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. 

Not-So-Tiny Problems I Have with this Cosmo Article About Not-So-Tiny Short People Problems

For those of you following along at home, a little bit about me: I'm short. Not like, a little-smaller-than-average short, but like really short. Like under-five-feet short. And as I am prone to having problems sometimes living in a country where everyone, on average, is a half-foot taller than me, you could expect me to appreciate an article with the title, "17 Not-So-Tiny Problems Only Short People Understand."

Not so, if you couldn't tell from my oh-so-subtle title.

Now I'm not arguing that none of these are problems for anyone - I can only speak for myself. And for myself, my biggest fear is that someone will read this article and think, "Oh no! Kate can't grocery shop alone! Kate can't ever put her feet up on the couch! Kate can't hold hands with anyone over 5'6"! STOP CALLING KATE 'CUTE!'" Never fear, people who might read Cosmo and worry about me. I'm fine. 

Here's my response to Cosmo's list:

"[People] really like to call you cute. It gets annoying fast." 

I guess if you're going for "beautiful" or "knock-out, drop-dead gorgeous," cute could be a step down. But I'm not going for particularly anything. Sure, I'm called "cute" far more often than I'm called "beautiful" or "gorgeous," but I'm okay with that. Please, continue with the cute-ing. I won't be offended or bite your ankles or anything like that. 

"Hope you have small ladder." 

Secretly, I like jumping up on counters. It's like the only time I do anything vaguely acrobatic. 

"Standing-room-only concerts are the worst. Oh, did you want to see Beyoncé perform?"

Actually no, not really. But if you really want my take on this, it's called planning. If I really really wanted to see Beyoncé perform, or more realistically, OK Go, I would show up to the venue early enough to stake out a good place. I mean, I know planning is hard. But I'm a big girl, inside. I can handle it.

"Grocery shopping is an exercise in flirting." 

Wait, what? The only way I can ever possibly get that can of soup on the top shelf is by flirting? Screw that noise, I'll use the longest item in my cart I can find - baguette, wrapping paper tube, box of cereal - and knock that sucker down myself. Or, you know, Ask someone politely to get something for me. Like a human being who doesn't need to flirt to get what I want.

"You might as well not bother owning an ottoman because your feet will never reach it." 

If only I were smart enough to get up and move the ottoman. But I'm too short! I have less brain power than everyone else!

"You have to wear heels to work. If you don't, you are basically a foot shorter than all your coworkers." 

Don't you tell me what to do, Cosmo. I'm lucky to work in academia, but even if I worked in, say, business, where I would have to more actively assert myself as a woman (and a short one at that), I would do so with my voice, not at the expense of my feet and back. 

"You look up to everyone. Literally." 

Oh wow, a correct usage of the word "literally"! I'm actually quite impressed with this one! Still rolling my eyes at the non-problem, but impressed nonetheless!

"Making out with a tall dude is a workout." 

My ex is 6'4" and I will admit, dancing at our wedding was a little ridiculous. But there are these awesome things called couches (and ottomans! Good thing I ended up getting one of those anyway!)

"Holding hands is also awkward." 

Now you're reaching, Cosmo, something I never have to do when holding hands - not even with my ex.

"People use your shoulder as their personal armrest, and sometimes your head as a headrest. Do I look like furniture?" 

No, seriously, do I? I know I waffled a bit on buying this paisley sweater but now I'm starting to worry I look a little ottoman-y. 

"Taking pictures is a nightmare. It takes at least three takes to convince your taller friend that 1) she should not bend down to take a photo with you and 2) she does not look like a yeti next to you." 

Honestly, taller friends who are reading this post, I don't care what you do when we take a picture together. Heck, you can just stand behind me and use my head as a headrest. That might even be the cutest possible arrangement for us to be pictured together.

"You will never be a supermodel." 

Promise?

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?

Gratitude Season

All month, I've been reading posts on friends' Facebook pages proclaiming things they are grateful for. Once or twice I thought about following suit, since one of the things I tend to do is zone in on things I'm anxious about, or things I want but can't have, instead of things that I do have. But as I'm trying these days to find reasons to get off Facebook instead of being pulled back in, I never joined them. So instead, here is my contribution to gratitude season. I am grateful for...

My Cat
Self-explanatory. I mean, look at her.

My Communities
The support of the bisexual and poly communities are invaluable, and I'm thankful to have the time and energy to put work into them to pass the support along to others.

My Job
This has been one of the toughest four months of my life, but I am employed doing something I (think I still) love doing. I am actually using the degree I will be paying back for many, many years to come. I can make my own weekly schedule, have a college work year with awesome breaks, and can grade in my underwear.

My Family
Despite the stress that comes with parents who do not approve of my relationships or sexuality, I still have their support. I know that there are so many people out there who have been cut out of their families' lives after coming clean about who they are, so I remind myself that no matter how upset I might be at times that I can't share everything, I am still their daughter.

My Friends
The support that my parents can't provide -- the emotional support that is related to living the lives that we live -- has been coming from my network of diverse, caring, loving friends. They are truly my chosen family, and the biggest reason I am reluctant to ever leave what I now refer to as my home.

My Partners
I still can't believe how lucky I am to have them: Joel, who has been my rock and the source of most of my laughter for (almost) five years, and Adam, who continues to give me new reasons to smile every day. They make all the challenges that go along with being poly 100% worth it. (And also happen to be two of the cutest guys I know.)

It might not be a whole month's worth, and there are certainly more things I'm grateful for, like Diet Dr. Pepper, Harpoon UFO White, the Internet, and buffalo chicken pizza. But those are the big ones - the ones I should hang onto when it gets dark just too damned early and I have to cram onto a bus to go home and grade. And to them I should add this: I am grateful that I have the ability to help others who have less than I do. Above all else, I think gratitude season should always remind us of that.