I’ve been reflecting on polyamory again.
Although Skyspook and I have been exclusive for over 2 years, we started out dating each other non-monogamously, and I had a decently sizable web of lovers before the shit really hit the fan. My ex-husband Seth and I opened our marriage after 8 years of being monogamous together and spent 2 years dating other people together and separately before we called it quits.
Furthermore, a large portion of my friends are poly to some degree, and I’m that friend people talk about their love lives to, which means I’m often thinking about poly issues in the abstract.
And I’ve come to wonder why I detest hierarchical polyamory so damn much.
Briefly, there are 2 main styles of polyamory: Hierarchical and non-hierarchical. Hierarchical polyamory usually consists of a coupled unit who have sex and relationships outside of the primary relationship (often a marriage). That primary relationship is given precedence over ancillary relationships, and any emotions, behaviors, or partners who threaten the primary relationship are a no-no and subject to “veto” by a primary partner. For example, let’s say I’m married to a guy named Frank and find I’m attracted to a guy named Jim, who I tell about my open relationship and is game to starting something. When I talk to Frank about my attraction to Jim, he says no, he’s not really comfortable with my dating other guys. How about I find a girl instead?
Or it could be something as small as Frank okaying my dating Jim but forbidding me from seeing the Avengers movies with Jim before I get a chance to go with Frank because that’s our thing.
Alternatively, non-hierarchical polyamory can take many forms, but the most important feature is that one primary relationship doesn’t take precedence over the others, that multiple relationships can be equally important to any individual person and given serious consideration/autonomy to reflect that. So in the aforementioned example, Frank would not always overrule Jim. I’d get to be a grown up and make my own decision regarding what to do after considering everyone’s feelings (including my own).
When Seth and I opened our relationship, we started out hierarchical and trended to a much more non-hierarchical place. In both configurations, we did have a large number of rules. For example, if one of us had a guest overnight in our bed, we were to give the guest our usual side and sleep on the other side of the bed, so when I had Nathan over for drinks, gossip, and bed cuddling, I’d have Nathan lie on my side, and I’d slide over to Seth’s side of the bed. Early on, we even had the rule that if a secondary relationship were in any way threatening to our marriage that it was to be ended and built a number of other safeguards into our agreement. However, in practice we never really needed those rules. Seth trusted me implicitly, and I found myself more frustrated at Seth’s difficulty in finding partners (it’s understandably much harder for a straight male than a bisexual female to find people to date/fool around with) than rendered insecure by his relationship successes.
And even though we ended up breaking up in the end (which is the whole outcome hierarchical poly is aiming to avoid), I do believe it was the time when we were non-hierarchically open that we trusted each other and understood each other the best. Before that, we were anxious and afraid. It was only when we stopped worrying about what would happen to the primary relationship and really supported each other while allowing near-complete freedom (the only exception being some rudimentary STD testing and rules for safer sex that were adhered to by everyone in our larger web) that we were truly open to other experiences. That’s why I think a hierarchical polyamorous marriage isn’t an open marriage per se; it’s basically just ajar.
In all truth, our splitting up had more to do with financial issues and temperament/lifestyle choices (I’m very social and love to travel; he is not and does not) than dating other people, though I have to admit clicking with others so much better than I did with Seth (Rob to a certain extent, and later Skyspook to a much greater extent) made it painfully obvious that Seth was an okay match for me, but not a great one.
I do not regret opening all the way up with Seth. I’m glad we had that brief time of mutual supporting and radical understanding. And I’m glad we’re divorced because we’re both better off.
The “marriage first” model of polyamory is something a lot of people swear by, but I can’t stomach it. I feel like I’m helicopter parenting my marriage.
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This may not all be hypothetical. From time to time, Skyspook and I discuss opening up. It’s unlikely in the near future. I’m still not enthused about dealing with other people and am spoiled by how low maintenance, high yield my relationship with Skyspook is, but we’ve had a few offers from friends who are interested in dating us if we ever get back out there (I’m much more amenable to the idea of his seeing some other people than of seeing people myself). However, I find myself cringing whenever Skyspook discusses how he’d like to approach it. He’s caring and kind and accommodating. He says things like, “I’d never want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable,” and “Our marriage would come first.”
This should be a good thing. I should be pleased that he cares how I feel, that he would go to great lengths to guard my feelings.
Instead, I want to shake my fist and say, “What’s the point if nothing is risked? And since when is getting my feelings hurt the end of the world?”
He’s a great guy. We work great monogamously. He’s optimistic that we’d do a great job opening things up, if that’s what we decide to do, that we’d work through everything and do the work and be better for it.
I’m not so sure.