Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory



Special Man Friend thinks that we should be out to my family and kids as polyamorous.

What that means for me, is that my children, who know know him as my almost-two-year-boyfriend, would have to reconcile the fact that I am very much in love with him…and that his wife is okay with that. Not just okay, but supportive, just as SMF is with her and her boyfriend (who also happens to have a wife.)

I don’t quite get the urgency in declaring our alternative relationship dynamic to the masses, because believe me, my family is huge, and this will be The Gossip for a long, long time. And for what? Authenticity? Honesty? Why is not knowing this piece of information a bad thing?


I have a fantasy of entangled lives. Living openly, in and out of each other’s houses, family dinners, birthday celebrations. (I also have a fantasy of winning the lottery, but I never expect that to actually happen.) Metamour is SMF’s wife, and I would love to be able to have a sister-wife relationship with her. That would be my happy place. And if I was lucky enough to find another love, with another man, I would want us all to live happily ever after. Don’t laugh.

Yes, I said it. Sister-wife.

I know of no other word to effectively describe this desire. Of course, the fact that I was born and raised a staunch Mormon surely has spawned this vocabulary choice. Regardless, this is not something I think that Meta wants. We have coffee occasionally, and we have had some good conversations. But I believe she prefers to compartmentalize. She supports SMF in his relationship with me, but she doesn’t necessarily want to cultivate a friendship with me. Sometimes I look at certain women, who I feel a kinship with, and I wonder how different things might be if Meta and I could be close. (Metamour: a partner of a partner. This term has become popular in the poly community, and though I don’t love it, there’s no other word that I can find that is specific to this situation.)

Which brings me back, full circle, to this notion of Being Out.

On this day, at this point in time, my only motivation for full disclosure to my children and my Big Fat Mormon Family…would be hypothetically, if Meta was going to overlap our lives more. If she wanted to be present in the lives of my children and myself. Special Man Friend and I have been together for a significant period of time. My children know him. SMF is worried that the longer we wait to put this fact on the table, the harder it will be for the kids to understand. To be okay with something that is just downright weird. Their mother loves a married man. And his wife is okay with that. Some days that seems weird even to me.

Hell, most days, that seems weird to me.



“What’s the Pride Festival about anyway?” she asks, this chestnut-haired, spitfire of a daughter, from the back seat of the car. ”It’s about being proud of who you are”, I say, “no matter what. It’s about being proud of how you look, and the things you like, and the things you do. It’s about being proud of who you love.”

Charlotte is quiet, so I explain to this small girl that she will be seeing a lot of new people, and probably some interesting things. We devise a subtle code, if she wants me to take notice of anything or anyone particularly unusual.

I grew up in an extremely religious, uber-conservative family. My conditioning began at birth, and only in the last few years do I feel that I have completely let go of some of those ingrained judgements that were laid on top of me by my parents and my religious culture, and that were then perpetuated by myself, in my adulthood. I thought I was open-minded and non-judgemental, but in reality, I was simply tolerant. Polite. I saw those with a same-sex orientation as worthy of my compassion, though I’m not sure for what. Their plight? Their confusion? Their sin?

As we wandered the booths and navigated the crowd, my daughter, at age seven, didn’t see sexual orientation. She didn’t see confusion. She saw people. All sorts of people. And her squeal of delight when she saw a young man wearing a pair of earth toned butterfly wings, holding the hand of another man, was a simple display of pleasure. He was proud of his wings. And she was fascinated. She still talks of the man in the beautiful wings. How pretty they were, and how happy he was. How proud he was of who he is.

I heard through the family grapevine, that my mother could not understand why I would “expose” my children to “people like that”.


Because I want to do better by my children than you did with me, Mom. Because by telling me that it isn’t okay for “those” people to be who they are, you are also saying that it isn’t okay for ME to be who I am.

And who I am, is good. And I’ll be damned, if I feel “sorry” for anyone who lives a true life, and knows who they are. It has taken me a lifetime to be the person I want to be for my children. I want them to see the butterfly wings, and the happy humans, and I want them to be proud of who they themselves are. I want them to be proud of how they look, and the things they do.

And I want them to be proud of who they love.

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I was puttering around the kitchen, making coffee, listening to Special Man Friend having a conversation with one of my kidlets.  It was a rare long overnight date, and we were lazy and I was happy.  I felt hot tears behind my eyes, and I busied my self with getting out the coffee cups and suppressing those tears.  For the first time in five years, I missed living day to day with another adult human being.  Someone I enjoy.  Someone I love.

The logistics of my relationship  are such that while I am utterly convinced that I am important and vital to SMF, his daily life, his household, his finances, and his family, are entwined with Meta’s daily life.  Sometimes it is lonely, to be so much of the time, on my own.  Ironically, I think SMF and I would be horrible “nesting partners”, as I heard it described recently.  I have no desire to combine my finances with someone, or have another adult attempt to parent my children.  On the other hand, it gets old, being the date night girlfriend.  I know he doesn’t see me this way.  But that doesn’t stop me from yearning for a little more of real life time.  Grocery shopping, errands, naps.  If I’m seeing him once or twice a week,  I don’t want to waste my valuable time with him on a nap!  The same goes for movies.  SMF loves movies.  I tend to get restless and bored, however, my main reason for not wanting to spend two hours of date night sitting in a dark theater is purely selfish.  I want the human interaction.  I want his attention and I want to give him mine.

I stumbled into this poly relationship.  Now that I’m here, I’m constantly learning what works and doesn’t work.   I’m still thrown by these moments that creep up, things I miss that I didn’t even realize were important to me.  Things like making coffee for a man I love and then taking a lazy nap with him.  I think these slow and comfortable things will come to me.  Maybe not with SMF, but with someone, someday.

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I get so much feedback from positive polyamorous people, and I would love to invite anyone to submit writings to be posted here at Poly Nirvana. You get credit, and Poly Nirvana gets a collection of thoughts on poly ideas and concepts to pass on to others!

Email me: BraveGoddessProject@gmail.com and I’ll let you know if and when your piece will be posted.




I went on a date.  A first date.  This was a big thing.  I absolutely hate first dates.  I feel scrutinized, awkward, and nervous.  My palms sweat and I can’t think of anything smart or witty enough to say.  Generally I just feel like I want to throw up.

This boy contacted me on OkCupid. He was polite and respectful. (More importantly, he wrote in complete sentences, punctuation included.) His profile was brief and neutral.  I decided to take a chance and I agreed to dinner, near my house, knowing next to nothing about him.

I should have backed out when he offered to cancel dinner so that we could “skip to the friends with benefits” part.  Sigh.

But no.  Off to dinner I went.

Let’s just say that when he actually said the words, “I’m going to go home and whack off thinking about you”, I was cured of first date anxiety forever.  I have lived through the worst first date I can imagine.  And I can’t stop laughing about it.

He offered to pay for dinner.  I let him.  He walked my to my car, and I shook his hand, from three feet away.  I expected that to be the end of it.  But apparently he thought it went well, and I had a “Good night beautiful, I can’t wait to see you again” text before I got home.


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I love blogs.  I love hearing what other people have to say.  What they think, how they feel.

I’m not quite sure how I feel about blogging though.  I want to write.  I need to write.  I’m at this point where I think I can say just about anything.    But I worry about the layout, and the widgets.  I look at the stats and wonder why on earth I can get 972 hits in one day and ZERO on another.  What is that about?

So I’ve decided just to write.  I will lament about poly, I will over-analyze my relationship, I will pick apart my childhood.  Because this is really about me.  And it’s for me.  So stats be damned.  This is my tiny speck of the interwebs, and it’s all mine.