about my lack of trajectory with Joel, and think about how far we've come. It's also cheering to think that someday I may meet someone whose idea of trajectories are the same as the ones in love songs, if that's even what I still want for my sappy, romantic self someday. But for now, it's hard.

For now, I'll attempt to cope by playing "Road to Nowhere" on repeat and keep telling myself, "Baby, it's all right." I'll attempt to stop staring at the ceiling and look at Adam's ridiculously cute dimples and feel his warm hugs and think of little else than how lucky I am. And I'll remind myself that there are people out there who have followed those societal trajectories of relationships -- I used to be one of them -- and end up not even a fraction of how happy I am with my partners. So maybe the goal to be happy with where we are can be a trajectory in itself, and the destination becomes the journey, the ride, the cuddles, that really good beer, etc.

Sounds corny, yes, and I'm not sure it'll work. But I have to try, because it sure sounds safer than trying to lug a baby carriage up a tree.

Return of the Jealousy Monster

While Adam was out of town with other partners this past weekend, I had a visit from my Jealousy Monster. It arrived on Thursday afternoon, settled in even as I tried to unseat it with a bubble bath and a relaxing evening of reading, and was still gorging happily on envy the next day, making the most annoying chewing sounds - like someone eating potato chips and smacking their lips in an otherwise silent room. My weekend, which was jam-packed with fun things, was at stake. I had to do something. 

In my previous post about managing expectations, I talked about the fact that most of what I know about navigating relationships comes from past experiences. I know, for example, that I fear the unknown, so when I've approached situations involving jealousy before, my first instinct is to have everything laid out in front of me. 

But this time, asking about the fun things he was doing made things worse, especially as I was, at that moment, grading a particularly horrible paper. I tried to explain that maybe I didn't need to know the details, at least not right then, and we even tried to change the subject. But the longer we talked the worse I felt. So I tried the complete opposite of my past inclinations: I told him I had to go. I wished him a good weekend, told him we'd talk when he got home, and closed the chat window. 

The immediate relief I felt was almost startling. Who was I? Wasn't I someone who felt that more communication, not less, was the solution to all problems? Hadn't I hated it in past relationships when the other person had requested a few days of silence? I continued to listen closely for my Jealousy Monster for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, but I couldn't hear him. He wasn't gone, but he was no longer making those annoying chewing sounds.

I took advantage of the silence and enjoyed my weekend. It wasn't that I didn't think about Adam, but I wasn't dwelling on the envy the way I might have if we'd been checking in every once in a while. Instead I focused on those other things that make me happy, and because of it was glad to talk again when he got home. 

I know that the Jealousy Monster is still there, biding its time to come out again, and I feel like before I revert back to my tell me everything inclinations I need to make sure I'm ready to hear it. It's nice, though, to realize there are still solutions to be found, and helpful to recognize that they might be the complete opposite of what was expected. Hopefully next time I'll know ahead of time to focus on what's in front of me that I am doing, rather than wondering what I'm not. 

Dear Past Kate, This Stuff is Hard

As I go back and read some of my previous posts, I feel like I've lied a little bit. Not about the facts, necessarily, but about the feelings surrounding all this hard poly stuff. That's right, folks, poly is hard, and if I've made it seem like solutions to hard problems are tied up nicely in little boxes with rainbow sparkly ribbon, I've been disingenuous. Here's what I would like to say to my past self.

Scheduling is Hard. There's nothing more disheartening than looking at the calendar with someone you want to see as much as possible and realizing that sometimes, there will be more time between dates than you'd like.

Sharing is Hard. At some point, you are going to read a status on Facebook about a partner and another partner and it's going to be so sickeningly cute that you doubt compersion* exists.

Trying to Disentangle Societal Trajectories for Relationships from Your Relationship is Hard. You cannot expect to follow the script of a rom-com. There is no script. You are making this up as you go along, and even though you thought you might never want to follow that trajectory ever again, it's still hard to realize that with some relationships, it's impossible. You have to make a new trajectory or better yet, ignore them altogether.

Acceptance is Hard. You will want to share your NRE with your parents. They will not want to hear about it. You will lie for the benefit of your relationship with them, and it won't feel great.

Change is Hard. Five years ago you didn't even know what poly was. Five months ago you weren't even very actively practicing it. Five months from now your life will have most likely changed again. But this possibility for change is what got you into this in the first place, remember?

The goal, of course, is that on a scale from hard to rainbow sparkles, you end up on the rainbow sparkle side more often. Preferably those rainbow sparkles that catch the sunlight and make rainbows on the walls too. Because you have to remember that while this is hard, this is also what makes you happy, and you no longer can see yourself any other way.

*the state of being happy when a partner is happy, most often when someone else makes that partner happy.

National Coming Out Day

Friday, October 11, was National Coming Out Day (NCOD). Founded in 1988, this day was created to celebrate the (very often difficult) process of coming out and to raise general awareness for the struggles of the LGBT community. Though I mostly came out to everyone I knew closely back in the summer of 2011 and somehow missed NCOD that year, I decided to post something on Facebook last year. I had a suspicion that most of the people who follow me closely on social media already knew, but decided that it was a good excuse to perhaps reach some of those friends from my days of yore. In that message, I came out as both bi and poly.

Responses were all positive, as I imagined they'd be, from "Love you, no matter what" to "What a great, honest and humble post!" But the greatest two responses were the ones in which two distant connections, a college classmate and a cousin of a past partner, essentially said, "Hey, me too!" This, I thought to myself, is one of the goals of this day, and one of the goals, I think, of coming out in general.

In my own experience, and I think in the experiences of a lot of people who are coming out as anything (lesbian, gay, trans*, bisexual, queer, asexual, intersex, genderqueer, polyamorous, kinky, etc.), coming out has more than one important function. I'll speak from my own experience because I can't (and shouldn't) speak from anyone else's; I came out for three reasons:

1. First and foremost, I came out to feel more like me. This is, in my view, the most important reason for someone to come out. Suddenly I didn't have to talk about half my life, didn't have to use euphemisms or code words, and didn't have to feel like I was being insincere with anyone about who I really was. I'll be at a pub night or something with Joel and he'll marvel at how fast I can work, "Oh yeah this is my boyfriend but we're not exclusive" into a conversation. Or, "Oh, you know, at the nonprofit I work with, the BISEXUAL Resource Center..." It's like if I'm clicking with someone, even on a casual friendship basis, I don't feel like it's genuine until they know who I am.
2. I came out to raise awareness. It doesn't always work out this way, of course, but sometimes the more personal connection people have with someone who isn't heteronormative or mononormative, the less likely it is that they will make blanket statements of discrimination. And the more likely it is they will find out more, and maybe even start to shed those small-minded ideas a little bit at a time.**
3. Finally, I came out to let others around me know it's okay if they want to come out too. I think this is one of the best parts about NCOD - the coming out domino effect. Those two people who commented that they, like me, were not straight or not monogamous (or both!) were probably already out, but they felt the need to come out again to me because I had come out to them, and all of us probably had these awesome "You are not alone" warm fuzzy moments because of it. 

I read a lot of amazing posts on Friday, some of them from friends who were coming out for the first time, some from straight, monogamous friends pledging their support to those who need it, and a lot (like me) saying, "I'm already out, but just in case you need a reminder...I'll tell you again." The community I feel on these days is really quite amazing, and the hope is that the more support and community we pledge to give to those who are still in the closet, the more they will finally feel they are able to come out when (and if) they want to. 

There are many, many hurdles to coming out, both personal and professional, and I'll admit that there are many family members who I'm still not out to. But the hope is that with days like NCOD, and with support from friends and acquaintances alike, those hurdles will be easier to cross in years to come for anyone who wants to jump them.

**Of course, your milage may vary. Last Christmas, as we were all discussing my second cousin's upcoming lesbian wedding, an extended family member actually said, "I guess it could happen to any family." I still have not come out to them, but that's a different subject for a different day. 

Reclaiming the Mix Tape

Like many children of the 80's, I have a particular nostalgia for the mix tape, especially the mix tape from a special someone. There was nothing quite like being handed that little rectangular case, pouring over the track names I knew and wondering about the ones I didn't know, and waiting painfully through the school day to go home and play it. And then, I hung on to every word and wondered, Why did he choose this one? This song uses "love" twenty times in it, is he trying to tell me something? (Spoiler: most of the time, he wasn't.) I'd reply in kind with my own mix tape that would show him my profoundly deep fifteen-year-old soul (though I'd never be there for the first listen, because who wants to see someone see your soul?)

Though I never stopped wanting to make mix tapes for special someones, something changed. It wasn't a disinterest in music - I still very much look to songs to qualify certain feelings. It wasn't the creation of digital media - I just started making playlists instead. And it wasn't that love songs have changed. It was my that my relationships no longer follow a preset societal norm, and love songs, most of the time, just aren't that poly.

But I was on a mission to make a mix, so I asked some other poly friends if they also had trouble with music. Several shared my frustrations, that otherwise meaningful songs become less so when overtly monogamous or jealous themes pop up. There's nothing quite like listening to a song and falling for it, thinking it says more than you could ever say to someone special, before realizing it contains a line like, "You're mine." I asked them, what do you do with that? How do you avoid mono-normativity* in mainstream music?

My favorite answer, other than the one recommending I just switch to dubstep, was this: I just ignore it. Though it had certainly crossed my mind to pick and choose what parts of songs I really intended to be about that special someone, there was always some voice in the back of my head going, That song is perfect except for those three lines, so it's ruined. Move on. But the more I thought about it the more I talked back to that voice: Why can't those three lines be re-interpreted? Who says I have to go along with what was it was supposed to be about? And then I got angrier: If I was one to always follow what was "supposed to be" I wouldn't be poly in the first place.

So I started to just ignore those lines that ruined a perfectly good song. Or, rather, re-imagined them. And why not? Why can't "You're mine" mean "You're mine right now," or "You're mine and you're also someone else's"? Music already squishes pages of emotion into three or so minutes, so isn't there always more complexity intended than what's on the page? And, even if that intent is totally different than the one we need, who's to say we can't change it? We're already pretty damned good at re-writing rules to fit our lives, why not re-write the intended meaning of mainstream music to fit our mixes?

Maybe this is my creative nature showing through, but once I started ignoring the mono-normativity, I found that making mixes was more fun - maybe even more fun than it was when I was fifteen. There's more of a challenge to finding a song that not only has those lines I can ignore but that also captures the desire for independence and community I have in my adult relationships. But once I find it, it's more rewarding. I mean, it's not quite as rewarding as writing out track lists by hand on a tiny rectangular cassette insert, but for some things, you just have to dig out a CD-R and a Sharpie.

I didn't use any of my friends' suggested poly-friendly songs in my latest mix, so I present their suggestions here, for amusement. What songs are on mine? Sorry, you don't get to see my soul that easily.

CSN&Y - "Our House"
Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band - "If I Should Fall Behind"
Todd Rundgren - "Hello It's Me"
Tim Minchin - "If I Didn't Have You" (to combat "one and only love forever" feelings)
fun - "Take Your Time"
Spice Girls - "Wannabe"
Alanis Morissette - "Doth I Protest Too Much"

and I'll add
The New Pornographers - "Challengers"
The Human League - "The Things that Dreams are Made Of"

Feel free to suggest your own in the comments!

*the monogamous "norm"

Poly Communication, Part II: Managing Expectations

Though I've been poly for over four years, I still don't feel like I have a lot of poly "cred." I mean sure, I have a wonderful, stable relationship with my primary partner Joel (Boyfriend), and by witnessing chaos around us we're reminded we're pretty healthy, even if we don't have serious relationships talks on a regular basis. But because I was pretty comfortable in my relationship with him, and because grading a bazillion freshman writing papers takes up time and energy, I hadn't done a lot of outside dating.

Then a month ago, I started dating New Boy (or for simplicity's sake, Adam*), and my life abounded with new-relationship energy (or NRE, in poly-lingo). I know that it sounds like a non-problem, but as awesome as NRE is, it can be channeled into anxiety as well as happiness. There are a lot of reasons for this, I think - all those lovely things I talked about in my jealousy post, for some - but one of the biggest reasons for me was trying to manage expectations. And not just manage expectations, but manage realistic expectations for Adam specifically that weren't based on past experiences.

That's hard, because by definition, an expectation is a belief that something will happen in the future and is based on what's happened in the past. The last few people I had significant connections with before Adam (other than Joel) were temporary: when we started dating it was made clear that they were leaving town, and that our relationship time was running out. So accompanying the typical NRE I felt with Adam, I constantly had an anxiety that everything had to happen at once. It wasn't until I could tell him about this anxiety that it started to subside, especially when he reminded me that he wasn't going anywhere.

Now I've realized that part of managing expectations is realizing why I might have certain expectations that I do, and deciding whether they're realistic for someone new. Like most things in poly, this means talking early and talking often. It sometimes feels like wandering into an emotional minefield to have a conversation about where things are going and what each person wants (and frankly, can handle) in a relationship. There's nothing quite more exposing than putting your heart out there with the possibility for rejection; it really makes me want to go back to the toss-a-note-and-run methods of our youth (Do you want to be my boyfriend? ...a casual sex thing? ...just friends? ...blissfully unlabeled because The Man can't tell us what to do? Check one).

But even beyond those big, scary questions, trying to manage even the smallest expectations have made a big difference. Asking questions like, "Will you be able to chat later tonight?" can be just as important as "Where do I fit into your life?" As simple as that sounds, I think there are so many "rules" to dating that we forget we can just ask. ("He hasn't answered your IM in a few hours? He's playing hard to get. Turn the tables and don't answer him for a few hours." Or, you know, maybe he's in a meeting. Maybe he's cooking dinner. Maybe he has a date. Maybe you should chill out.)

A friend of mine has a tattoo across his chest that says, "I'm not afraid to ask." I feel like an entire world opened up to me when I realized that instead of wondering things like, "Does he like me?" "What are we?" "Should I send that extra IM tonight or will I be imposing?", I could just ask. And not only could I ask, but things would actually get better (even if it's only in the long run), if I did so instead of remaining silent. There are many hurdles to getting over silence - I'm not saying it's easy, even just to toss that note and run away - but it's freeing to know that it's actually an option.

The more expectations we can manage by asking, the fewer times un-met expectations cause positive NRE to be channeled into anxiety (or, on the flip side, the fewer times we drag out something that is really not what we want in the first place). We poly people throw far more notes at our crushes than the monogamously inclined, so it's important for the potential benefits to outweigh the potential rejection. Does he/she like me? There's no way to know for sure except getting out the sparkly gel pens and practicing our football-note folding skills.

*We've decided not to change names to protect the innocent, because neither of them are really very innocent. 

Bruised Apples

Sometime in the mid-90s, I taught myself to juggle. A lot of people would have thought, let's watch someone else juggle first. Let's rent a VHS tape. Let's buy one of those trendy Klutz books about juggling. But not me. Did I start out with silk scarves that fall slowly? Hell no. I started with tennis balls, and compensated for not having enough time to throw one before catching the next one by throwing them ten to fifteen feet in the air. It was months before I figured out technique and was able to juggle indoors.

But I never could get past juggling three. At some point, I got too frustrated to go back and learn another way, so I polished what I knew (and know to this day, to the sadness of all round fruit that passes through my kitchen).

When navigating poly, I should have thought about my past juggling limitations when deciding how much dating I could handle at one time. There was a month-long period back in 2009 when I regularly saw three different guys. This might have been okay if I felt the same level of casual connection with all of them, but there were two I felt quite fond of (one of whom was Boyfriend), so my dates with the third started to fill me with more guilt than joy. My mind was off with one of the other two while physically with the third, and that was when I realized I might not be as good at juggling as I thought.

For a long time after that, after it was down to just Boyfriend, I didn't date very many other people. I was trying to get my career going and became more involved in organizations. I went through a brief period after I came out as bisexual when I wanted all the ladies, but even that, after a while, calmed down to a quiet, "I'd like a lady, if she happens to come by."

But now, life has thrown me more tennis balls, and I'm trying to juggle again. Only this time, I know what it feels like when I'm taking on too much. I'm already feeling like I've reverted back to tossing them fifteen feet in the air. I like expanding my life to new people, but I need to be realistic, so I have two choices: lay down some juggling implements or start over and learn how to juggle properly. 

To get away from the metaphor for a second (and I know, I'm quite attached to it at this point), practicing polyamory requires the ability to manage time. If Rule One is Communication, Rule Two is Time Management. But even beyond scheduling, I feel lousy when I don't think I'm giving my attention fairly to someone. When New Boy suggested I write about juggling new partners and time management, he said the first thing should be, "Don't drop them on their heads." Of course he was trying* to be funny, but he was right. 

So what do I do? The solution depends on the situation of course, but the first thing I've learned to do is be honest. That conversation sucks, especially if you're talking to someone who you like and who likes you back. Letting that someone know you might not have as much time or as much attention to give them is hard. But what sucks worse is not saying anything and fading away over time, possibly leaving the other person wondering what they did wrong. I still might eventually realize that I can't give that person the attention they deserve, but at least I didn't drop them on their head.

I should also probably learn to juggle properly, to be honest. I should look at past experiences and realize how much I should attempt to take on in the first place. I should factor in the mountains of grading, the volunteering, the writing, and the social engagements, and more than anything else be realistic, so instead of having to limit the tennis balls, I don't pick up as many in the first place. The ideal results are less hurt feelings, fewer bruised apples, and more sanity, the last of which I need most of all.

Oh, and if anyone has one of those old Klutz juggling books laying around, I wouldn't mind reading up a bit this time.

*Okay who am I kidding, it was funny. I like funny. Funny is sexy.

Healthy Poly Relationships Rule Number One: Communication (with Ourselves)

I wish I could title this "Healthy Poly Relationships Rules Numbers One through One Hundred: Communication," but that sounds a little clunky.

While I think that most people new to (or curious about) nonmonogamy are at first the most concerned about jealousy, even more important (and usually more useful) is learning how to be a communicator. And not just a communicator, a super-communicator. Communication is a huge topic in any form of interpersonal relationships, not just romantic and/or sexual ones, but people who practice nonmonogamy (or for the sake of my typing sanity, "polyamory" or "poly"*) need to make it even more of a priority.

Take, for example, this almost exact word-for-word conversation I had with my boyfriend the other day:

Me: New Boy and I are going to get ramen on Thursday night.
BF: At the new place?
Me: Yes....wait! Was that a you-and-me thing?
BF: I was kind of thinking it was.
Me: I'm sorry! I don't know why but I thought you'd already gone.
BF: No, I haven't.
Me: New Boy and I can totally change our plans.
BF: Thanks, love.

Okay, I'll admit the above example is simple and possibly even a little gag-worthy, especially if you have much bigger issues than what restaurants you and your partners try together first. But think about what might have happened if Boyfriend hadn't spoken up: New Boy and I could have gone to the ramen place and had a fabulous time, and even though Boyfriend isn't generally an envious person, a little resentment could have formed. Little resentments can build into bigger resentments, and then grudges, and then all of a sudden you're angry at your partner for something that could have been made better (or even resolved) with a little communication.

But Boyfriend couldn't have communicated that he wanted to be with me for our first slurp-tastic new ramen experience if he hadn't known that it would bother him if I went with someone else. Before we can communicate with our partners or potential partners what we are feeling, we have to know what we are feeling and admit it to ourselves. This is especially true when our feelings are less on the uncomfortable side and more on the dark-and-painful scale.

Authors Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy, in their book The Ethical Slut, put it this way: "Silent suffering and self-deprecation have no place in this lifestyle. Pretending that you feel great when you're in agony...will make you bitterly unhappy, and it may make those who care about you even unhappier." (I will point out that "[s]ilent suffering and self-deprecation" don't have a place in any lifestyle, but for ours they are especially destructive.)

Admitting to our own feelings (and allowing ourselves to feel them) is the starting point to being a better communicator, because then we can address issues that arise from an "I" place rather than a "you" place. Boyfriend said, "I thought we were going to try that place together," not "You said we were going to try that place together." He was saying, "I don't feel so great about you trying that place with someone else," not "How can you do this to me?" When we communicate from a place where we know what we are feeling, or even that we know we have no idea what we are feeling, we take ownership in the communication instead of placing blame and, ultimately, building resentment.

The first place to start is by checking in: what are we feeling? What made us feel that way? As with allowing ourselves to feel jealousy if (when) it arises, we need to allow ourselves to feel whatever else it is we are feeling: envy, shame, resentment, guilt; but also joy, happiness, love. Because communicating the good is just as important as communicating the bad. It's not only, "I felt envious about you going to the ramen place with New Boy" but also I'm happy that you checked in with me about the ramen place. I'm happy our relationship is important to you. Communication of the good is the end-goal of sloshing through all that other stuff. It is, in my ramen experience, the sweet pork and slippery noodles in the bowl of broth.

It is only after we have checked in with ourselves about how we are feeling that we can bring those feelings to our partners, and I want to explore challenges associated with doing so in a future post. But first, I have to find a time for Boyfriend and I to get ramen, because for some odd reason I have a craving for it.

*Not everyone uses these terms interchangeably because they're not always exactly the same. If you're curious about terminology in general, check out this glossary.

The Jealousy Monster and Me

Jealousy is not a big green monster. I mean, it could be for some people, but my jealousy is tiny. It grips the folds of my ear, just inside the external auditory canal, and whispers to me. I've never put it under a magnifying glass, but I'm assuming if I did it would look like a tiny green fuzzball with menacing, jagged teeth, meant to gobble up emotions and spit back hurtful and sometimes irrational things. I know when it's there - it starts as a weird feeling of unease, and the longer I let it hang around the more my brain listens to it.

Everyone might not have a fuzzy green ear-dweller, but everyone experiences jealousy. Those who practice nonmonogamy are not somehow magically excused from it; in fact, we probably experience more of it simply because more people equals more possibilities for it to crop up. Sure, there are some lucky ones out there who say they've never felt jealous, but they are few and far between (and, I'm going out on a limb here, probably lying).

So how do we battle our monsters, no matter which form they might take?

I start where I start with most things: with the idea that knowledge is power. Information about jealousy in nonmonogamous relationships can be found in many sources, from books like Dossie Easton and Janet W. Hardy's The Ethical Slut to a myriad web articles, blogs, and forums. However, the discussion about jealousy that rings truest to me can be found in the book Opening Up by Tristan Taormino.

Sources agree that jealousy is not a cause, but rather an effect: a result of something else. Taormino outlines what some of these causes may be, including envy, insecurity, possessiveness, feeling excluded, and fear of abandonment.  My Jealousy Monster feeds primarily on envy, insecurity, and feelings of or fear of exclusion. Once sated with these emotions, it whispers things like "He's closer to her than than he is with you" (envy), "You'll never please her like he can" (insecurity), and "They're at the top of the Eiffel tower while you're just sitting at your desk surfing Reddit" (feelings of exclusion). Realizing the roots of the jealousy, or what it is that your Jealousy Monster feeds on, is the first step to weakening it.

After that, Taormino urges readers to allow themselves to just feel it. She writes, "Don't criticize yourself or pile shame and judgment on top of [the jealousy] -- that will just make you feel worse." If my Jealousy Monster's first course is envy and insecurity, shame and self-judgement are like its dessert.

So where to go from there? Just as Taormino suggests, I turn to friends and partners for support. Today, in fact, just as I was typing this post, a friend admitted that her Jealousy Monster had been a particular glutton for envy and insecurity, but also enjoyed a particularly big helping of fear. In addition to venting, she just needed to know that her feelings were valid, and that's something that we can all provide for people: the reminder that what we feel is what we feel, and it is only after we have admitted and found the root of that feeling can we move on to try and get past it.

As for my Jealousy Monster, it grows weaker when I replace feelings of envy with focusing on what I have that others don't; when I replace insecurity with doing something I'm good at and really love; and when I replace feeling excluded with getting up from my desk and creating my own adventures. I work on all of these by addressing the roots one by one, and most often talking about them with my partners, both the ones I'm jealous of and the ones whose partners I'm jealous of. It doesn't happen right away, and not usually without help, processing, blogging, journaling, and lots and lots of communication, but with time, the monster has little to nothing left to eat (at least, temporarily).

But I don't kill it nor forget it's there. Everyone's Jealousy Monster will reappear at some point, even if it's much weaker than it was before. It could feed on insecurity again, related to my relationships, but it also could feed on the insecurity that I don't fit into those jeans anymore. The key is to not forget it, but keep it distracted with other things.

I distract mine with marshmallows.

It likes marshmallows.