Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory


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~Not~

Today is not my birthday.

But it is the day I gave birth to a small child, fourteen years ago. I called him my angel baby from the beginning. He had such a soft and shiny way about him. Now I look at him and my heart worries. He is still soft and shines bright. He has no pretense, no social cunning, no persona. He is brilliant, awkward, and unguarded.

He is just the kind of boy who appears as a bright blip on the great and terrible radar of the worst kind of life’s bullies.

We had a conversation, he and I, about life and relationships. He might want to have children, he tells me. He’s not sure if he will get married to a woman. We’ll see, he told me, he might want to be with a man. “We’ll see,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Maybe both.”

“Maybe both.” It was interesting moment for me, as a mother. I flashed forward, ten years, then twenty. It’s true, the masses who follow societal expectations, pass unnoticed, for the most part. They fall into line, and float along, reaping the benefits of privilege in return for their conformity.

But not this child. With just two words, his “We’ll see,” spoke volumes to me about his character. His open mind, his open heart. All at once, I wanted to scoop him up and lock him high in a tower, a la Rapunzel, just to protect his sweet small heart. I want the world for him, however he chooses to live out his life. I will keep the tiny part of my heart quiet that secretly wishes he would take the path of least resistance. Because the rest of my heart is happy and proud of this boy who has his whole life in front of him, and who isn’t automatically buying the first thing that’s presented to him.

“Maybe both.” That’s my angel boy.


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~Give~

This evening, as I was sitting staring at a blank computer screen, idly considering whether to write about my recent anti-poly state of mind, or my excitement about my New Year’s resolution list, the doorbell rang. It was just before nine pm, and I had just put my youngest two to bed. They ran past me as I walked down the stairs, and I called after them to get back in bed, which they either did not hear, or simply ignored.(I’m fairly certain they just ignored me.) By the time I got downstairs they had the door open, and I could see a giant gift basket that the two of them were struggling to drag into the house, as they giggled and called for me to hurry.

Inside this big wicker basket, decorated with red garland, there was a pile of food: a ham, salad, rolls. There were pies and chocolate. There were gift cards to the movies, and one for an arcade near our house. There was a necklace with a black and pink kitten charm. A few other small things that showed personal knowledge of our family were included.

These words were written on a card:

“Merry Christmas. We learned years ago that our family enjoys Christmas more when we give gifts to others rather than each other. Gathering this basket for your family has given us an excuse to gather together brothers and sisters who rarely see each other and has given us a purpose that united us and made us feel good. We didn’t choose your family because we think you are needy. The decision was pretty random, but we think you’re great and hope you have a wonderful Christmas!”

People are amazing. Merry Christmas, friends. Do something nice for someone this year. Something big, something little, it doesn’t matter. Do it for yourself.


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~Much~

I should be asleep.

The house is dreadfully quiet. The children have gone to my mother’s for a Thanksgiving meal, and I have been left alone to sleep. I got home from work this morning at 8am, and I’ll leave for another shift a little after 6pm.

But I can’t sleep.

I’ve had an amazing year, and I have so many things to be grateful for. It’s a little bit melancholy-inducing to be alone right now, but I am holding tight to the chance to reflect. Last year at Thanksgiving, my blog was not even a thought in my head. I’ve learned so much about myself through writing and interacting with others, that I have to put it on the list of things I am thankful for this year. This list would also include the standard, “children, loved ones, home, and career” items, but more specifically, I am grateful for the growth I’ve seen, in my relationships in each of these areas of my life, and the development I feel within myself. My connections are stronger, my goals clearer, and my motivations better defined.

It’s interesting, how at forty-four, I feel like such a newcomer to my life. It’s an absolutely glorious feeling.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.


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~Birth~

I get paid to watch over women during childbirth.  It is incredible, and amazing, labor-intensive and sometimes heartbreaking.

There’s a moment, when a woman realizes that this thing she is doing, is really happening, and there is nothing she can do to change it.   In this moment, there is a look of panic on her face, as her eyes lock on mine, and I hold them there.  I do not look away, and I say to her, I know.  Sometimes she will fight it. She will try to get away from it. But eventually, the realization comes to her: This is mine to do.  

I love watching women change during childbirth.  For that brief period of time, rules of polite society are put aside. As she sinks deeper into herself, she cares less about what is happening outside of herself.  She is focused on one thing.  It’s raw, and it’s honest, and sometimes it’s ugly.

After years of this work, I was taught a new lesson this week.  I observed a girl, in her first pregnancy, labor so beautifully, so instinctually, so powerfully that I was stopped in my tracks.  I was awe struck by her peace, and by her connection with the process and with her body.  The way she moved, as she worked through contraction after contraction, could not be taught.  No class or book could ever standardize the way she gave herself over to this thing that she had never experienced before.

After many (so many) hours of labor, and many more hours of pushing, during which she was completely present, for reasons completely out of her control, I ended my night with her in the operating room, numb from the chest down, covered in blue sterile drapes.  She could not move, as her baby was pulled from an incision in her abdomen.  She had done everything “right”.  She’d had no medications, as few interventions as possible, and good labor support.  She had walked and squatted and used gravity to ensure safe passage for her infant into the world. She did everything within her power to get that baby out the way she had planned and desired.

And it was not going to happen. It didn’t happen.  She didn’t get the natural vaginal birth she desired, and had worked so hard to give herself and her child.  I was disappointed.  Perhaps a little disillusioned.  I wanted so much to see her get the beautiful moment when she pushed her baby out and heard him cry.

It is easy to become cynical sometimes as a caregiver.  I see so much that makes me roll my eyes.  People in ridiculous situations of their own choosing.  People in horrible situations through no fault of their own.  Women who are so caught up in themselves, that they choose meth or other drugs over the lives and safety of their babies.  I’ve heard the wails of women who are told that their perfect, almost ready to be born, babies have simply stopped beating their hearts, and there is nothing anyone can do.  And then I’ve watched, as those dreadfully still and silent children are born.

I’ve sent women home either giggling or tearful, because I’ve told them that no, their water did not break, that they simply wet their pants.  I’ve sent women home angry, because I cannot predict, nor influence the time and the day that their labor will start.  I watched a woman punch her stomach and call her unborn child stupid.  I’ve been snapped at by women who later apologize; I’ve been sworn at by women who never apologize.

We get the hand we are dealt.  The cliche is appropriate.  There are things we can control and there are things we can’t.  Knowing the difference, and making the thoughtful choices when they are ours to make is the secret to contentment.

I only hope I’m playing my own cards wisely and thoughtfully.

Something about this particular patient made me remember what it is that I love about what I do.  I’ve lost some of that over the years, and I want it back.  I came home after this delivery exhausted and aching and a little melancholy.  At the same time, I was content, and I was happy.

I’m a lucky girl.


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~Wake~

“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.”

~ Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934


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~Compersion, Thou Art A Harsh Mistress~

I think compersion is overrated. There. I said it. There’s nothing in the poly world that has the potential to make me feel more inadequate than the concept of compersion.

Compersion as defined by Wikipedia (because, you know, it isn’t a word that has even made it into the dictionary, at least as far as I could find…):

Compersion is an empathetic state of happiness and joy experienced when another individual experiences happiness and joy…..It is commonly used to describe when a person experiences positive feelings when a lover is enjoying another relationship. It is an opposite of jealousy.

In the poly world, compersion is touted as the end all, be all. As if it is the ultimate enlightened goal for each of us. We all know, jealousy is BAD and compersion is GOOD.

Bullshit.

It’s a personal success, when I can feel pleasantly neutral about my partner wanting to spend time with another woman.

Here’s what I really think:

How you feel is completely separate from how you act.

Let me say it again.

First, feel your feelings. Second, choose your actions wisely, and thoughtfully… Even if your feelings and your choices are at odds.

You still get the poly points, gentle reader.

I had a jealousy flare-up a while ago. I was so jealous it made my teeth hurt. When my guy offered to not see her, if I asked him not to, I was stunned. Of course I wasn’t going to do that. I was just feeling my feelings. I’m generally proud of myself and the choices I make in my poly relationship. Asking him to not talk to a woman he might enjoy was not something I had ever considered.

Moral of this story?

You can do good poly, and never attain that ultimate state of compersion. Moreover, you can even feel jealousy (~gasp~) and still be a successful practitioner of healthy poly. Love yourself, love your people, and do your best.

This is all I can do, and it has to be enough.