whoa

the constant struggle for better communication

1. Respect and consideration. I don’t maintain connections with people who treat me inconsiderately or disrespectfully. If people do this, I’ll let them know it’s a problem. I’ll give them a few chances as long as they’re not egregiously rude. But if a bad pattern (intentional or not) emerges in their behavior, I’ll distance myself. Similarly, I strive to always respect and consider other people in relationships — when they tell me what they need, I try to listen and give them what I can (or be honest if I can’t).
2. Clear communication. I choose not to get very emotionally invested or otherwise deeply involved with people who can’t or won’t communicate clearly, honestly and forthrightly about their needs, wants, boundaries, feelings, sex, and sexual health. Or who can’t find a way to listen openly to me when I need to communicate these things. When I ask important questions, I need clear answers — and I will keep asking until I get that clarity.
3. I don’t do lukewarm. I only stay sexually, romantically, or emotionally interested in lovers who act like they are attracted to me, appreciate me, and enjoy my company enough to put forth some effort to spend time with me or otherwise connect with me. This applies for casual, occasional connections as well as deeper ongoing relationships. I don’t need (or want) nonstop intense attention; but too much ambivalence, diffidence or passivity turn me off big time.
4. Safer sex. Fluid bonding is not important to me. I thoroughly enjoy safer sex, and I’ve found my relationships are simpler and less drama-prone without fluid bonding. So I don’t have unprotected penetrative sex with anyone, ever. Partners who require fluid bonding in order to feel emotionally close to me or to enjoy sex with me aren’t compatible with me in significant relationships.
5. Maintain autonomy. My autonomy is paramount to me. I always try to take partners and metamours into account, and I am often influenced by them, but I will not change myself solely to suit them. I will not automatically adopt anyone else’s problems, tastes, biases, priorities, fears, or grudges. Nor will I cave in to guilt trips, acting out, manipulation, or other similar pressure aimed at changing or controlling me.
6. Integrity and responsibility. I don’t help people cheat, and I don’t participate in don’t-ask-don’t tell arrangements. If I’m dating someone who has a primary partner (or existing significant non-primary partners), I’d need to confirm directly with those existing partners that their relationship is indeed honestly open before things get more involved than making out. Also, I will not lie to a metamour in order to protect a partner.
7. Negotiating in goodwill. When conflicts or quandaries arise, I am willing and able to negotiate with partners and metamours to find options and solutions. I am willing to be flexible, as long as I’m not compromising my integrity, well-being or autonomy. Partners and metamours who can’t or won’t negotiate with me directly in goodwill are not compatible with me in significant relationships.
8. Metamour relations. If metamours are in the picture, I choose not to get significantly invested with a partner unless I first establish a base of trust and direct communication with metamours. We don’t have to be friends, but we at least have to talk sometimes about relationship stuff — and not just during crises. If a metamour pulls away from this communication over time or indicates distrust in me, and if that seems unlikely to change, I would probably scale back my investment/involvement with that partner.
9. Other people’s rules. If a partner or metamour has their own rules or boundaries that would affect me, I will agree to abide by them only if they explain those rules clearly to me up front (not just what the rules are, but their intent), and if they’re willing to negotiate with me about their rules. And, of course, as long as their rules don’t conflict with my own rules for myself.
10. Outness. I am out as poly, and I will not step into the closet for anyone. Anyone who hopes to be a significant partner of mine needs to be comfortable with me not concealing our relationship. I’m willing to negotiate on what’s okay to share or mention, but I won’t abide by a blanket gag rule, and I won’t remain in relationships where I’m treated like a secret. Similarly, I will not refrain from mentioning my other partners simply because one partner is not comfortable with me being poly.
11. Mutuality and fairness. I won’t stay in relationships where I end up having to do all the work or planning, make all the decisions, do all the compromising, or take all the initiative. Also, I tend to want to get to know and embrace my partners’ world. People who are really only interested in seeing me on their “turf,” who aren’t very interested in getting to know and embrace my world as well, aren’t compatible with me for significant relationships.
12. Keep me in the loop, please. If I am in a significant, invested relationship, I request that my partners tell me when they first start getting interested in someone new (flirting, crushes, etc.). Having this information helps me feel grounded and secure. I greatly dislike being surprised by “Here’s my new girlfriend, we’ve been dating for months and we’re in love!” Similarly, I request that my partners talk to me sooner rather than later about changes in feelings, rules, life circumstances, or anything that might eventually change our relationship substantially or end it.If I notice a pattern of a partner sitting on such information or stewing about it rather than talking to me, and if this pattern seems unlikely to change, I will probably choose to scale back my investment in that relationship.
13. There has to be good stuff. If a relationship gets to be all work or stress with little or no fun, sweetness, or comfort, and if this seems unlikely to change, I should probably leave.
14. Breaking up. When a significant intimate relationship ends, I am willing and able to remain friends with former partners, and I prefer that. However, personally I despise theoretical friendship — where former partners merely act friendly (or claim to others “we’re still friends”) when no actual friendship remains. So when a breakup  of a significant relationship is contentious or sudden, rather than gentle and amicable: If you really want to stay friends with me, we’d both need to own up to each other about our respective roles in the breakup. Personally, I can’t transition to friendship without such reconciliation. If that doesn’t happen, we’ll probably just go our separate ways, out of each other’s lives — and I won’t pretend we’re still friends. When a new or very casual relationship with a lover who wasn’t previously an established friend ends in a breakup (rather than dissipation), I feel less strongly about resolving issues or staying in contact.

How I make sure I follow my own rules

First of all, I distinguish for myself between significant and casual relationships. For casual relationships (play partners, occasional or new dating, friends-with-benefits, etc.) some of these rules don’t apply as much — such as needing to establish trust and ongoing direct communication with their partners. For me, if a relationship feels casual that means I probably would not be very hurt if it was to end suddenly. I have less at stake in casual connections, so I have lower expectations for them.

This helps me enjoy casual connections — and I do greatly enjoy them! They’re wonderful and valuable in their own right, and often really hot!

The big trick, for me, is to stay aware of how I’m feeling — and especially when I’m just starting to feel emotionally invested in someone, or especially vulnerable to them. I’ve been around the block a few times; I know what my earliest glimmers of love or commitment look like and feel like. That’s when I need to knuckle down and do my own due diligence — and also lay my cards on the table about my deepening feelings.

Similarly, if I think a casual partner might be starting to give me indications of deeper feelings or commitment, we also need to talk about that. If you’re going to spin obliquely worded castles in the air that hint at abiding love or a shared future, we need to figure out how compatible we might really be.

Yeah, those conversations are scary, awkward, unromantic, and risky. They can end a budding relationship, and they need to be handled with care. (That’s the part I’m still working on.) But I’ve learned that it’s better for me to feel that fear and do it anyway. As I’ve written before, I’ve found it’s it’s better to “spoil” some dates with clear conversation than to leave obvious potential landmines unexamined.

Just because people have strong feelings for each other or stunning sexual chemistry doesn’t mean they’d be good or fair to each other in a significant intimate relationship. In fact, when people aren’t really compatible as significant partners, a lot of flaming love and passion only makes it worse for everyone involved.

The common social narrative talks about love like it’s the weather or a force of nature beyond your control, something that just happens to people out of the blue. Sorry, but in my experience that’s not how it works. If you’re sufficiently self aware to communicate well with others about your feelings and needs (and I am), you can usually tell when you’re starting to feel like your heart is on the line with someone. Or when they’re starting to get emotionally invested in you. Personally, I’ve come to consider this awareness part of Being A Grownup 101.

If a promising new relationship ends up not looking like a good way to invest lots of my love, time, and attention because we’re probably not compatible, I don’t need to break up. Usually, I’m happy to keep things going on a lighter level, and not worry about whether it will “work out.” That’s the beauty of not riding the standardrelationship escalator. As long as it’s good enough for everyone involved, that’s fine.

Scaling back an existing committed, invested relationship when substantial incompatibilities develop or emerge over time is a lot harder, but I’ve done it. Four years after our divorce, my former spouse remains one of my closest friends and confidantes.

If I can see clearly that the best choice is to break up, I’d rather do so early — even though that can really, truly suck. Especially if that means breaking the heart of someone I really care about.

There is always, always risk in relationships. I accept that there will always be some heartbreak in my future. But I’ve lived through enough of it to know that heartbreak is survivable. I have a wonderful, large network of good friends as well as a lot of resilience and coping skills. My autonomy and interdependence are what allow me to dare to love, despite the risk. I just don’t take foolish risks. Even for really, really hot, wonderful lovers.

Underpinning it all: I don’t absolutely need to have any significant intimate relationships at all. I truly am fine and happy on my own, and with my friends. For me, committed intimate relationships are ultimately optional. They are a very important option to me and I’d definitely rather have them; I’d probably be disappointed if I were never to have another one. And I never treat my partners as disposable — not even casual partners. But I simply don’t need to be in a relationship in order to have a good life. Being grounded in this experience helps make me more fearless in love.

I am not perfect at following my own rules. But I just keep trying, because they tend to be good for me and for the people who get involved in my life. They’ve evolved over time, and probably will continue to evolve. I’m willing to grow and change — even when that happens through mistakes, or when I do stuff I know I shouldn’t.

Solo/single perks

For me, the single biggest benefit of the solo life is that I get to focus on myself, and thus connect more authentically with others, with much less fear, doubt and regret.

I was raised Catholic. (Obviously, it didn’t take.) A big part of that culture is to subordinate your personal wants, needs, and priorities to those of your family, partner/spouse, community, and church. Those are fine choices for personal priorities — as long as they are a conscious choice.

But in my experience, when people feel obliged to always put others first, or when they believe no other choice is valid, they tend to end up pretty miserable — and making others pretty miserable. And often they live a lie. I’ve seen this happen; it’s heartbreaking.

On a deeper level, when you believe that your feelings, needs, and priorities don’t matter, you tend to suppress them. Eventually you can’t even see them anymore; you lose conscious awareness of them. It becomes almost impossible to distinguish your own feelings, beliefs, etc. from those of the people around you to whom you feel obligated. I know: I did this for too much of my life.

That doesn’t make your own feelings disappear; it just means that you’ll be perpetually unhappy or dissatisfied and you won’t even know why. That adds a layer of frustration and guilt on top of everything, which just makes it worse. And you’ll probably also end up treating others badly, because you’ll be unable to communicate honestly with them about what’s really going on with you.

In this context, focusing significant ongoing attention and energy on myself, putting myself first in many ways, may sound completely selfish. Hey, selfish isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But also, this kind of focus is only somewhat selfish; it’s also very good for the other people in my world. It helps me do more good and less damage.

What I’ve learned is that when I can focus on my own feelings, needs, and priorities and not feel guilty (or guilt-tripped by others) for doing so, I can be a better person. That makes me a better friend, lover, family member, colleague, volunteer, community member, and mentor. I know more fully what I really have to offer. I’m less likely to extend what I feel I should offer, rather than what I actually can offer. (I’m not 100% perfect on that part yet, I still sometimes overextend myself and disappoint others. But I’ve gotten a lot better about it.)

Becoming more aware of my own genuine feelings, needs and priorities means that I’ve learned it’s important to ask people about theirs — and to honor their answers.

For instance, I’m learning to resist the temptation to second-guess others when they say they really do want to devote all their time and energy to their family.

Similarly, I recently had to tell a man I’d begun dating that although I like him very much and enjoy his company, I feel no physical attraction for him. That was difficult for me. I was sad to have to tell him — but since he seemed pretty into me I really needed to be honest. He responded graciously and said that he still wants to spend time with me even without physical intimacy. Since then, my challenge has been to trust that he meant what he said — that’s he’s not secretly angling to manipulate me into sex or romance, or that I’m not hurting him. I have to trust that since he’s a grownup, he’s responsible for his own feelings. So I choose to assume that he meant what he said. Because if I expect other people to honor my stated feelings and priorities, I need to honor theirs. Fortunately he seems to be becoming a pretty good friend.

If I’d continued spending all my life living with other people and/or perpetually involved in intimate relationships (or actively chasing new relationships), I probably wouldn’t have the space in my head and my heart to get to know myself as well as I have in the last few years, and especially in the last few months living solo and single. I’m glad for this opportunity. I relish it, and I recommend it.

This is a good phase of my life. In fact, currently my life is better than it ever has been, partly because I’m solo and single. I may always continue the solo life, since it suits me so very well. The single phase of my life won’t be permanent, since I love being in relationships and am good at them, but it also has immense value. Even though I didn’t intentionally end up single (it happened when I was suddenly dumped by my last significant long-term boyfriend early this summer) I’ve found much joy and freedom being single. And that’s not just “making the best of a bad situation.” It’s unexpectedly discovering a very good situation.

Like anyone, I have good and bad days. But on a daily basis I’m able to put toward myself the energy and attention I used to primarily put toward others. I’m more aware than ever of how I’m feeling, what I want, and what works for me. This is especially important in dating and sex.

Dating and sex as a solo/single straight woman

Right now, as it happens, I have no sex partners. Also, right now I miss having partnered sex more than committed or emotionally invested intimate relationships. I’m exploring various options for sexual and erotic connection, including play parties — although it’s challenging to find such events that aren’t specifically focused on kink or the swinger culture, neither of which appeal to me.

As I look for sex partners, my priority is: I will not get sexually intimate with men* to whom I’m not strongly attracted, or who seem ambivalent about their attraction to me, or who demonstrate that they’re unlikely to treat me with respect and consideration. (Yes, even in a friend-with-benefits, play party, or casual sex situation: respect and consideration do count!)

*NOTE: I refer “men” in this post because I am straight. But I’ve found I’m attracted to masculinity more than genitalia. So my preference is to to be physically and emotionally intimate with people who are male-identified, or at least strongly on the male side of genderqueer, rather than strictly cisgendered men. Yes, Buck Angel is totally hot! And so are bi guys!

I’m willing to experiment with some minor physical intimacy (kissing, cuddling, massage) when I think I might be attracted to someone new, but I don’t proceed beyond that until I’ve figured out how I feel — and I’m quite willing and able to say “that’s enough, thanks.”

Why am I unwilling to settle for sex partners to whom I’m not strongly attracted, or about whom I have concerns? Because I probably wouldn’t enjoy the sex! And then, what’s the point? I know myself well enough to know what turns me on — and when I try to make out or have sex when I’m not really aroused, or when I have nagging concerns, I don’t enjoy it much (though in the past I’ve pretended to, to protect the guy’s feelings, which is messed up too). Worse, I usually regret it afterward. Been there, done that. I’d much rather thoroughly enjoy solo sex (and I do, often!) than sex hindered by the man’s ambivalence, or my own.

Solo sex is another major perk of the solo life. Living solo, I enjoy the time and privacy to engage in this joyful, comforting, exciting, stress-relieving activity with abandon. It doesn’t take up a lot of my time, but it is a regular (and treasured) part of my erotic life. I get to freely experiment with the toys, fantasies, techniques and erotica of my choice — without feeling any pressure to share it with, explain or justify this process of discover to anyone. This is a huge part of how I’ve learned a lot about what turns me on and how my body responds, on its own terms.

Masturbation gets an undeserved bad rap as second-class sex. Being able to indulge in it fully, without interference, guilt, shame, pressure or unwanted observation has led me to really love sex (with or without a partner) the way I do. It’s made me a much better lover, and more able and willing to explore new things with new partners. It’s helped me to communicate well about sex, and sexual health.

Loving solo sex — and being able to pursue it on my own terms, in my own space — is a key reason why I have such very high standards for any sex that I do choose to have with other people. Admittedly, sex might not be stellar right off the bat with every new partner, even when there’s great chemistry, but I’m patient — to a point. Partners who prove unwilling or unable to communicate and learn about sex end up turning me off, no matter how attractive I think they are.

Letting go of fear

Perhaps the biggest benefit of having experience living solo, and single, is that I don’t fear being alone, or not having a partner.

In fact, I just don’t feel as much fear in general as I did for most of my life, especially when I was married. Then, because I’d reached the top of society’s relationship escalator and had accrued the many privileges that offers, I was mostly focused on what I had to lose if I went solo. But the truth is, having experienced living the solo life, and doing so well, is a huge gain. That benefits me, as well as any partners I have.

I don’t wish to imply that people who choose to share a household and build a family with one or more primary partners are living in fear. Many people do this for very good reasons, including to raise children (something I never wanted to do, so that’s no tradeoff for me). I’m just saying: cohabitating life partnership — monogamous or not — is not the right, best, or most valid lifestyle choice for everyone. The solo life offers as many potential benefits, and perhaps even more choices and options.

As an experienced solo person, I am confident that I can take care of myself — because I expect that I have to. I’ve known too many people who cling to destructive relationships (especially marriages that are ostensibly monogamous) because they’re terrified that they can’t really take care of themselves, or their children. Sadly, sometimes they can’t precisely because they’ve sacrificed their self-care options and skills to preserve their primary relationship. Still despite such efforts, very often onetime spouses often do end up alone, through death or breakups.

This is why I put a fair amount of effort into maintaining a strong, adaptable career as well as good ties with my friends, family, and community, and (where possible) former partners. It’s also why I put significant effort into planning my future with the default expectation that I will remain without a primary partner, and probably living alone. I accept that there is always risk in life; and the risks of solo life I feel are more within my willingness to manage.

Also, since I’m good at living solo, I’m less afraid to make hard choices, ask awkward questions, or have difficult conversations that might end a relationship or make me seem less “attractive” to an existing or potential partner. (Some experience in my most recent significant relationship hammered that point home, hopefully for good.) Ultimately, this means I’m more likely to feel good about the relationships I do have; and those relationships are likely to be better for my partners and metamours as well.

Don’t I get lonely sometimes?

Sure. Everyone does. In truth, I was lonelier more often when I was married than I am now — not by my former spouse’s fault, but just because I allowed myself to become more isolated. That’s very, very easy for coupled (and especially married) people to do in our culture. When I was married, until we became poly, I took far less responsibility for my own happiness. As a result, I often wasn’t very happy.

Fortunately I’ve always cultivated a very strong, diverse, high-quality network of friends, colleagues and family of choice, near and far. Plus, I’m lucky enough to have a large and loving family of origin. Since I went solo, I’ve put more effort and emphasis than ever toward connecting with all of these people regularly, and being there for them when they need me. Social media is a huge help for that; don’t underestimate it.

I find that recognizing the value these relationships offer, and treating them accordingly, offers me more reliable and mutual emotional connection and support than any intimate relationship ever could. Also, having this network makes it easier for me to approach any potential intimate partner without wondering whether that person could be “everything” to me, or pressuring him with such expectations.

I simply don’t believe in the “everything” benchmark of relationships. In fact, as far as I’m concerned social myth of “The One” is highly destructive. I think it keeps people apart from love and connection, and blind to possibilities.

For me, embracing my polyamorous nature, and getting to know lots of poly and open people, has been the clearest path to this valuable insight and many others — although it’s definitely not the only way to learn this lesson.

It’s true that serial (and ostensible, rather than actual) monogamy is the social norm and the most popular relationship choice. So theoretically it’s numerically easier to find potential partners who want (or at least who claim to want) a monogamous relationship. Or to find people interested in strictly no-emotional-connection sex — an option that personally leaves me cold. And damn little in between.

In the real world, good relationships aren’t a numbers game. Also, emotional and physical needs (i.e., love and attraction) have never been one-size-fits-all. Plus, unless you’re a Zen monk, every adult’s life is “complicated.” Therefore, I’ve found that trying to play along with the social norm — where the default expectation is that you’re either seeking a monogamous partner or else strictly a “player” — drasticallylimits my options for having good relationships.

I strongly prefer, and deeply enjoy, connecting with people based on what feels right and healthy, and on understanding how our relationship preferences and existing commitments might be complementary — rather than how I (or they) think a relationship “should” unfold. To me, that is a huge relief; it allows me to be more genuine and present in any kind of relationship. It also allows me to be fairly flexible as relationships evolve and circumstances change. Because they always do.

Plus, I’m really, really picky — which means my “dating pool” has always been inherently limited under any circumstances.

Polyamory = many options (not necessarily many partners)

For me, one of the best perks of being poly is that I’m always seeing relationship options. If I click well with someone who is available to connect with me on an honest basis, we usually can figure out some way to make it work. This means I can be very happy and fulfilled with intimate connections that range from:

• Kissing or somewhat deeper sexual/erotic intimacy (hello: massage!) with someone I don’t know well at a play party, as long as explicit communication and consent are key of that environment.
• Casual dating that involves occasional making out or sex.
• A passionate, hot short-term fling.
• “Friends with benefits” — with real, not faux, friends.
• Ongoing non-primary relationships, which for me most often happens with poly men who have a primary partner of their own. I enjoy these, as long as the metamourrelationship is also healthy and positive. Although I’d love to have more relationships with other solo poly people.
• And more, whatever I haven’t encountered or thought of yet.

Of course, monogamous people can and do exercise some of these options — but generally with the caveat that once they find a “serious” (exclusive) relationship, all other connections end. And often, prior partners get eliminated from their life altogether. Or if they’re monogamish, the caveat is that no “extracurricular” connections can become emotionally significant or committed; the primary relationship always comes first, all the time.

For me, these approaches would devalue the connections I’ve built with others; as well as be untrue to my nature. Plus, viewing intimate connections through such a harshly adversarial, competitive lens just depresses me.

Who knows: maybe someday I might consider giving up the solo life to live with a primary life-partner again. OK, that’s very bloody unlikely for me, but never say never. In fact, the only types of relationships I’m willing to definitively and permanently eschew are those which are monogamous or dishonest. Similarly, I avoid anonymous sex and one-night stands; trust and getting to know someone are big aspects of what turns me on.

Standing on firmer emotional ground

In my experience, as a solo poly person I have myriad options for connecting intimately and romantically with others, in ways that enhance my life and theirs. This encourages me to keep my eyes and heart open, and my arousal radar up. It helps me feel pretty confident and vital most of the time.

That sense of well-being is the best payoff ever for learning to manage jealousy. Everyone feels jealous sometimes — even poly people, and even very experienced poly people. Just like everyone sometimes feels angry, insecure, frustrated, rejected, lonely, bored, ashamed. Welcome to life.

The key is: what do these difficult emotions tell you about what you need, or what you lack? Focusing on these questions tends to yield answers that are actionable; you and your partners can proactively do stuff to address them, not just reflexively avoid potential triggers.

To be blunt, in my view, “I’m insecure, so you can’t date anyone I think is more accomplished, attractive, or self-assured than me,” may be an honest statement of need — in fact, more honest than most rules that most newly poly primary couples come up with. But usually it means: “I’m too lazy, scared, or entitled to work with my own feelings, trust you enough to ask you for support rather than sacrifice, negotiate with you and your partners, or expand my comfort zone.”

The scarcity myth

Since I feel no scarcity of potential partners or ways to connect with them, I can walk into a room full of people and consider: Who do I find attractive or intriguing? I no longer worry much about whether others might find me attractive; I like who I am and so assume that I am attractive. (Ok, I like to look nice and feel fit, but that’s about pleasing myself.)

This experience is deeply empowering. I’m rarely “on the prowl,” so I don’t find new intimate partners every day, or even every year. Like I said, I’m damned picky, and I have a full life. But I do feel constantly open to the possibility of erotic or intimate connection. That feels supremely liberating, regardless of how many or what kind of relationships I happen to be in at any given moment.

Of course, there’s always the challenge of finding intimate connections that feel right and good to me; and that’s something that picky mono people face as well — only with fewer options to connect. This means I need to have the courage not to settle for unsatisfying or inappropriate partners just because I may be lonely. (I covered that more in Part 1.)

As far as the dating “numbers game” is concerned, I am willing to date men* who don’t specifically identify as poly or open, since there are plenty of them and they often are pretty hot. However, it’s unlikely that I’d engage in a significant relationship with a mono-identified guy again.

*NOTE: I refer “men” in this post because I am straight. But I’ve found I’m attracted to masculinity more than genitalia. So my preference is to to be physically and emotionally intimate with people who are male-identified, or at least strongly on the male side of genderqueer, rather than strictly cisgendered men. Yes, Buck Angel is totally hot! And so are bi guys!

Of course, it’s not like mono guys are beating down my door, which is just as well. The frank and assertive way I interact with partners often (but not always) is considered “unromantic” by straight mono men. For instance, I make a point of explicitly saying that a monogamous commitment with me will never be in the cards — and my actions and choices back that up. Also, I don’t compartmentalize or hide my other relationships and connections. In my experience, most ostensibly mono men are willing to date a poly woman only as long as they can ignore that she’s polyamorous. (Sorry for the generalization, but that’s been my experience.)

I’m also unlikely to emphasize or conceal various aspects of my life, appearance, values, interests or preferences simply to appear more attractive or intriguing to a potential partner. This unwillingness to “play the game” immediately eliminates me from consideration for many people seeking monogamous partners, since part of the “fine print” of social monogamy (and also for various types of poly “unicorn hunters“) says “you should be willing to mold yourself to my tastes and expectations.”

Anyway, I’d be very wary of getting significantly emotionally invested in a relationship with a monogamous man. I’ve tried the mono/poly dynamic twice in significant relationships, and I found it too stressful. Furthermore, in my personal experience, mono-identified men are especially prone to both rush into deep emotional investment and also dump a poly partner as soon as they get insecure or find a new partner. (That was my first bad breakup of 2012. Your mileage may vary. Hopefully it does.)

Given all that, it really doesn’t matter to me that numerically fewer people identify as, or are open to, poly or otherwise honestly open relationships. Before the age of the internet and personal ads, that would have been a significant obstacle — although not insurmountable.

But today, given all the options that people have for finding each other and connecting, I’d say the social predominance of monogamy is not a problem or even a concern for me. It’s just part of the landscape; one that I can mostly ignore when seeking partners. And because I like being solo and being single, I don’t feel desperate for a partner.

Logistical advantages of solo polyamory

Since I live alone, if I invite a lover to stay with me for a night or a weekend or longer, I don’t have to worry about whether that might impinge on another partner’s living space. This added flexibility is especially helpful when I’m seeing a man who lives with a partner/spouse, roommates, or children; having a place to get together without such contingencies makes it easier for us to spend more time together.

Similarly, if I choose to spend money on dates, vacations, or gifts for a partner, I don’t have to clear that with anyone. My finances are strictly my own.

In terms of sexual health, being solo poly has led me to greatly simplify my sexual choices: I don’t have unprotected penetrative sex with anyone, ever. (With the exception of some types of manual and oral stimulation, on a case-by-case basis, after I’ve gotten to know a partner.) And I always discuss sexual health risk factors, boundaries, and preferences with partners before we start having any sex that might entail risks. Informed consent is paramount to me when it comes to sex and sexual health.

In many relationships, especially monogamous ones, fluid bonding (sex without barriers) signifies to partners the status or depth of their emotional connection. In my experience, that ends up being a minefield.

In fact, when years ago I told my physician that I was poly, she mentioned that often the most heartbreaking cases of STIs that she sees happen when someone in an ostensibly monogamous couple cheats, fails to practice safer sex during cheating due to a lack of comfort or skill with it, contracts an STI, and transmits it to his/her partner because it would look suspicious to suddenly start using barriers. (Yeah, monogamy is inherently simpler and safer. Right.)

Personally, I am quite capable of feeling very intimately connected to, turned on with, and treasured and desired by an intimate partner while he wears a condom. Plus, I feel more respected, relaxed, and safe when my partners and I all are on the same page about safety in the sex we have together.

Best of all, doing and talking about safer sex is totally hot and fun. As sex blogger Lily Lloyd recently told me: “The weirdest thing kinky people do is they talk about sex before they have it.” Same goes for most poly people — since we don’t assume exclusivity, most of us feel honor-bound to discuss sexual boundaries and safety clearly. As well as desires. Definitely desires. 

Being a solo poly person also means that I don’t need to get anyone’s approval to enter into new relationships or other intimate or sexual connections. I make my own choices in partners, and I take responsibility for creating, maintaining and ending my relationships. I always consider and try to honor my partners’ needs and feelings (in fact, I’m extremely conscientious on that point), and I keep my partners informed (almost always in advance). But I am truly a free agent when it comes to my intimate relationships.

Why being solo poly is a great choice

Solo polyamory is definitely not the most common or the easiest approach to having intimate relationships — and whenever you’re outside the mainstream, life is harder.

So far in this blog I feel like I’ve been rather a downer. I’ve written extensively about the challenges solo poly people face, especially related to marginalization and thecouple privilege that is pervasive in society at large and in the poly/open community. I mean, I crowdsourced a list of tips for how to treat non-primary partners well mainly because this isn’t always common practice in polyamory.

But there are many substantial benefits to solo polyamory as well, and I wanted to make these clear.

I choose to be solo poly for many good, positive reasons — and so do many other people. I am quite upbeat about honest nonmonogamous relationships; they often do work extremely well for everyone involved. They’ve been the source of many of my most treasured experiences and connections, and they bring joy to many people.

I’m solo poly not just by circumstance, or because I’m flawed or “couldn’t do any better.” I’m solo poly because this is a fantastic way for me to live. It’s far better and more satisfying for me than monogamy or sharing a household with an intimate partner. I enjoy solo polyamore, I embrace it, and I heartily recommend it.

All taken from www.solopoly.net