Scar Tissue

A couple years ago, I was going down the back steps to hop into the hot tub when I missed a step completely, and ended up falling heavily, albeit weirdly, on the front of my ankle.  Not to be overly graphic, but the cement patio scraped a section of skin about two inches around completely off, so deeply the tendons were visible at spots.  Not only did it really hurt, I was concerned about infection, and worried about working, because in my day job, I do therapeutic massage with my feet.

So, I cleaned it up the best I could, applied some antibiotic ointment, one of those big fabric bandages, and hoped for the best.  The next couple weeks in particular were a struggle to bend, extend, and push with that area of my body during work.  It took significant force of will to just do the bare minimums, and I didn't do anything at the gym, or walking, if I could help it.

Eventually, the skin began to regrow, knit together, and form a lump of scar tissue on the top of my ankle, and that became the new struggle: to keep the scar flexible as it healed, so that I didn't lose range of motion.  This is where my job became an asset to me.  Since I move my feet in more different directions in an hour than most people do in a day, the scar tissue healed well, bulky, but flexible. It is stronger than the original skin, but also takes up more space.  It used to be angry and red, but now, two years later, its mostly blends in with the paleness that is the norm for my body.

Things changed in my poly life last year.  There was the loss of a significant relationship, a major shift in my connection with my metamours, and substantial change in the way my parenting landscape works.  It felt like my whole emotional life was a gaping wound, showing my internal weaknesses, and vulnerability.  I couldn't get away from all the ways I failed myself, failed others, even if I could logically see that much of what happened was unavoidable. So, I took a big step back from community, from connection, from dating, from risk.  I holed up, and tried to keep those wounds from getting infected.  Wrapped the pain up tightly, and waited to heal.

The biggest challenge was that those hurts didn't heal up nice and neat.  They kept breaking open, and for a long time that confused me.  I was doing self-care.  I had a supportive and loving partner.  Why weren't things getting better faster?  Then it occurred to me:  The scar was getting stiff, because I wasn't using those areas of my heart that had been damaged.  I'd shut things down in a bid to protect myself, but every time I tried to move forward in some fashion, I hadn't built the flexibility to do that without pulling those wounds open.

So, I started to stretch again.  Cautiously, carefully, and consciously.  I went on a few dates, and for several months, I had limited ability to connect with anyone on a deeper level, so I'd usually flame out pretty quickly, and then take another breather before I tried again.

Eventually, I met a fellow, M, who was newer to the area, and part of a live-in quad, doing the type of poly I like to do, with an extended family feel. We connected well, and formed a solid connection. I met M's wife, and other her partner, and his wife and child.  That was all good, yet hard too, because it felt a lot like what I had, and lost, but this time, I didn't back up.  I kept stretching those wounds, and reaching out towards the people, the bonds, and the environments that feed me the most, and things started to feel a little easier.  I was moving in the direction of being a bit more fully ME again.

Over time, the desire to write, to use my voice again, has been growing.  After having things blow apart, I didn't find much value in sharing my thoughts.  It felt hypocritical to think I had anything of value to contribute.  That's started to change, so I've begun writing. Some of that content you're not likely to see anytime soon, as it's still too raw for public consumption. Perhaps someday in the medium term.  For now, some of what you'll read here is easy, and some will be more challenging. Bear with me... This post is a step in that process.

The drive to create something broadly useful within the community has reasserted itself, so I restarted the Poly Discussion Group, began a Face Book group to support that, and also moderate another poly forum. This time though, I've asked for more help, more input from the people around me to build additional structure, to contribute in ways that don't leave me feeling like this is all my ball to push uphill alone. The first meeting after taking a year off was last weekend, and it was wonderful!  Even better has been the follow through afterwards.  I'm excited and optimistic about the possibilities!

Last week M was out of town, and I got to spend some extra time with my metamour.  That stretched something in me a bit.  To have someone deliberately choose to spend their time and energy with me, even in the absence of our shared partner, because I am comforting and enjoyable to be with.  I've also gotten to spend extra time in other contexts with the other people in their household over the past couple weeks, and have deeply appreciated the extension of energy and acceptance.  Feeling like I have something to offer, to others, and to myself, is my happy place.

Choosing not to do something that feeds me because I am afraid it will be taken away is a horrid reason to stop reaching.  Yes, take time to close gaping wounds, and remain aware that the scars formed will take stretching, and management on an ongoing basis.  That's what baggage is, and whether it impedes the path forward, or gets unpacked, is up to each of us. Right now, life isn't all sunshine and puppies, but it is something I can work with,  finding the depth of resolve that drives me, and creating anew, even with these scars.

Polyamory is Hard

I was talking to my therapist the other day.

Actually, it was couples therapy.

And, actually, I brought this up twice because, in all honesty, I have two sets of therapists: one I see with my partner/girlfriend and the other I see with my wife.

Polyamory is hard ...

... which, I think, should be pretty obvious in that I'm seeing two therapists but that's not the point.

I opted for this lifestyle because it offered such a range of possibility. It challenges conventional thoughts about love and marriages, pushes my boundaries, and forces me to routinely think about feminism and masculinity, commitment, and love in a myriad of ways. I chose this lifestyle and I'm fully committed to it.

Still, it's damn hard.

Sure, open relationships and sex with multiple people - right on, sounds pretty cool to you, right? - until you have to sit down and do the work.

There's the routine stuff:

• Constant (endless) communication

• Questioning assumptions that you have about love and relationships

• Calendaring and scheduling

• Expectations management

• Emotional processing - sex, love, jealousy, guilt, regret, etc.

I mean, all of that takes a great deal of energy amongst multiple partners but these are just the surface, the most obvious things.

Then there's the long-term, extended stuff:

• The legal differentiation between partners (example: a "wife" affords a legal distinction over a "partner"), leading to a whole rats nest of issues concerning wills/probate, medical care, rights over your assets, etc.

• Re-thinking the roles of "husband, wife, partner" - and the promises those titles imply - in the context of multiple people.

• Break-ups and ending/transitioning relationships that've lasted for years.

• Challenges surrounding space, distance, travel, and cohabitation. Not everyone wants to live together; not everyone likes the same kinds of personal space. Those are some tough compromises.

• Embracing inequity. Poly's inherently unfair. My wife has made sacrifices that enable me to spend time, energy, and resources on my partner, which often excludes her. Meanwhile, my partner isn't around me as often as my wife, and, doesn't attend family travel, and I'm not always around, which excludes her, creating her own set of sacrifices. Resolving those inequities is a full-time preoccupation.

• Retirement and security. Our social systems are setup to benefit a spouse. I worry about guaranteeing financial peace-of-mind to my partner and helping build her own security, nest-egg, medical and insurance and investment portfolio, etc. 

• Combining or separating the finances of multiple people, how to communicate and work with cash flow shortages, new financial expectations, etc.

• Realizing that you can't ever make everyone happy. Instead, poly is a lifestyle of compromises where everyone doesn't get exactly what they want: there's only so much time, so much space, and so much of you to go around.

• Getting along with extended connections (metamours, partners of partners) and intentional family for long periods of time.

So poly is hard. Personally, it hurts that I can't give everything to both of my partners and make both of them 100-percent happy at the same time. It's a constant process of compromise, learning, re-tooling my skillets, and managing expectations.

And I think anyone just getting into polyamory should know that it's hard. In fact, just last week, I was at a bar on Mississippi Avenue just last week with a bunch of enthusiastic poly-newcomers. I was kind of a Debbie-downer in that crowd, but I think it's real. Poly looks pretty good on paper, especially if perceived in the context of short-run but everyone should be prepared for the long-game, and what that means in their lives.

R

Echo Chamber

There have been a lot of changes in the past several months.  Other than my connection with Russell, all the other relationships I've been involved with have ended.  Amicably, for good reasons, and all that jazz.  Still, for the first time in 13 years, I have one partner, and it feels bloody strange.

Over the past decade and change I've worked diligently to increase my capacity to be emotionally connected to others, to process, to communicate, to be part of something larger than a couple.  Right now, there is a void where my poly life usually sits, as though I'm rattling around in my own head and heart, empty nesting with Russell.

When I consider the style of poly I prefer, it's similar to being in a triathlon.  I bike, I swim, I run.  Being functionally emotionally monogamous at the moment, it's as though I can bike, but running and swimming are off the table.  I can still break a sweat, but muscles I normally use are stiff and sore from neglect.  Others are being overused, because you can only ride a bike so long before you get saddle-sore... ;)

Dating a bit now, it feels like taking a short training run, or swim.  Just enough to be a reminder of what I deeply enjoy doing and feeling, but not enough to really scratch that itch. This isn't a lack in my relationship, with Russell, or with myself.  I am happy with what is happening with him, with us, with me.  In many ways, this is a positive interlude!  Even if I had no partners, the core of who I am doesn't change.  Right now, it just feels a bit...overly capacious.

So close, yet so far away...

One of the great things about poly is that, a good chunk of the time, you stay friends with people you've been in relationships with, even after the relationship has shifted to a friendship, or some version of non-romantic.

One of the tough things about poly is that, a good chunk of the time, you stay friends with people you've been in relationships with, even after the relationship has shifted to a friendship, or some version of non-romantic.

There is something bittersweet about hugging and holding someone you still love, yet are no longer with.  It seems much more common in this community than when I was monogamous, to have amicable connections, even close friendships, with people that used to be lovers and partners.  For me, the feelings are often still there, the attraction is still present, but there is some compelling reason that I am choosing not to be in a romantic relationship with them.  It can feel murky, confusing, and yet, still satisfying to wade through.  

This conflicted feeling is usually most intense in the weeks/months immediately following a shift in connection, but in some cases, I find it lasts for years.  It is a value to me to not cut people out of my life when the relationship changes, barring unhealthy dynamics, but that doesn't mean it's always a piece of cake to keep in touch.  At times, it's been necessary to take some period of time completely apart to allow my feelings to cool down before reinitiating a different type of bond.

Giving myself permission to take space when I need it, to ask my existing partners for comfort when I'm feeling melancholy about a change, and to delve into staying connected, even when it isn't completely comfortable, are skills I keep working on.  What do you find most useful in working your way through transitions in relationships?