IDENTITY

A New Relational Landscape

is not so new for me.

JULY 28, 2025

Hi Friends

The other day I got a Tegan and Sara song stuck in my head, a really old one, from when I listened to them as a rebellious queer youth in the early 2000’s. Of course I really wanted to hear the song, so I took to the internet to find out what album it was on. On looking at their discography, I realized that a 20 year anniversary edition of an album of theirs has been released. When I realized which album it was, I was shocked. It was their “new album”. The one me and all the other teens in our GSA (Gay-Straight Alliance) were kind of upset about because we felt they had sold out.

I feel like this about non-monogamy sometimes too. When I look back at my life I am constantly surprised by how long it’s been and how much of my life has been shaped and changed by my consistent commitment to self-discover through the lens of relationship.

I Didn’t Discover I Was Non-Monogamous—I Realized Others Weren’t

For me, being non-monogamous isn’t something I chose like a lifestyle. It’s just who I’ve always been.

As a teenager, I remember talking with friends about crushes. One day, someone asked me who I had a crush on.

“Well,” I said, “I have a crush on Eric… and also Danny.”
The reply was immediate: “Oh. No, you can only have a crush on one person.”

That moment sticks with me. I wasn’t aware there was a rule. And from then on, I entered a long stretch of serial monogamy—following the relationship scripts handed to me by culture, media, and peers. It wasn’t that I was unhappy in those relationships. But something always felt off.

It wasn’t just about attraction. It was about erotic autonomy—the ability to feel, follow, and honor my own vitality. I don’t stop noticing or feeling drawn to others when I’m partnered. That part of me doesn’t turn off. And more importantly, I don’t want it to.

Like a Fish in Water: Learning What Monogamy Means

I didn’t know I was living inside the container of monogamy until I started to question it. We’re so often taught to conflate monogamy with love, with commitment, with security. It’s the default script, so default that we barely recognize it’s there.

In my early twenties, I had just left a long-term “monogamish” relationship, moved to a new city, and was opening up spiritually and emotionally. That’s when a friend gave me a copy of The Ethical Slut—a well-known resource at the time. Around the same time, I entered my first explicitly polyamorous relationship.

Suddenly, my life blossomed. I had a nesting partner and another boyfriend. I felt alive, radiant, deeply connected. It was beautiful, messy, thrilling—and also humbling.

Because it turns out, loving more than one person requires a lot of skill.
I had to learn how to communicate clearly, hold boundaries, make agreements, and navigate the new world of metamours (my partners’ partners). It was not always easy. But I grew fast.

Monogamy as a Conscious Choice—Not a Default

Since then, I’ve dipped back into monogamy a few times. There are good reasons to choose it. For some, monogamy offers grounding, safety, simplicity. And I believe in consensual monogamy—meaning it’s chosen deliberately, not assumed by default.

What matters is not what you choose, but why and how.

Non-monogamy, for me, has become the relational shape that feels most aligned. I’ve experienced swinging, solo polyamory, committed open partnerships, triads, and more. At this point in my life, I’m settled and happy in an open relationship that feels natural, supportive, and deeply loving.

Of course, challenges still arise. But I have tools now. And more importantly, I have a compass: we choose love—not control—as our guide.

Why I Do This Work

The success I’ve experienced in my own relationships didn’t come easily. It came through conflict, discomfort, emotional labor, growth, and yes—some heartbreak. But the rewards have been profound.

And that’s why I’ve devoted myself to helping others navigate this path.

Because non-monogamy can be incredibly nourishing, expansive, and life-giving—but only if we do the inner and relational work it requires. It’s not just about adding more partners. It’s about being honest with ourselves, speaking the truth with care, and finding alignment again and again.

Many of us carry guilt for wanting more than one connection. We worry we’re being selfish, disloyal, or not enough. We compare ourselves to others. We run up against our insecurities. We struggle to communicate with metamours, or feel unseen by partners.

These are common experiences—not flaws. They are part of the process of unlearning, healing, and reimagining how love can work.

A Side Effect of Non-Monogamy: Everything Gets Better

Here’s what I’ve found to be true: when you practice relational clarity, presence, and erotic sovereignty in non-monogamy, those skills ripple out into every part of your life.

You get better at listening.
You get better at expressing needs.
You get better at navigating discomfort.
You get better at love—not just romantic love, but love as a practice.

This is what I want more people to know. Non-monogamy isn’t a shortcut or an escape route. It’s a terrain you learn to move through. But with the right tools, the journey can be deeply worth it.

And if you’re someone who has felt that tug toward something different, something more free, something more you—you’re not alone.