Tag: #openrelationships

Letting Go of “Primary”

“Collaboration has no hierarchy. The sun collaborates with the soil to bring flowers on the earth.” – Amit Ray

If you have been following my journey, you will know what a struggle this one has been for me. When I made the move from solo-polyamory to partnered polyamory I made a lot of assumptions about what that move meant. We both did. And we have been learning over the last several years that some of those assumptions weren’t the same, and that some don’t fit how one or both of us want to operate now. 

The most basic definition of hierarchy is “a system or organization in which people or groups are ranked one above the other according to status or authority”. Hierarchy exists everywhere. From political or religious structures, to families, to nature, everything has a ranking system. Even our own bodies are hierarchical, from cells all the way up to organ systems. We are surrounded by it, born to and raised in it, and it is such a consistent part of our lives that most of us don’t even question the need for it. 

But does that mean hierarchy should also exist in our relationships? 

170 years ago the world I live in would have looked very different. My parents would have found a man for me to marry (probably in exchange for some kind of livestock or other trade goods) and I would have moved from their home to his. Instead of answering to them I would answer to him. We would have had children, and possibly farmworkers, who would answer to him, and then only in his absence, to me. I would have lived my life as part of a hierarchy based on sexism, racism, and socioeconomic status and never would have questioned if there was another way. 

The world has changed a lot since then. It still has a long way to go, but it is trying. And one of the areas that is changing the most is relationships. 

I was lucky enough to be raised by parents who taught me that women are equal to men, and that the value you bring to a relationship isn’t your money or status, it is who you are as a person. My parents ran our home together, and if anything my mom was the authority, not my dad. Yes, my dad had a higher income and my mom spent my younger years at home raising kids, but it could not have been more obvious that my mom never felt or acted like she answered to my dad in any way. The concept of rank never entered their relationship, and because that is how I grew up, the idea of hierarchy within a two person relationship has never existed for me. My relationships are partnerships, and always have been.

So why is it so difficult for me to apply that same principle to polyamory? 

The best answer I can give is fear. Fear of being superseded. Fear of not having a say in decisions that are being made. Fear that my wants and desires will not be as important as someone else’s. Fear that I will not be as important as someone else. Fear of being replaced, discarded, or ignored.

The exact same fears a secondary partner feels in a hierarchical relationship. 

Are my fears more valid because I started dating my partner first? Should they hold more weight because we live together? Or spend more time together? Or sleep together most nights? Am I entitled to demand more from my partner than they give to any other partner simply because we have been together longer? Do I get to put rules and limits on their relationship so that I can feel safer in my own? Should my vote count for more, just because I’ve had one longer? 

The answer to all of these questions is no. 

We have already made huge strides towards egalitarian polyamory. I have no decision making power over my partners other relationships, and he has none over mine. We express our thoughts, opinions, and feelings, sometimes very emphatically and dramatically, but ultimately the decisions we make are our own, and are the ones we as individuals feel are best for each relationship. Sometimes one of us is hurt or left out in the decision, and sometimes the metamour is. There are no vetoes or hard limits, and we continue to push the boundaries of what each of us is comfortable with. It isn’t always easy, and some boundaries have moved faster than others, but it is a constant work in progress, and blanket “no”s never enter the picture. Do we choose each other more often than we choose others? Yes, for now at least. But it’s not because of a title we’ve given our relationship, or a set of rules we’ve imposed on it. It’s because as individuals that’s where we are choosing to focus our time and attention. 

I haven’t been practicing hierarchical polyamory for a while now. So why is the title that comes with it still so important to me? I have already let go of the control and privileges that come with it, so why do I still need the word, even knowing that it holds no meaning? Is the appearance of status and authority still important to me, even though the actual status and authority doesn’t come with it? 

Apparently. And now it’s time to let go of that too. 

What’s in a name?

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet.” – William Shakespeare

Daughter, sister, friend. Student, girlfriend, jock. Employee, passenger, performer. Investor, mother, steward. These are just some of the many, many names and titles I have had over the years. The labels I have worn.

All of these labels refer to the same person, and each one expresses a different aspect of that person. We hear them listed during award presentations and at funerals as a means of expressing to the audience what the person has accomplished during their life. We use them when introducing someone to a stranger, to quickly and succinctly express what the relationship is. And we use them in our own minds, to categorise people so we can keep track of what our responsibilities to them are. 

Labels express successes, aspirations, connections, and expectations. 

When I took on the title of solo-poly it meant my main focus was myself. I came first. I loved my partners, I was committed to them, and I learned to adjust to their needs without giving up pieces of myself. I learned to adapt and grow and add more pieces without giving up anything that I wanted to keep as a part of myself.

Eventually I met someone who fit me so well that we made the decision to practice partnered poly together. Whatever the label you use is, whether it’s Wife, Husband, Primary, Life Partner, or something else, I feel like it defines an inherent hierarchy that comes into play when you have that conversation and choose to practice polyamory together, as a couple, rather than continuing to practice it alone alongside each other, as solo-poly. 

This does not mean that feelings have to have a hierarchy, or that there is a cap on how much you can become with your other partners, or that things like veto powers come into play. It simply means that when making big decisions or working through difficult issues that this person will be consulted first, and that their opinions or feelings may carry more weight in your decision making. Other partners will also be consulted, and their opinions or feelings will win out sometimes. The main partner will not always get what they want, or be given permission to make unreasonable demands. It just means that they are a slightly bigger part of the decision making pie, and that this is a thing that is known by all parties.  

Is labelling things like this the right way to look at partnered poly, or is this just another possessive controlling holdover from monogamy that needs to be released? Should everyone just be some version of “partner”, without any hierarchy? What happens when another relationship starts to fit the same definitions you are applying to your primary person? How do you handle it when you and your partner can’t agree on what that label means, or even which label should be used? 

I genuinely don’t know if I am capable of operating without my own label, and that worries me. I have a need to know where I stand with people, and what priority they are giving me over others, so that I can adjust my expectations and behaviours accordingly. How do you interact with your partners, with other members of your polycule, with your family, and with your community when neither you nor anyone else understands what commitments you have made to one another? How do you present yourself to the world without a title that lets them know who you are to each other? Should titles and labels and status matter in the world? Probably not. But do they? In the world I live in? Absolutely. 

Do I expect the promise of forever? No, I never have, and probably never will. Life has taught me that nothing lasts forever, and I am OK with that. Things change, people grow, together and apart, and it is impossible to predict or control how that will happen. Which means labels will change too. Do I want that promise, that commitment, right now? Yes. Do I want our title to reflect what I feel our relationship is today? Absolutely. Is it more important to me than actually getting to be with my partner? No. I am only half of the decision making equation, and we are not currently in the same place on this. Which is hard, and means that at some point one or both of us will need to adjust. But sometimes that’s what growing is, and sometimes we need to wait for the right time for it to happen. 

What Are You Looking For?

“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” – Carl Gustave Jung

“What are you looking for?” I get this question a lot. From people who don’t know me at all to people who know me very well. It is a great question, and I often answer it a little differently depending on who is asking.

I have a fantastic life and I am the happiest I have ever been. I have a good career, own my home, and have successfully ushered my offspring into early adulthood. I have a decent relationship with my family, have amassed an impressive collection of books, board games, and hobby supplies, and so far have avoided any long term debilitating illnesses or injuries. I have a sexy and supportive primary partner, a truly beautiful group of friends, and am part of a community of people that embrace me for who I am. Life is very, very good. 

So what am I looking for? 

A big part of getting to where I am now was learning a few things along the way, and those things are as valid and important now that I am in a wonderful place as they were when I first learned them.

  1. It is unreasonable to expect one person to provide everything you need. This is true no matter what the relationship – romantic, friendship, or family. People are beautiful complex creatures, and we all come with a mess of needs, wants, and issues that are more than some of us can handle on our own. How is it fair to expect only one other person to be able to help us with all of that, when all of us can barely help ourselves? Western society likes to tell us “it takes a village to raise a child”, but why does that stop once you grow up? If anything your needs are more complex and diverse, so it only makes sense that it will take more and different people to meet them all. 
  1. I want to continue to grow and evolve as a person. Life is great right now, but that is the way it is because of all the work I did and all the changes I made to get here. It didn’t just happen overnight, and it won’t stay this way if I just leave it alone.  Everything changes, whether you want it to or not, so trying to stay the same means getting left behind. That doesn’t mean racing forward and leaping into every new thing that crosses my path, but it also doesn’t mean slamming the door on anything different or scary. I want to grow and evolve and see what else I can see/do/accomplish, not just stagnate where I am. 
  1. I crave new input. New experiences, new ideas, and new people. I firmly believe that who we are as people is made up of the things we have experienced and the people we have experienced them with, good or bad. Every person we share time with becomes a piece of us, shapes us, and ultimately determines who we are going to be next. Allowing new people in means getting to see the world through a new set of eyes, being introduced to new activities or ideas, and having the opportunity to learn new things about myself. 

So what am I looking for? I am looking for people who bring something new and worthwhile to my life, be it a romantic connection, a friendship, or an experience. My hope is that these will all be positive additions, connections that increase the size of my “village”, but even if they aren’t they are still things that I can learn from. They will still become a part of me, either treasured memories to bask in later or painful moments that teach me something new. 

Dating Depression

“You know, you can only actually help someone who wants to be helped.” – Jojo Moyes 

My first experience with dating and depression was when I found myself dating an old high school friend while I was battling depression. I was not aware that this was what I was going through at the time, but looking back at it now I was smack dab in the middle of what turned out to be a 10 year fight I didn’t know I was fighting. 

Large portions of that time and that relationship are gone from my memory, and the ones that remain are jumbled and confusing. I know we connected again through facebook, that he was living out of town at the time, and that he was the one who made all the effort to try and make things work. I don’t think it lasted very long, or that we saw each other very often, and I can’t remember what words or feelings we exchanged. I know I hurt him badly because he won’t speak to me now, but I can’t remember how or why. 

Depression, in all of its forms, is a mood disorder that affects the ability to function in day-to-day life. For many this includes feeling empty, hopeless, or numb; feeling restless, irritable, or anxious; thoughts of death or suicide; having low self esteem or feelings of guilt and worthlessness. For others it can mean difficulty concentrating or making decisions, low energy, changes in appetite or weight, headaches, sexual dysfunction, aches and pains, digestive problems, and unusual sleep patterns. It can result in agitation, irritability, an increased use of drugs or alcohol, self destructive behaviour, isolation, loss of control, and uncontrolled rage. 

My depression lasted a long time because I wouldn’t acknowledge it, and if you won’t acknowledge something you can’t deal with it and get better. It wasn’t until I was in my early 30s that I started to see how much life I was missing out on living under this blanket of confusion and pain and fear. I’m sure there were people along the way who tried to help me, to talk about what I was going through, but I was so tightly wrapped up in it that ultimately I was the only one who could find my way out. So I reopened the old trauma wounds, explored all their dark and painful pockets, and did the work to clean them out enough that they could finally heal. The scars will always be there, and occasionally show in unexpected reactions or behaviour, but now shiny new skin has grown over them, and I can live and love as a whole person again. 

Not everyone has a type of depression that can be “healed”. My depression came as a result of unresolved trauma and is commonly known as situational depression. Some people suffer from clinical depression, which can still be caused by trauma, but can also come from physical factors, genetics, or from disturbances in the levels of certain chemicals in the brain. Clinical depression can last for a long time, and can even be a lifelong diagnosis.

Several years ago I entered into a long term relationship with a man who masked his depression very well. So well that for a long time he was even able to mask how bad it was from himself. He was a writer, a performer, and he presented himself as a high energy, social, excited about life person. And at the beginning he was, because that was who he wanted to be. He knew he had lots of issues and trauma to deal with, and sometimes they would come out as bad days or short periods of isolation, but those were on the ‘one day’ list of things to work on, not something he wanted to or was ready to deal with now.

The longer they stayed on that list, the more they affected him. We were very much in love, but in the end that didn’t really matter, because love isn’t the answer to depression. Our relationship became about me giving, and him taking. Not because he wanted to take, but because he was so knotted up inside that it became impossible for him to free up anything to give, and taking was all that was left to keep us connected. Our life became about what he needed, what he wanted to do, and what he was capable of. Our relationship stopped moving forward, and I ran out of things to give. I started pushing for the things I wanted and needed, and eventually he ended things. There was simply no energy left for me when it was all being used to hold his demons at bay. 

I took some time after that relationship to do some work on myself, so that I wouldn’t let another person put me through what I had just gone through, and so I could support the next person a little better. That was when I started to learn what was in my power to control, and what wasn’t. I went back to dating and kept picking the same guy I always had – the performer/musician/actor, or the funniest/loudest/most popular guy in the room. I have always been a sucker for charisma. But this time I recognized something common in all of them; they all had depression they weren’t dealing with. The charm and noise and show were all just very loud versions of masking, to hide from themselves and from the world all the shit they weren’t dealing with. This doesn’t stop me from wanting to be with them, or even from falling in love, but now I know enough to know what I can help with, what I can’t, what is because of me, and what has absolutely nothing to do with me, who I am, or how they feel about me. 

4 years ago I began a relationship with a man who continues to amaze me by showing me what living with long term depression can actually look like. He received his clinical depression diagnosis over a decade before we met and will most likely live with it for the rest of his life. He doesn’t try to pretend it isn’t there, doesn’t blame the world because he has it, and doesn’t demand that others make accommodations for it. Instead he continues to test the limits of what he can do and handle within it, pushes those boundaries as far as he can and as often as he can, and acknowledges and asks for help when there is something he can’t handle. He quietly and persistently fights a battle every day that most people don’t even know is happening, and he does it with a graceful strength that I hope one day to achieve. He has taught me that it isn’t wanting to help that is important; it’s being there when a person is ready and able to ask for and accept help that is what’s needed. That lesson is a gift I will never be able to thank him enough for giving me. 

I wish I could apologise to that friend from high school, that I could explain to him, with all of the knowledge I have now, what I was going through, why I couldn’t deal with it at the time, and why I wasn’t ready for the help he wanted to give. But that is not how life works. All I can do is forgive myself, forgive the people who have and will hurt me while on their own healing journeys, and hope that one day he might forgive me too. 

Chasing That Rush

“Every time I go for the mailbox, gotta hold myself down, ‘cause I just can’t wait till you write me you’re coming around” – Katrina and the Waves

I love dopamine. For those who aren’t the research nerd that I am, dopamine is a neurotransmitter that plays a role in how we feel pleasure. It rewards us for pursuing things we don’t have yet, and responds to things that are new or possible. It helps us think, plan, and focus. It affects learning, motivation, sleep, mood, attention, and even pain. It fuels the parts of us that want to explore, discover, chase, find, have and try. And once we have done those things it stops, leaving us looking for the next new thing, our next big ‘hit’.

I’m not rich enough to be a shopaholic, I don’t do drugs, and I’m not jumping out of planes, but over the years I have stumbled onto another way to get that dopamine high – new relationships. The polyamory community refers to it as new relationship energy, but it is more commonly known as the honeymoon period. It’s that time at the start of any relationship where everything is new; new feelings, new stories, new experiences, new people, and in the case of romantic relationships, new sex.  There is a seemingly endless supply of new things to learn, explore, and discover about your new friend, partner, or potential partner, and that intoxicating feeling of connecting with someone new mixed with that rush of new hormones is hard to beat.

So what happens when that high wears off? 

Some people never stop chasing the high. We all know them. It’s that person in your life who makes a new friend or finds a new partner and suddenly their lives become entirely focused around that person. They will cancel existing plans to spend time with them, can’t make new plans without checking first to make sure that person isn’t available, and can’t seem to talk about anything but their new person when you finally do spend time together. Everything in their life becomes about this person. And then the dopamine wears off, the new person becomes less interesting, and they are back to being the friend you used to have. Until the next new person comes along.  

These relationships aren’t only hard on the chaser’s friends, they are also incredibly hard on the chaser’s subject, the focus of their excitement. For a brief period they get to feel like the most interesting person in the world. Like they have found someone who really sees them, likes them, and can’t get enough of them. Until suddenly they are gone. And the subject is left feeling rejected, alone, and in many cases confused about what they did that resulted in this change. And when both partners are caught up in the rush, and are both caught up in that excitement to the exclusion of everything else, it becomes even more complicated, because no one can really explain why things ended. 

I have been in all of these positions. I have been the chaser, I have been the subject, and I have been the friend watching this happen over and over and over again. I have hurt people, I have been hurt by people, and I have watched people I love hurt others and get hurt by others. And it sucks. No matter what position I am in, it sucks. Every time I would think “this one is different, this one will work out, this time the connection will last”. And it wouldn’t. Because even if the potential for real connection was there at the beginning it had been washed away by the flood of dopamine telling me to do everything and have everything and be everything right now. 

One of the most important things I have learned from my wasted years of immersing myself in that rush is to slow down. A lot. Not because I’m trying to ignore the dopamine, but because I’m trying to draw it out, make space around it, and allow actual feelings and connections to grow in that space. To enjoy the rush a little longer, but also to give my new relationships a chance to find a connection within that time that will carry on past the end of the rush. So that other different highs can follow it. Because as great as that dopamine rush is, it absolutely pales in comparison to finding people you really connect with, who actually get you, and who like you for who you are, not just for how you made them feel at the start. And as good as “new” is, attachment, companionship, and if you are lucky enough to find it, love, are so much better. Because once you find those connections you can find new ways to experience that dopamine, together. 

Marriage

“Happiness is only real when shared.” – Jon Krakauer

Historically marriages happened for a lot of reasons, most of them cultural or financial. Sometimes the couple in question had a choice and sometimes they did not, but very seldom did it matter to anyone if they loved or even liked each other. It was expected that at a certain point in life you would fulfill the social contract and enter into the transaction known as marriage. 

Today in most western cultures marriage is seen as the ultimate sign of love for your partner. In many cases there are still legal, social, and economic benefits involved, such as enlarging your family, combining resources to purchase and maintain property, or having the financial support to stay home and raise children, but those are now seen as the benefits of finding someone who you love enough to marry rather than the reason for marriage itself. It is no longer an obligation; now it is a desire. Plus you get to have a big party with presents and cake, and who doesn’t want that, right? 

I have been in love a few times, and at least once in love enough that I did everything in my power to be with that person for the rest of my life. It didn’t work out, but even when it still looked like it would somehow the topic of marriage never came up. Not because I was waiting for him to bring it up, but because it never really crossed my mind as something we needed to consider. We chose each other every day, we made plans for the future, we were happy, and that was enough for me. What could marriage give me that I didn’t already have? 

Over the last couple years a few very close friends have gotten married. These marriages did not occur because my friends are planning to have children, need financial support, are particularly religious, or felt some kind of cultural obligation to tie the knot. They happened because they wanted to be married, not because they needed to be. Because they love each other, and because expressing that love through marriage was important to them.

I love my partner. The reasons I love him could fill a blog post of their own, so I won’t go into that here. Our relationship is the healthiest one I have every been in; we support each other when it’s necessary, make room for independence when it’s not, question and challenge each other to ensure we keep growing as people, plan for the future and accept our pasts, live and own property together, talk about everything, explore new things, and have a fantastic sex and social life. I genuinely can’t think of anything we are missing, and I feel like the very best version of myself when I am with him. Looking ahead I can imagine situations that will present us with challenges, but if we continue as we have been I can’t imagine anything we can’t get through if we try. 

Does all of this mean we should get married? I honestly don’t know. I find the idea of marriage intriguing in a way I never have before. In the past it looked like a trap blocking a person from experiencing new things with different people. Being polyamorous any marriage I entered into couldn’t fall into the standard rules marriages have traditionally followed, which I think on some level is why I have never really wanted it. But what if we could write our own definition of marriage, and make our own rules about what that looks like for us? Create something that makes us both feel protected, loved, and heard, that still involves choosing each other every day, and that leaves room for us to have experiences outside of the two of us. Definitions and rules that grow and change as we do, evolving as our relationship does, supporting and nurturing each other without limiting one another. 

I don’t know if it’s possible, or if it’s different in any way that what we are doing right now, but it sure is interesting to think about. 

Why I’m Trying Open Relationships

Like many of you, I grew up in a nuclear family. Two parents and their dependent children, regarded as a basic social unit by society. This has been the ideal model, in western culture at least, for as long as most people can remember.

As far as I know this model worked for my parents. They have been married for over 40 years, have not lived apart at any time during that period, and to my knowledge have not had romantic relationships with any other people since they got together. They are the ideal that our society tells us to strive for.  

So many things in life have told me that I should want this, my parents and their example being the first. It was reinforced through my youth, seeing other young kids playing house, listening to high school friends dream about their wedding day, and watching fellow college students frantically try to find ‘the one’.  As an adult it’s been hammered into me, watching one by one as people I knew paired off, getting those dreaded ‘when will you find someone’ questions at family events, and seeing the pitying looks from people any time I went to an event without a partner. It is expected that we will all pair off, and that we will do everything in our power to get to that as early as possible.

I was never the girl that planned her wedding. It just didn’t matter to me. Over the years I’ve tried several time to have successful monogamous relationships, sometimes to the point of completely repressing who I am just to make it work. It’s what I was told I should want, and I tried my hardest to have it. Then when I couldn’t make it work I stopped trying altogether, stopped trying to find anyone. I didn’t meet people, didn’t date, and eventually didn’t even have sex for over a decade. I thought I was broken, damaged, or in some way incomplete because I couldn’t find this thing that every other person seemed to be able to. I thought there was something wrong with me, that I was the problem.

There isn’t anything wrong with me.

It has taken me a long time to say that. Probably too long. I am a good person. I am happy, social, attractive, and I care deeply about the people I come to know. I like going out, staying in, or any combination thereof. I am compassionate, supportive, giving, playful, entertaining and independent. I am easy to be around, and easy to love.

I just don’t fit the standard formula.

In all of my relationships I’ve felt restricted, or like something is missing, in one way or another. I’ve had to give up meeting new people, lost time with people I cared about, and changed plans countless time to fit another person’s life. Hobbies I enjoy have fallen by the wayside, and things I’ve wanted to try have never happened. I’ve given up freedom, experiences, friendships, and time, all in the pursuit of that one goal – becoming a couple.

In every relationship I’ve had that feeling of restriction has turned me into someone I don’t want to be, and someone my partner ultimately hasn’t wanted to be around. In some I’ve become exhausted, constantly worn down by not having my own needs fulfilled while I meet someone else’s, making me angry and petulant. In others I’ve become rebellious, lashing out and finding ways to hurt my partner in an attempt to express how unhappy I am. I’ve tried telling my partner exactly what isn’t working for me, what is missing, only to be met with confusion or abandonment. It’s not their fault. It’s not even mine. But it doesn’t work.

Recently I’ve been introduced to the concept of open relationships. Open means different things to different people, and many names and labels are used to define it and it’s varying levels of feeling and commitment. Regardless of the term used the definition I hear most is ‘committed intimate caring relationships with more than one partner, with the consent of all partners’. The rules are set by the people involved, and as long as everyone is honest and follows them these relationships work beautifully.

Imagine it. Not having to find just one perfect person to meet all of your needs, and not needing to be the one perfect person that meets all of someone else’s needs. Not having to restrict yourself to one person’s likes or dislikes, hobbies or passions, and not having to badger that person into participate in all of yours. Being able to find different people that fit the different parts of your life, that allow you to do things you love with people you care about who also love doing them, and knowing that you aren’t leaving someone out while you do that because they also have someone to do the things they love with. Sharing experiences and emotions, good and bad, with multiple partners, instead of requiring one to carry all the weight of it on their own. Being free to meet new people you might care about, without needing to give up anyone else first. Being allowed to care for as many or as few people as you want, for as long as you want and in whatever way you want, at any time.

I can’t imagine anything more fulfilling than that, and I’m looking forward to experiencing it for myself.