Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory



This week has been a killer. And by “this week”, I mean just the last four days or so. In a nutshell:

1) The weather has been ridiculous, even below zero. I’ve always said, that if there was a hell, MY hell would be freezing. I strongly and utterly detest being cold.

2) My son’s car needed a new starter, which I did get done, and apparently, a new gasket-thingie and new tires. Which will have to wait. (The gasket is just leaking, don’t panic.)

3) I’m planning a cookie swap party on Saturday, and I’m not sure if anyone is coming. The kids and I will have a good time regardless. My family is not as close as I would like, and I thought this might be fun, but I fear I’m putting too much weight on it.

4) I floated downtown to the big sister hospital on Monday night, which always makes my brain hurt because I don’t know where anything is, and I don’t know the other nurses, so nobody really talks to me.

5) I came home Tuesday morning from work to a very cold house, and a furnace that proved to need to be completely replaced. Which led to service technicians, space heaters, farming the kids out for the night, no sleep for me, and a brand new furnace, which was installed on Wednesday.

6) I got a new puppy.

Pictorial forthcoming, featuring both the puppy, and the expensive new furnace.




Writing therapy may now commence.

Guilt has always puzzled me.

I mean, I understand it, in context of my conscience keeping check on my morals. Lying, cheating, stealing, or maliciously hurting another human being, would all be appropriate triggers for guilt.

So why then, do some of us feel guilty for being happy? What the hell is that all about? Am I so cynical, that I believe that my happiness will always come at the expense of another? Or have I simply bought into the statement I am often telling my children, that “someone always, always has it worse than you do…”?

Today I’m a little sad and frustrated. I’m also feeling guilty. Guilty that I’m not able to do everything my kids want or need me to do. Guilty that I’m tucked into bed on a snowy Saturday morning, listening to music and being cozy, when I should be cleaning house. Or baking Christmas cookies. Or any one of the other hundreds of productive things that are always hanging over me. Most days I’m content to know that as a single mother, my kids have a place to live, plenty of video games, and they shower when they should. Yes, sometimes they eat cold cereal for dinner, but they don’t ever have to go to bed hungry.

But today I feel small and inadequate.

I try to be mindful and present in my relationship with Special Man, but I can’t help but feel sometimes, like my happiness is at the expense of another. If he’s with me, he’s NOT with her. Am I taking that away from her? I want to be happy wearing the necklace he gave me for my birthday, but then I am self-conscious that it will make her feel bad. I feel guilty for my happiness.

And I hate that.



Special Man came and took me for a drive Saturday night. I knew he was coming over and I had mixed feelings about it, because my head was not in a good place. Poly is hard. Some days I daydream about returning to a monogamous mindset and how much easier that might be. Sometimes I yearn for the mind numbing routine of societal relationship norms.

We drove an hour up into the mountains. We parked in the pitch black off the main road.

He knew I was upset. And still, I’m not sure what that was all about. There were a few small things that were bothering me but my reactions were amplified and internalized. He tried to get me to talk but it was too difficult to put words to something I did not understand myself. He tried to touch me, to connect with me, to understand what was in my head.

I wasn’t having any of it.

After some talk, and some attempted cuddling, I vented some of my frustrations by seeing how hard I could punch him in the chest. (Hey, I never claimed to be the enlightened Goddess of Healthy Communication…) The good news, is that apparently, I can throw a good punch. The bad news is that he is still stronger and bigger than I am, and he soon had me pinned in some manly wrestling hold.

“Say you love me”, he said sternly. “Say you love me, and that everything is going to be okay.”

I turned my head away.

“No,” I mumbled. “No, I’m not saying it. I don’t want to. I don’t want to say it.”

This went on for a minute or two, and the more he insisted, the more I felt like the little sister who was being forced to say “Uncle” so that her big brother wouldn’t spit in her mouth. We went back and forth. Finally I broke.

“I don’t want to love you anymore.”

And the struggle left my body, and I started to cry. His eyes found mine, and he said, “Ah. There it is.”

I continued to cry, and soon I quieted. “This doesn’t change anything,” he told me. “This doesn’t change how I feel about you at all.”

“It’s too hard,” I whispered.

“No,” he said without hesitation. “It’s hard. It’s not too hard. And I’m not ever going to make it easy for you to run.”

And it was over.