Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory

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~On Sharing.~

Some days it just stinks to share.

Sharing is one of the first conflicts we face, as we enter the big bad world of pre-school. Sharing is one of those things that you learn as you grow up that you should do because it’s nice, and we human beings should be nice to each other, and being nice to others is good.

Sharing is not always fun. Sharing means you get less. Less of whatever it is, be it chocolate, time with your toys, or hugs and kisses from your mother when you’re used to being an only child and she brings a new baby home. Sometimes you just want those hugs and kisses all to yourself, damn it.

So we grow up, and hopefully we find a balance between our needs and wants, while also working towards transcending the selfish human part of ourselves that just wants what it wants.

I was having a bad day recently, and Special Man Friend and I had carved out just a little time to connect. I wanted the time. I needed the time. I felt like I was falling apart, and this time was going to be my chance to breathe and regroup. When we got together he was distracted by other things, and I found myself tearful and upset. I wanted him all to myself, damn it. There was a lump in my throat that made it hard to swallow, and I found myself not wanting to look at him, lest I completely break down. I didn’t want to share. I didn’t want to think about anyone except myself. I didn’t want to sacrifice anything for anyone else, or for the greater good. I was internally screaming and kicking my feet in an all-out tantrum that would have made any three year old worth her salt, very, very proud.

I said the words, “Do you need to go?” but was thinking “Don’t you dare. It’s not fair.”

Sigh. There’s no fair. There just isn’t. Some times it’s just one priority over another. Sometimes it’s about choosing. Sometimes you don’t get what you think you need, or want. Sometimes the hugs and kisses need to be elsewhere.

I felt terrible. I felt resentful. I felt sorry for myself. Then on top of that, I hated myself for being selfish.

In the end, he did not leave, and I never verbalized to him how horrible I felt about the possibility that he might choose to be elsewhere with his hugs and kisses when I wanted him with me. I know he tries to be there for everyone he loves, but on that night, for those few hours, I wanted him all to myself. I didn’t want to share. I’m still trying to resolve that inside my head.


~Here’s to Spring; Here’s to Growth~

I had this thought, as I was considering Easter Bunny Day, and how I wanted (or didn’t want) to celebrate it. I asked my guy if he had plans with his family on Sunday… I just can’t remember the specifics of Easter last year. At that point our relationship was just six months old, and since this is not a significant holiday for me, I really have no point of reference for his traditions (or lack of). As the words were put out into cyberspace, as it was a text conversation, a funny thing happened.

“Sunday is Easter,” I said. “I wasn’t sure if you had plans with your family.”

And there it was. An immediate realization.

He is my family.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s my boyfriend, my special man-friend, my lover, my beloved, my guy, my best friend, my important person, and my favorite everything. And somehow, though I view a select few in my extended poly network as “family-esque”, including Metamour, who is married to this man who may be my first great love, I hadn’t ever fully submerged myself in the concept that he IS my family, and he isn’t going anywhere. Just as I don’t live in constant fear that my children will suddenly no longer be my children, I’ve finally surrendered to the basic tenet of polyamory, which at the end of the day, simply comes down to love. Absolute, unwavering, unconditional love. The kind you have for family. The kind that doesn’t go away simply because you are not in close proximity every day. The kind of love that you do not question, but simply know, without having to think about it.

This man is family. My family.

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~The Rock and The Damn Hard Place~

I’m conflicted between writing here in cloaked generalities, and journaling my specific day-to-day experiences as a secondary in a polyamorous relationship. Though I am anonymous to most readers, those who know me in real life have access to this blog: Special Man Friend, Metamour, and the many mutual friends who know us personally. What that means to me, is that opinions formed of my lover and his wife, and myself for that matter, could affect our real-life interactions, not only with our friends and loved ones, but also with each other. I love my people, but we are hardly free of stress and conflict. I love my people, but we are not without our issues. I love my people, but things are downright hard sometimes.

I am passionate about my relationships. I am proud of the fact that Metamour and I continue to work through our insecurities with and about each other. I am proud that neither one of us has given up, or run away. I am proud of my Lover, who is committed to us both, and who never makes me feel like “just the girlfriend”. I know I am loved, I know I am important. I also know how much he loves his wife, and I see how hard he tried to meet both of our needs.

So even as I hesitate to bare all, I yearn to be honest and true. I wonder how to reconcile the two.

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So Not A People Person…

It’s important to me that the words I put out into the universe are thoughtful and useful, to someone, somewhere. I have no illusions that these words will appeal to everyone. But I am passionate about one thing: how we humans relate to each other. I want my energy to be positive, and nurturing. Granted, positivity does not come easy to me. Many people downright annoy me, and I have been told by those close to me that I am incapable of hiding my true feelings, that my face tells all. Still, I push on, seeking out the understanding of myself and the way I think, in order to put into perspective my relationships with others, good and not so good. This space is mine, my very own safe place to explore and develop my own ideas about my people, and all people.

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A Shameful Fabulous…

It’s the proverbial rock and a hard place, for the modern woman. Be pretty, be smart, and be capable. Handle your business, and look good while doing it. Own your sexuality. And yet, when a woman does all these things, she is viewed suspiciously by some, feared by others, and hated by a few.

One of the first things we learn as young women, is not to “think too much of ourselves”. We deflect compliments, lest we be considered conceited. Stuck up. A bitch. As if somehow, feeling pretty, or knowing we are smart, and capable makes us “less than.”

How many of us, when told, “You look beautiful”, respond with a dismissive, “Oh, I do not.” Or “No, my hair is a mess.”

Why have we, as women, done this to each other? We’ve conditioned ourselves to aspire to be less than fabulous. And then, ironically, we struggle with being less than perfect, never feeling good enough. The tragedy is, that WE are doing this to ourselves.

Here’s a new thought for a new year:

Be fabulous. Love women who are fabulous; enjoy and encourage and nurture their goddess-hood as you embrace your own. There is infinite room, for all kinds of fantastic women, so be your own beautiful. Do not ever be afraid of the knowledge that you are wonderful, and don’t dim your exquisitely unique light out of fear.

There’s no shame in being fabulous. Love who you are. Be who you want to be. Wear crimson on your lips, flowers in your hair, or rock a three piece suit. Be kind and loving. Find your positive goddess energy and go forth into this new year, taking pleasure in the women around you, and always, always allowing them be as fantastic as you are.

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~Fuck You, Feelings.~

Dear Emotion,

Our relationship just isn’t working for me anymore. I have put in hours and hours of effort and understanding with you. I have listened and pondered and reflected. I have absorbed; integrated. I have tried sitting with you, embracing you, being in the moment with you.

I have also wasted my time arguing, reasoning and debating with you. You are so hard to get along with! It doesn’t matter what my brain says, you always scream louder. You are impossible! I mean really, I try to be reasonable and thoughtful with you and all of a sudden I’m blindsided by jealousy. For no good reason that I can find. I mean, what IS that? Tell me, how is that even constructive?

I think it’s time we admitted we just aren’t good together. I am exhausted trying to make peace with you. I am done. I’m better suited to Logic and Reason. The universe makes sense that way. I don’t want to see you any more. Thank you for all the good times, but I can’t live with the uncertainty of what each new day brings with you. We are through.



Dear Ginger,

Fine. See how long you last without me. You’re no picnic either.



Dearest Emotion,

I miss you. This is harder than I thought, being without you. Maybe we should try again.




No. You were right. We don't work. I've moved on. I hope Logic and Reason are everything you ever wanted.



Darling Emotion,

Please. I adore you. I can't be without you anymore. Logic and Reason are not what I thought they would be without you. Emotion, Sweetheart, you are special, and life is dull and flat without you. I'm sorry I was so difficult, always wishing you were something else. I thought I knew what I wanted, but I was so wrong. I want you, and everything you come with. I want the happiness and the sadness; the joy, the insecurity and the fear. I want all of you, even the woeful insecurity and anger. I will gratefully take the jealousy and the fear back. For even in those moments, I am exquisitely reminded who I am, and what is important to me. I take you as you are, for everything you offer me. Please don’t leave me. I need you.



Ginger, beloved,

I miss you too. I miss your cool reserve, and the face you make when you are over-analyzing me. I love you and the way you have of letting me be with you completely, even if I make you feel weird. I will make an effort to listen to Logic and Reason more, but I make no promises. You will have to accept me for everything I lay on the table for you. I’m not trying to hurt you. I simply am what I am.

Call me, my love. 🙂

Yours forever,


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~Love Letter For My Monogamous Sister~

“The reason you hang out with those alternative people”, she says, “is because they condone your bad behavior. Like drug addicts, who make each other feel like what they’re doing is alright. Good, even.”


A million thoughts dart behind my eyes. And then, as she continues to speak, her words fade, and I settle into one single emotion.


How dare you call my adult, consensual, loving relationship bad behavior. You would rather see me, I don’t know, miserable and repressed in an abusive marriage? Oh wait, I did that already. I am not here to fulfill the roles and labels that you or anyone else has put on me from the time I was born. Wholesome. And pure. Because good girls don’t.

Well fuck that, because good girls fucking DO.

Good girls are kind and loving. Good girls take responsibility for their happiness and work goddamn hard to hold on to it. Good girls get to have fun, have friends, and have orgasms, all in abundance. Good girls make their own choices and admit their mistakes. Good girls fucking DO.

My mad love is not your choice. It is mine. And “those alternative people” let me own that decision, regardless of whether or not they quite get it. I spent almost forty years letting “those mainstream people” dictate my role within my gender, my family, my career, and my place in greater society. So fuck that.

But what I say, instead, is this: “I am happy. Leave it alone now.”

The silence comes again, and my anger quiets into a slow resignation. She does not get it. She is as socially conditioned as I have been and has not had that shift in consciousness that I am now constantly aware of in myself.

I’ve stepped through the proverbial looking glass. I just miss her.

for h.