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  • Sweetie

    That’s what he is.

    Just so sweet and gentle.

    He presents himself differently at first glance.

    On our first date, he took out his grill to eat dinner.

    But when he talked his voice was so soft and smooth.

    He told me how much he loved nature and about the owls that hoot outside his bedroom window.

    He spoke of his family.

    Helping his grandpa and living with his uncle.

    How much he loves his mom.

    His heart is so pure.

    He grew up rough, but made it out.

    He’s so proud of that.

    Everything about him is endearing.

    There’s an earnestness in him, a genuine intention.

    I can tell he makes a conscious choice to see the world with hope and wonder.

    He loves to talk dirty and I fucking looovve talking dirty.

    Somehow he makes that sweet too.

    Our sex is so crazy good, he ravages me and worships me all at once.

    When we’re together he can’t stay out of me, and I don’t want him to.

    He makes me feel alive and liberated and also steady and safe.

    I can tell he’s falling in love with me, but is trying to hold a boundary because I’m married.

    It makes me nervous because he’s not poly.

    And I think I’m the only person he’s seeing right now.

    I like him too, and see potential for loving him.

    But I’m afraid to let myself.

    I don’t want to go through the pain of heartbreak again.

    I’m still trying to pull my way out of it and some days are really hard.

    I’m not sure I’m ready to risk that happening all over again.

    Is this being poly?

    Euphoric bliss followed by crushing pain and then the cycle repeats?

    I trust Sweetie.

    But I trusted my Warrior too.

    And he devastated me.

    I don’t want to close my heart, but I do want to protect it.

    I want to be its safe keeper and make choices that are responsible for my mental health and capacity.

    So I need to go slow.

    Take care.

    Maintain a safe pace.

    I need to remember how to trust myself again.

    To feel secure and devoted to myself before offering devotion to another.

    But along the way, there is still sweetness.

  • Yellow

    I remember everything about it.

    The last time I saw you.

    I wore that yellow sundress.

    We went to the farmers market and held hands among the produce and flowers.

    I wish I’d known.

    That day was the last day.

    I would have looked into your eyes longer.

    Held your hand a little tighter.

    Memorized the shape of your form as I held you inside me.

    Spent hours with my face burrowed in your neck, smelling your smell.

    I’m starting to forget it all.

    How long has it been now?

    Months.

    I haven’t kept track, but it feels like an eternity.

    You haven’t seen my new purse.

    My new flip flops.

    My hair is longer again.

    It’s starting to sink in that you may never see anything new or different about me again.

    I’ll be frozen forever in time in your mind.

    Always the way I was when we met.

    Always wearing that yellow dress on the last day you saw me.

    You never said it.

    Couldn’t.

    Told me lots of reasons why, but I know the truth.

    You were scared.

    Are scared.

    It almost came out a few times.

    You thought I didn’t notice but I did.

    Somehow avoiding those three words made you feel protected.

    And that you were protecting me.

    But you said every other thing.

    That you adored me.

    That you’d protect me forever.

    That we’d always be in each other’s lives, no matter what.

    That if I were single I would be yours, and you’d never let me go.

    I wonder how you’ve made peace with all the promises you made.

    What kind of reasoning you’ve worked out so you can sleep at night.

    These days I’m processing a lot about us.

    The choices I made.

    The choices you made.

    The way I offered my whole heart to you.

    How you couldn’t receive it.

    What I’d do differently if I could.

    What I’d do the same.

    I’m haunted by flashes of you.

    Images and slow motion home videos playing through my head at the most inconvenient moments.

    Your hands.

    Opening the door for me.

    On the small of my back as we walked down the street.

    Grasping my hips as you moved inside me.

    Your fingers intertwined in mine.

    I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anything like us.

    The intensity.

    The passion.

    The speed at which you made me feel seen to my core.

    The level of intimacy you invited me into felt too good to be true.

    I guess in the end it was.

    You unraveled me.

    Each day I weave another piece of myself back together.

    Not the same as I was, not yet who I’m becoming.

    I’m making a new tapestry of me now, one that has loved you and then lost you.

    Woven with the bliss of your love, and the pain of your abandonment.

    To you, I’ll always be the heart-eyed girl in that yellow dress.

    But I’m not her anymore.

    And you’ll never see how I transform now.

  • Please

    Hey love.

    I’m writing you a letter because I can’t talk to you.

    You need time.

    To think about what I said.

    To consider what I’m asking.

    Or maybe to decide what to say when you tell me no.

    The waiting is excruciating.

    I can’t read you right now.

    Can’t get any sense of where your heart is.

    Of how you feel about me.

    Of what you want.

    Of what you don’t.

    I am praying so hard.

    That you’re actually letting yourself entertain this possibility.

    Not just talking yourself out of it.

    That you can remember what it was like in the beginning.

    How it feels when my arms are around you.

    That together, we are home.

    I’m terrified it’s too late.

    That you’ve already closed your heart to me.

    Maybe even opened it to someone else.

    Scared that you’re just going to discern this internally and decide all by yourself.

    That I’ll never get the chance to talk through it with you.

    Express how deep my love goes.

    How singular my devotion is.

    How when I have you, I don’t want anyone else.

    How when I think of our potential life together, I feel alive in a way that is brand new.

    How no matter how much I fight it, my heart knows that it’s yours.

    I’ve been denying that truth for months.

    Honestly since we first met.

    But I just can’t anymore.

    My life without you feels empty now.

    Everything that used to feel right and familiar, is suddenly foreign to me.

    It’s like I’m living someone else’s life for them.

    Wearing someone else’s skin.

    Speaking someone else’s words.

    When I imagine getting to share my life with you, I feel like we’d be creating and weaving and integrating our worlds into something new and so beautiful.

    Something all our own.

    I still dream about us having a baby.

    Almost every night.

    When I wake up and realize it was just a dream, my heart drops.

    I know it wouldn’t be easy.

    I know all the practical challenges we’d face.

    I can’t explain it except to say I feel meant for it.

    Meant to do life with you.

    I’m terrified and there are a lot of questions I still can’t answer yet.

    So many unknowns.

    So many reasons for you to say no.

    To walk away.

    To choose someone else.

    But love, please don’t.

    Please.

  • In Between

    I’m not sure what to write today.

    Where to start.

    But something inside of me can’t seem to breathe until it’s been born into words.

    It’s one of those spring days where Mother Nature has one foot forward in spring and one foot still in winter.

    This morning I stared out at blue sky while rain fell softly on my face.

    I saw a rainbow I shared over the phone.

    He was unimpressed.

    I wasn’t surprised.

    His persistent gloom should bum me out, but for some reason it doesn’t.

    He’s grumpy but there’s a playfulness underneath it.

    Like he’s always poking at life.

    Giving a gentle jab in its jaw with a grin and wink afterwards.

    We’re so different.

    We come from opposite directions in so many ways.

    Yet somehow we meet someplace different, new.

    Maybe in the middle.

    Only problem is, I live there all the time.

    He doesn’t.

    Not anymore.

    In the beginning, before he and his partner broke up and he pulled away.

    He lived there too.

    When he left at first, I was so scared.

    I didn’t know if he would ever come back.

    Sometimes people don’t.

    Eventually he did.

    But not to stay.

    Not all the time.

    Now he just visits.

    Usually in the few days before we see each other, he’ll come back to me.

    God it feels so good.

    His warmth.

    Presence.

    Vulnerability.

    Trust.

    Desire.

    Affection.

    It all deepens.

    And when we’re together, even if it’s just snuggled up watching a movie.

    I feel him there with me, completely.

    Then, inevitably, I have to leave.

    Drive home to my family.

    I’ve always struggled leaving him.

    But since he’s been on his own it’s brutal.

    I hate thinking about him going back inside an empty house.

    I know he’s lonely.

    And scared.

    So the rest of the time, he has to leave.

    It’s confusing and it took me a while to realize why I felt such whiplash after we saw each other.

    Because he still shows up.

    We talk every morning before he starts work.

    He texts me little updates about what he’s doing throughout the day.

    Sometimes he sends pictures and videos too.

    Progress on his house renovation.

    The view of the sunrise from his job site.

    Also YouTube shorts.

    Lots and lots of YouTube shorts!

    It’s adorable.

    I know he’s doing his best.

    I know he has to prioritize his mental health in a big way.

    I know that means sometimes connecting within a more surface level of intimacy.

    Because staying in that deep and sacred place we share means staying vulnerable.

    Staying in feelings of missing me.

    Feelings of wanting more than we can have together.

    Feelings of wanting a partner in general, the loss of which is a wound still fresh in him.

    I get it.

    I do.

    I would feel the same way if I were in his position.

    I just miss him.

    During those in between times.

    The withdrawal.

    The limbo.

    The waiting.

    But then, each day when he says good morning.

    But then, when he holds me in his arms and tells me he adores me.

    But then, when he comes back to me.

    There’s just nothing like it.

  • Keep Going

    It was supposed to be cloudy all day today.

    But as I sit on the back porch writing this, the late afternoon sun shines down on me anyway.

    Clouds are my warriors favorite weather.

    My husband’s too.

    And my son’s.

    Now that I think about it, clouds are also C’s favorite weather.

    Me?

    I need sun.

    I’m solar powered.

    I open my mouth and gulp the light rays.

    Birds sing all around me.

    I wonder how it is that I’ve managed to surround myself with humans who need gray.

    He’s been having a rough stretch, my warrior.

    You know how that saying when it rains it pours is both a cliche and one hundred percent how life goes sometimes?

    That’s the moment he’s inhabiting right now.

    For awhile it seemed like my presence in his life was helping.

    Softening the blows that seemed to just keep coming.

    Then seemingly overnight something changed.

    He pulled away.

    His expressed affection faded.

    His texts were few and kept to surface level topics.

    He did his best to communicate with me, asking for space to be in his feelings.

    But it felt just like every other time someone has broken up with me.

    I was so scared.

    It really felt like I was losing him and I didn’t understand why.

    I cried every day.

    My heart started to break and I had three panic attacks.

    Everything in me told me to run, this was not safe anymore.

    But I didn’t.

    I resisted the urge to flee with all of my might.

    I sat with the fear, uncertainty, insecurity.

    I realized something.

    This pulling away felt so familiar, so recognizable.

    And I thought of C.

    How when it got to be too much for her, our exploration together, she had a similar reaction.

    Texts got less frequent.

    Affection was no longer articulated and offered.

    There had been a relationship space we had been cultivating, the safe landscape of mutual vulnerability and shared investment.

    It was a little world we were building, to inhabit and grow within.

    Together.

    I looked around one day and realized she was no longer there with me.

    I was still open, ready, willing.

    Risking security for the unknown, the way it always is with love.

    Yet she had left.

    It felt like I was out on a limb, and she’d been right there beside me.

    Only now I was on that limb alone.

    I think you can sense it.

    When a partner leaves that energetic world you build together.

    It’s palpable.

    And as I reflected on that time I noticed it felt very similar to how I was feeling now.

    So I called C.

    We’ve been able to form a pretty deep and supportive friendship over the last months.

    And I felt comfortable asking for her insights.

    I laid it all out for her.

    Everything that’s happening for him, and how it’s impacting his capacity to connect with me.

    As I spoke, I could almost hear her nodding in recognition.

    Heard audible “mmm” and “yup” and “uh-huh”.

    When I had finished she had a lot to say.

    I know you, she said gently.

    I know you want to hold his pain, to carry it for him so he doesn’t have to suffer.

    Unfortunately, that’s just not how it works.

    Sometimes, she continued, people just need a minute.

    Maybe right now, he has to journey through this in his own way and his own time.

    If you can be patient, I think he’ll come back around.

    But also, she added, you get to discern whether waiting for him to return is something that is doable for you.

    You get to choose what’s right for you.

    As we talked, I thought about how confused I had been with her back then.

    How lost and alone and abandoned I had felt.

    How her avoidant attachment patterns triggered my anxious ones.

    I asked her questions I’d always wanted to ask, but never felt brave enough to.

    What started as an advice session about my warrior, morphed into a heartfelt conversation clarifying how that time had felt for her.

    What she had needed, what she had been unable to reconcile.

    I felt a new sense of understanding and perspective on the entire experience.

    It did help me to pause in my panic, to not react from fear, to stabilize in trust rather than doubt.

    But also it offered me a healing I hadn’t been aware I still needed.

    After we said goodbye, I let our conversation percolate in me awhile.

    What a beautiful journey we’ve had, C and I.

    First loves.

    Devastating heartbreak.

    Twenty years of separation.

    Reconnecting and falling hard and fast, again.

    The long arduous process of falling out of love with her, again.

    And then, this new chapter of sweetness and friendship.

    I realized, she’s one of my closest friends now.

    I can tell her anything and the level of intimacy and history between us can hold it all.

    I wonder if this was always where we were meant to end up.

    Life is so funny that way.

    One heartbreak can turn into a beautiful blessing.

    One blessing can shift quickly into heartbreak.

    It’s easy to run.

    When things get messy and hard and unknown, the safest option is to bail.

    Protect.

    Shield.

    Yet if we can linger in that scary liminal space where change manifests, there is growth.

    There is transformation.

    And if we can muster enough bravery, there is resurrection waiting on the other side.

    I sat with this reality.

    In the stillness, clarity came.

    I choose presence over control.

    I choose devotion over safety.

    I choose uncertainty over what is known.

    I choose to stay.

    Not out of martyrdom.

    Not out of performative loyalty.

    Not putting someone else’s needs over my own.

    But courage, to see where it will all lead.

    Resilience, to abide in the discomfort of unraveling.

    Hope, to see a new way of being in connection.

    I can’t predict what will happen.

    If my warrior will come back to me, or continue to drift even further.

    All I can know is what my heart is made of.

    Tenderness.

    Bravery.

    Deep, abiding, expansive love.

    Devotion.

    I pack it all into my metaphorical relationship toolbox.

    And I take another step forward on this journey.

    One foot in front of the other.

    Trusting the beating heart-shaped map in my chest.

    It’s only directive?

    Keep going.

  • Awake

    When I get home from his house it’s often really late at night.

    It takes an hour of driving on the freeway and some time on the backroads to get there.

    It’s not convenient I guess, but I think I’d drive anywhere to see my warrior.

    I should be exhausted afterwards and collapse into a sleep coma.

    But being near him, looking into his eyes and feeling him deep inside me.

    It’s electric and feels as though I’m energetically charged up for the rest of the night.

    After the first few times I realized there was nothing I could do about it, so I just leaned in.

    Now I kind of love it.

    I lie awake in bed, listening to music and processing through our time together.

    Songs he’s sent me, songs that remind me of him.

    Memories of sensations wash over and through me.

    The touch of his strong hands on my skin.

    His perfect full lips surrounding mine.

    His body merging with my own.

    He’s big.

    I’d never seen someone so big before.

    It takes my breath away when I see him.

    Each time he enters me after we’ve been apart it feels so intense I have to gasp for air.

    And the way he fucks me, it’s like the world is ending tomorrow and we’re the only people left on earth.

    I can tell some of our new relationship energy is starting to transition into security and devotion.

    We’ve entered a new phase.

    I trust him.

    I think he trusts me.

    I feel it in the way we look at each other.

    No longer with shock and disbelief that the other is real.

    There’s a sureness.

    A knowing.

    A depth.

    Tonight he held me.

    Kissed every inch of my face and made me feel like his queen.

    Then he fucked me like we were animals in the forest and made me feel free.

    Afterwards I wrapped around him and held his body as it rose and fell with each breath.

    I slept pressed against him, dreaming of someday staying overnight and getting to make love in the morning.

    I woke up a bit later to the smell of coffee.

    He makes it before I leave, to help me stay awake for the drive.

    He makes amazing coffee.

    I have to-go mugs I could bring with me, but I love using his.

    I love having a little piece of him in between our visits, even if it’s borrowed.

    God he’s so beautiful.

    I call him my warrior because he is one.

    He reminds me of men from another time.

    Tribal maybe, but not from any one culture or place I’ve ever known.

    He’s this unique mix of features and styles and qualities.

    Being in his presence is like being a tourist on another planet.

    He’s just, singular.

    Unparalleled.

    Rare.

    It’s almost 1am and I know I’ll be awake for hours still.

    That’s how he makes me feel actually, in every way.

    Awake.

  • Guitar

    Tonight he played it for me.

    He’s been super shy about it and I honestly thought it would be months from now until I got to hear him.

    It was a big deal.

    I can’t express how beautiful he was while his fingers danced along the strings.

    I’ve never seen him more radiant.

    More embodied.

    More true.

    I know how vulnerable it was for him to share that part of himself with me.

    I feel honored to be trusted.

    He’s so strong, my warrior.

    He fucks me like no one ever has.

    I’ve never felt such desire.

    Such passion.

    Yet there is such tenderness too.

    Often when we fuck it’s urgent and intense and hard.

    Tonight while he was inside me he slowed.

    Stared into my eyes and whispered

    When I’m with you all the extras and kink just disappear and all I can think is how beautiful you are, and how lucky I am to be inside you.

    I melted.

    This man.

    This man.

    I’ve never found this kind of masculinity so attractive before.

    It’s like he’s from another time.

    A gentleman.

    A working man.

    Yet also, he’s so intelligent and open-minded and wise.

    And jesus his Daddy energy is off the charts.

    I mean off.

    Sometimes I realize how in love with him I already am, and I get scared.

    I get uncomfortable feelings of wanting more than I can have with him.

    Fantasies of living with him and having his babies swirl through my thoughts each day.

    Is this ok?

    Maybe it’s natural.

    I feel such a need to devote myself to him.

    Yet am pulled back toward my devotion to my husband too.

    I find myself wishing I could be in two places at once.

    That I could clone myself and just live two beautiful lives with two beautiful men.

    If only.

    God he makes me so happy.

    Lights me up.

    Turns me on.

    Protects me, always.

    Still sometimes I have grief.

    It washes over me in moments when I am acutely aware of my love for him.

    And I think about all the things we’ll never get to experience together.

    Things that, in another time and place, I can see for us.

    Like, really see it all happening.

    And I get sad it never will.

    It’s been especially hard recently because there’s a chance he and his partner may separate.

    He’s been pondering various ways he’ll likely handle it if they do.

    When he talks about the possibility of dating someone new, my heart always drops.

    Not because I don’t want that for him, I absolutely do.

    I want him to have every good and true thing.

    But because actually, I wish I could date him.

    Like, really date him.

    Explore primary partnership.

    When these feelings surface, it terrifies me.

    I love my husband.

    He’s my person, my home, my family.

    It’s just.

    I love my warrior too.

    He is my passion, my protection, my growth.

    And he feels like home too, a different home.

    Like I said, maybe all of this is natural.

    I’ve never tried to be truly devoted to more than one person at once.

    I got close with C, but that was over before it ever really started taking shape.

    It’s hard, and I’m still figuring it out.

    How to balance and track it all, for both of them.

    And at the same time stay rooted in my self and stand in my truth.

    P leasure

    O pening

    L it up

    Y es Daddy

    Sometimes I wonder if I’m really strong and brave enough to be poly.

    And then I chuckle because being poly feels like having red hair.

    It’s just a part of me.

    Maybe it’s a new part, but so are my wrinkles and gray hairs and how I fall asleep at a grandma bedtime.

    Those are all parts of me too.

    New parts.

    New growth.

    New ways of being alive.

    I really want to be alive.

    And completely embody this life, like the crazy miracle it is.

    I see his face while he played for me tonight in my mind as I write this, my warrior.

    The look of focus and imagination in his eyes.

    And when he glanced over at me, the look of adoration in mine.

    Such a fucking miracle.

  • Warrior

    I’ve been nervous to write this post.

    Afraid that it’s all been the best dream.

    That putting it down in type would force me to wake up.

    But it’s starting to sink in now.

    This is real.

    It’s not like what I’ve felt before with poly connections.

    It’s not intense fear of falling in love, and when it inevitably happens they run.

    It’s also not love bombs and lies and promises they never intend to keep.

    It’s here to stay.

    He’s here to stay.

    I can’t bear to use a number for him, he’s so much more than that.

    I think I’ll call him my warrior.

    Because that’s what he is to me.

    He’s so different than anyone I’ve ever been with.

    He’s a fighter.

    He’s also a lover.

    On the surface he’s gruff and grumpy and hardened from everything life has thrown in his path.

    Underneath he’s soft and nurturing and so generous.

    He’s old fashioned, in the most endearing way.

    He loves watches and newsboy caps and opens every door for me.

    He holds me, all of me.

    Both physically and emotionally.

    When we fuck he picks me up like I’m light as a feather, even though I am most certainly not.

    And when I feel scared or overwhelmed, he holds me in that too.

    I’m never too much.

    I never feel like I have to hold back.

    He’s strong enough to handle my depth, and even seems to love it.

    He’s so strong.

    It takes my breath away honestly, the truth of his strength.

    It’s not performative.

    It’s just who he is.

    It just exudes from his pores, this protective energy.

    And when his arms wrap around me I’ve never felt so safe.

    Our chemistry is unreal.

    Before we met I think I already knew.

    But when I saw him for the first time, it solidified in me like a promise.

    My heart would love him.

    We walked toward each other and I practically fell into him.

    We hugged for so long.

    I couldn’t let go, it felt so crazy good to be close to him like that.

    He took my hand and led me into the restaurant, and I felt so special.

    We got in line to order our food and couldn’t stop just gazing at each other.

    We started kissing, touching, caressing.

    I looked at the long line ahead of us, and the crowded tables around us.

    We could just go back to your house, I said.

    I couldn’t believe my ears!

    Who the fuck was I?

    But I’ve never desired someone the way I desire him.

    It’s like a craving, a hunger, a need.

    So we left.

    When I got to his house he was waiting outside for me.

    And every time since he’s been waiting for me, just to make sure I get in safe.

    When we got inside it was such a blur.

    I felt consumed by his presence near me and couldn’t keep my hands off of his body.

    He’s tall.

    Built like a builder, and he is.

    I love that he works with his hands.

    Oh my god his hands!

    They’re huge, and somehow so strong and so tender all once.

    When he touched me I just melted.

    I can’t express the kind of passion I felt that first night.

    And every night since.

    The wanting.

    The needing.

    It was exhilarating yet safe.

    He is both.

    I met a new part of me in bed with him.

    It’s like she’d been there all along, just waiting to be unlocked.

    And he is the key.

    I’d been hoping, searching, longing for something on this journey.

    Never knowing exactly what it was, but promising myself I’d be brave and patient and keep my faith.

    It was blurry, mysterious, unknown.

    Yet I held my heart open, trusting I’d recognize it when it appeared.

    When I look into his eyes…

    I know I’ve found it.

    When I look into my own eyes after I’ve been with him…

    I know I’ve found me.

  • Capacity

    It’s been over three months since I wrote about my poly journey.

    So much has happened, I don’t know where to begin.

    I’ve entered a new chapter.

    One of deeper exploration, both physically and emotionally.

    I’m learning and growing so much, it’s been difficult to fully process and integrate it all.

    I’m navigating love now.

    Not just feeling love for someone.

    Being in reciprocal love with them.

    And I’m discovering a new side of myself.

    A submissive nature I’ve always inhabited, but never explored before.

    I’ve been lied to.

    Had my heart broken.

    Been promised longevity and devotion only to have it pulled away again, like a rug out from under my feet.

    I’m finding I don’t have endless capacity to hold it all.

    Am meeting my edges, the places where my desires and my limitations intersect.

    I know it’s time.

    Time to shift inward.

    To slow down.

    Pause, process, digest all of these experiences.

    But I don’t know how.

    This part of me just keeps growing, yearning, seeking.

    Autumn has arrived and the yellow leaves from the walnut tree fall all around me.

    As always, the seasons of nature illuminate my own energetic seasons.

    I feel the pull to return to myself.

    To remember who I am.

    And discover where I am, in this moment.

    I started down this path with an open heart.

    So full of love and so ready to share it.

    Yet now that I’ve been hurt, I can feel my trust wavering.

    My protective parts are awake and alert, searching for any clues of danger.

    I wanted so desperately to connect with people who could meet me where I am.

    In the depth, vulnerability, and devotion that flow through me so freely.

    I didn’t fully realize it though.

    How much more capacity it takes to hold this level of connection.

    For all the beauty, excitement, and sweetness that being in love can bring…

    I also have to be able to hold the fallout.

    I’m learning that loving each other isn’t always enough to be compatible together.

    That people may want to show up and meet me in love, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they can.

    At first, it seemed to help.

    When one connection was feeling distant or ending, to seek out another right away.

    It brought me hope when I felt sad and discouraged.

    Every rush of a new spark softening the blow of a flame gone out.

    What I didn’t understand, is that heart ache doesn’t just disappear.

    I now feel a kind of cumulative effect, each painful ending making me more tender and protective of my heart.

    The wounds from the last love infecting my ability to trust a new one.

    I sense myself trying to vet people now, analyzing every little thing to catch any red flags.

    Chemistry can be so blinding at first, I’ve missed important things that I could have seen if my brain wasn’t high on new relationship energy.

    I’m learning though, as I go.

    Every misstep leads to a new lesson.

    Each heart break teaches me more about myself, and what I need in this realm.

    I’m building new pathways, seeing new perspectives.

    Cultivating relational resilience in my nervous system.

    Facing old, deep wounds that keep telling stories I’m tired of believing.

    I know all of this, yet still there are days when I feel hopeless.

    Disheartened.

    Weary.

    I wonder if I can truly walk this path.

    I’m still not sure.

    But I as long as it continues to beat I will keep following my heart.

    Whether it pulls me to stretch and leap, or retract and integrate.

    I will trust in its wisdom and guidance.

    In its courage and capacity.

    That it won’t lead me to anything I am not meant for.

  • Larvae 🐞

    I’ve counted three so far.

    Tiny, black, spotted beings.

    I’m sitting on my back porch, thinking of all I should be doing, and keep finding them crawling on me.

    Each time I pick them up and gently place them on the vase of flowers nearby, the ones on my quitting smoking altar.

    Ladybug larvae.

    They’re not as pleasing to look at as their evolved counterparts, but I find myself curious if they bring a message to offer me.

    Like the butterfly, ladybugs go through what’s called a complete transformation.

    This means they are born into one bodily form, and before they die they change into another form entirely.

    Yet unlike butterflies, they do so out in the open, usually atop of a leaf.

    How vulnerable, I think.

    How exposed.

    How brave.

    I find I can relate.

    This last year has been nothing if not transformative for me, and my inner evolution just seems to continue each day.

    Initially, I felt very much in a closed cocoon that I needed to break out of to grow.

    Lately, I feel more like these little would-be ladybugs.

    Raw and unconfined, laid bare and yet to reach my potential.

    This last month I came completely unraveled.

    So many huge shifts were happening all at once.

    I started hypnotherapy, to help me quit smoking (an addiction I acquired while caring for my dying mom last year).

    As we worked to get to the root of my desire to smoke, we had to go way back.

    It brought a lot to the surface in me.

    Childhood trauma.

    Attachment wounds.

    My sacrifice of self to care for my loved ones.

    It all came flooding through me, escaping through so many tears.

    I couldn’t seem to control when they came or how long they flowed, even though I tried.

    One such moment occurred on the morning of an overnight visit with Two.

    He had kind of dropped the ball on scheduling and there were a couple challenging situations that came up while I was there.

    It meant he was distracted and not as present with me as usual, and my feelings were hurt.

    It led to me breaking down, unable to stop crying or even articulate exactly why I was.

    Two did his best to hold me in that space, but it was much deeper emotion that we usually share and nothing he said actually felt comforting.

    I ended up just going home because I didn’t feel regulated enough to really resolve things, and just needed to get out of there.

    He texted later that day that he felt very heavy after I left, and wanted to talk soon.

    We did.

    He suggested an activity called the ‘smorgasbord’.

    Apparently it’s a tool for people in relationship with each other to discern what they want, are open to, and don’t want in that particular connection.

    I agreed, and kind of dove in head first.

    I looked it up online and researched its origins and meaning and variations.

    Two uses a spreadsheet when he does it, but I fucking hate spreadsheets.

    They make me feel claustrophobic, like someone’s putting me into tiny boxes.

    And I hate being put into a box.

    I decided I could do better, and made my own.

    I added a glossary to mine, because as we talked I noticed Two and I were using the same words but we both had very different definitions for them.

    We’ve had a bunch of back and forth texts and audios about it, and the whole thread of conversation has been a catalyst for my poly journey.

    It’s made me realize that I’ve reached point in my process of exploring where I actually have enough experience to pause, look around, and reflect.

    In the beginning of this chapter, I knew a few things.

    I knew I had an immense capacity for love and wanted to share that love with more people.

    I knew I wanted to learn about myself and the world, through intimate connections and relationships.

    I knew I wanted to practice learning to love others without applying significant attachment to them, or having specific expectations to how things should unfold.

    But that was basically it.

    I had no idea what I wanted that to look like in tangible dynamics with people.

    I also had no idea what I didn’t want yet.

    I was starting from scratch in this ENM realm, and knew the only way I’d know more was to try new things and just feel them out in real time.

    Now, I’m aware that I have had quite a bit of input to work with.

    I have been on four first dates.

    I have made three steady connections that I care about deeply and uniquely.

    I think the honeymoon phase of my poly dating life has begun to transition into a more realistic understanding, with highs and lows and pauses and uncertainty.

    As I try to look within myself and sort through all of these new experiences, I realize how little I’m actually sure of still.

    I think I know what I’m open to, but even that depends on the particular dynamic of each connection I have.

    I also don’t know exactly where my limits are yet, except for one.

    I know I definitely don’t want to just be someone they fuck, and don’t care about.

    I know I at least want to feel like there is a sense of reverence and care in how someone holds our shared space.

    A potential for friendship and mutual respect.

    A presence that communicates to me that I matter to them.

    That’s my one firm need I think.

    Otherwise, I’m still just learning as I go?

    I feel open to things looking all kinds of ways, and actually am enjoying the variety and diversity in my relationship dynamics so far.

    I love emotional intimacy, but if I had that in a deep and consistent way with multiple connections I know that would probably not be sustainable for me.

    I love passion and desire and sensual exploration, but am aware if I only had that element in all my connections I would miss the emotional piece.

    As it is now, on a spectrum of physical intimacy to emotional intimacy, my connections are in chronological order.

    One is the most limited in every way, but our dynamic is heavy on in person physical connecting.

    Two is right in the middle, with a rich physical intimacy and a steady deepening of solid friendship.

    Three is more on the other end of the spectrum, with lots of expressed affection and love and also strong physical desire.

    I like them all.

    I want them all.

    Each brings something special to my life, and offers unique illuminations and insights into my growth and development.

    I’m learning so much about myself, yet as I try to articulate where it’s all leading me it feels difficult to find the words.

    Maybe I’m just still in my larvae form.

    Waiting for the right leaf to emerge in my path.

    Where I can finally complete my transformation.

    Still it occurs to me, I’ll never be done.

    This cycle of birth, death, and rebirth continues on.

    For each form I inhabit and each phase I complete, there will always be more waiting.

    Another cocoon.

    Another leaf.

    Another transformation.

    I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit bewildered and intimidated by this knowledge.

    But damn if it also doesn’t excite me.