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

Valentine's Day for the Polyamorous

It's that time of year again. February. Valentine's Day.

Yes, a day fairly inconsequential for the monogamous since it's just another date night whereas Valentine's Day is a logistical logjam for the Polyamorous.

I mean, look at ol' Eros here. His wee little wings are barely keeping him in the air. Imagine if he had two more chics he was embracing and trying to remain aloft? Anyhow, I digress.

Let's do some math.

Including my wife, I've three partners; she has three partners including me; each one of those people have on average two partners ... and we're all competing for time on the same day. So that's six of us in my immediate pod then approximately eight metamours - at least 14 people - all vying for roughly six hours of evening time on Friday February 14, 2014. Ugh.

So Valentine's scheduling begins early for the Polyamorous. In our household, matters are made more complicated in that Regina, Camille, and I share an annual commitment to each other during the Candlemas/Imbolc Ritual; this happens around the first weekend in February. We write our commitments to each other on 3x5 index cards and recite them to each other in a shared space with low-light and candles, hand-holding, smiles, and tears - we state our intentions and commitment to making this all work. It's our annual reminder of why we're doing all of this. This year, we're heading out on a trip together on that first weekend.

Slightly complicating matters, annually, during the second week of February, Camille flies off to Pantheacon in California. This year, Cam will be boarding the plane on Valentine's Day itself, so she and I had to schedule our romantic time together on the 13th ahead of her departure date, meaning Gina and I get Valentine's Day proper to ourselves. Still, I had to schedule time with Alisa after returning from our trip, ahead of the week on Tuesday the 11th.

Okay guys, start thinking about the traditional Valentine's Day expenses here. Today, for each of these dates, I had to secure reservations for evening dinners. Along with the dinner there'll probably be some flowers, gifts, cards, and at least in one case, evening entertainment. Moo-ching. That's the cash-cow. It's grazing, right over there, in the pasture of love.

Meanwhile, Gina's scheduled time with one of her partners on the 13th and (perhaps luckily) Dave doesn't do Valentine's Day. Gina informs me that it'd be impossible to select just one piece of new lingerie that would satisfy all three of her partners so she'd have to find three separate outfits - if she was going to do such a thing - and then she'll be picking cards, gifts, and keepsakes out, too. Moo-ching.

Come to think of it, there's probably an awesome multiplier effect here that - if measured - would show that Polyamorous people contribute at least 1% of national GDP on Valentine's Day in redundant economic expenditures. Call it the Poly Boost.

And Heaven help us if we're going on any romantic trips.

Of course, it'd be terribly sensible to share lingerie and flowers amongst our partners yet regrettably insensitive, but that's kind of what our pod does when we share the Candlemas trip together. We're sharing time. That's one way that we skirt through incurring hugely outrageous expenses. We all chip in and make it happen for all of us. And for me, it also helps reaffirm that we're all in a relationship together - the three of us - in a season that celebrates dyadic relationship models.

Anyway, I thought this would make a decent blog post so decided to say a few words on it. How does your pod/poly circle celebrate Valentine's Day?

Russell

How Do You Handle It?

On January 1, 2014, I received a cool comment on my Poly 101: Fluid Bonding post yet, regrettably, the author retracted it.

A bummer, seriously, because I believe it addresses a common squick, so - with many, many apologies to the reader who thought it deleted - I've pulled it from the proverbial garbage can while ever-so-kindly omitting the author's name. It read as follows:

### asks:

How do you deal with your lover being sexual with another? Thinking about the actions that take place with sex, fluids and intimacy being shared. Your lover has sex with their partner, then they come home and want to be with you; after them being with someone else it feels a little dirty to engage in physical intimacy. How do you handle knowing their face was in between someone's lap? Even if I like my lovers partner and respect them, how could I turn to my lover and be physical with them after they touched someone else? Trying to figure it out. What helped you? 

Wow. Really good stuff.  And let me tell you why I love this question.

First: it's terribly provocative - truthfully, it would likely garner scornful sneers within the touch-positive communities I'm involved in but a blog is a totally perfect place to voice the question, and, second: it is so brilliantly honest. I just love it. And I was looking forward to replying.

The answer, for me, is found in the notion of sex positivity.

I like sex. I'm fairly positive about it. Shuh, I should be positive about it: I've got three partners and every one of them loves sex. I'm seriously having sex anywhere between 2, 4, or 8 times a day. It's an integral part of my life.

For me, sex isn't a bad thing - sex is a good thing. It's abundant. Sex is a natural and fun biological function well-suited for recreational purposes. I embrace sex in my life and the sexual appetite, expression, and health of my partners is of significant importance to me.

More so, I'm very certain all of my partners had sex prior to meeting me and yet they still so deeply appealed to my heart and mind that I fell in love with them. Further, I'm also convinced that their having sex with others won't fundamentally change them, regardless of what sexual encounters they may have.

Now, dear reader, I'd encourage you to read your response closely. There's an underlying set of ideas:

• sex is bad, dirty, gross;
• the act of sex is so terribly intimate that it shouldn't be shared;
• respect is earned through fidelity (slut-shaming);
• sexual exclusivity equals love and devotion

Arguably there's a lot of sex-negativism here and these ideas are quite opposite to the way that I feel about sex. Perhaps it wasn't your intention to communicate these ideas yet they're clearly here, and I'd be the first to suggest that it's okay and not your fault; your thinking has been shaped throughout your life by Western cultural norms. You've been trained throughout your life to believe these things.

If you're one to pick up your ideas, examine them, wonder how they got there, and consider alternatives, I would encourage you to read more on sex positivity.

Still, to address, "... how do I handle knowing their face was between someone's lap?", I don't concentrate on that very much; I'll often repackage the idea. Example: my wife returns from a daytime adventure with her boyfriend with the 10-inch shlong. I don't obsess about the deeply-penitrative experience she had with somebody else, nor am I overly concerned about his fluids pouring out of her vagina or something (as if my partners aren't capable of basic hygine). Instead, I'll ask, "Did you have a good time? Was it very connective? How do you feel?" This is my attempt to convert jealousy into compersion - excuse the hippy-dippy but I am happy for my partner, and pleased that they're joyous and happy. How the act came and went isn't of any big concern to me (unless I intend to eroticize it in efforts to cope with it).

I also trust my partners who have specific safe-sex practice agreements with me as I've with them. I trust that they'll take into consideration my health and emotional well-being.

Aside from that, I would say that I've a certain degree of faith. Before and after sex, I will continue to love my partners and they'll continue to love me. Yes, believe me, this is hard, for even as I'm writing this, I'm having flashbacks to moments of intense jealousy and fear that I experienced when my partners did have/were having/would have sex with somebody else. Learning to examine your feelings around this stuff is part of the polyamorous experience and it's something we all work on every day, but underlying all of that crap is the sincere belief that my partners will return to me. And they do, as I return to them.

I think the hardest thing for me isn't the physicality reflected in your question but the emotional content of the engagement, leaning towards base sentiments expressed between monogamous lovers that are fairly contentious within the context of poly:

• I love you, and only you, forever
• You are my destiny
• You are the most important person to me
• You're the best lover I've ever had
• That's the most amazing sex ever

Yadda yadda ... stuff like this are part and parcel of pillow talk that seeks to comfort, re-assure, and reinforce the emotional bonds we have with our partners. Yet they're sticky wickets in non-monogamy. It's these kinds of thoughts, expressions, and ideas that keep me up at night. What helps me fight through these kinds of feelings are honesty and communication: discussions with my partners about what I'm feeling and in seeking reassurances, leaning heavily again on that faith I spoke about earlier.

Finally, your imagination is your worst enemy. It will ruthlessly create every fear imaginable to you. Cope with your imagination by dispelling it, ask open and direct questions of your partners, invest in both understanding and empathizing with their sexuality, and specifically talk with them about your insecurities. For me, being told how a sexual experience played out with one of my partners removes a heavy weight of insecurity from my shoulders - no longer huge, unknown, and scary, the event becomes perceivable, understood, manageable.

Again, thank you for the opportunity to respond to your question even though I had to bring it back from the dead. Hope it helps - thanks for reading and all the best.

Russell

Ditching "I miss you..."

"I miss you..."  Such a simple phrase.  It's something that I've said many times in relationships.  In poly, we have even more opportunities to miss our partners, as our time is often split up.  We are in different places, with other people, doing other activities, and aren't always with someone.  We notice their absence, long for their presence.

What I noticed after a while was that "I miss you" also has other connotations.  It can include elements of "I wish you were with me (and not with your other partner) right now.", "I'm lonely.", or, "I'm not getting enough time with you.".  It has a tendency to ramp up the longing element, the angst of being apart, and puts pressure around time and/or energy scarcity on one's partners and metamours.

People have been taught that showing jealousy demonstrates true feeling for a partner.  "Because I really love you, I feel jealous of your other partners."  Sometimes it seems that missing someone, clearly and obviously, is an affirmation of emotional importance of a similar flavor.  So, I thought that perhaps coping strategies learned to deprogram jealousy would come in handy working through the feeling of "missing" as well.

To that end, I conducted an experiment.  For a month, I didn't use "I miss you.".  Rather than focusing on how much I missed someone, I honed in on the anticipation of next seeing them.  Instead of noticing how hard it was to not be able to share something with someone in the moment, I made a mental note (or a physical one) of what I wanted to talk about, and looked forward to having that be a contribution to our next contact.   Rather than saying "I miss you.", I would say, "I am really looking forward to holding you again!", or, "It will be so amazing to connect with you next week!", or, "Can we get something on the calendar soon?  I'm noticing a strong desire to spend time with you!" or, "I'm really anticipating our next date, love."

Perhaps it's just me, but ditching "I miss you..." made things feel easier.  It was less uncomfortable, and more hopeful, for me to focus on the positives, to hone in on anticipation, to have a sense of looking forward, rather than getting bogged down in how much it sometimes does suck to be apart from someone you care for, regardless of the reason.  It reduced the degree to which I sometimes felt envious, lonely, or not as prioritized as I wanted when my partner was with someone else, doing something else, or just plain unavailable to me when I had a wanting for them.

Try it.  For a week, for a month, for however long you deem suitable; don't say, "I miss you." Target the positives, and keep the locus of your energy on what is coming up, rather than what is absent in a specific moment.  The shift may pleasantly surprise you.

Feelings Matter

Feelings matter.

The way that somebody feels is a real response to emotional stress.

If you love somebody, shouldn't you be taking their feelings into consideration?

I've witnessed some polyamorous circles dismiss or marginalize feelings by creating a landscape of non-accountability, wherein the culture agrees to a standard for divulging sensitive information about their relationships. They all agree upon the terms of that communication. Then, to that culture, those conditions become an ethical baseline that contributes to a narrative that looks like this:

"Well, based on our agreements, I've done my obligation by telling you that I'm going to be gone tomorrow night. I will have sex with that person."

Whether or not setting a baseline of "moral principles" surrounding communication is ethical can probably be debated - I don't believe treating others like crap is "moral" in any sense of the word, even if it's under the guise of agreed-to expectations - but within this narrative we see two things:

1. A persons' feelings are being summarily dismissed;

2. Accountability for contributing to the feelings of another is being avoided.

In effect, the practice of ethical communication becomes a license to do as they please without fear of accountability or being told no. In effect, the narrative is allowed to continue:

"Your feelings are your own. You're just going to have to deal with it."

In my mind, this is unacceptable behavior. It's not treating the other party in a way that'd be loving or respectful. Nobody should be treated this way. This is a practice of control. It's a practice to get what you want by deflecting feelings behind a shield of self-righteousness - perhaps brought on by a delusion of intellectual or moral superiority.

Get down to basics. Look at a person. Look into their eyes. If they're hurting, and if their feelings matter - and in loving, committed relationships, they should - it's time to embrace your responsibility for her frustration and help change it, rather than dismiss it.

s1m0n

Opportunity for Everyone

What's hard? 

Leaving somebody you love for somebody you love, and doing it all over again the next day. 

My partner, C, and I had planned our first overnight for Friday. 

In our practice of polyamory, we believe in open, transparent, and trusting relationships. In a general sense, the night had been pre-negotiated. In fact, both Polyfulcrum and C had been corresponding with each other directly during the day over text messages - where my wife wished my partner to have a great night with me, and C thanked my wife for being in her life. Myself, I found that lovely and heartwarming.

Before leaving for the overnight, I spent fifteen minutes with my wife (Polyfulcrum). I spent that time talking with her, I reassured her that I love her, and that I'd be back when I promised to be back. And then I left.

Then on the following Saturday morning, I spent another fifteen minutes with C - talking with her, reassuring her that I loved her, and that I'd see her again soon. And then I left.

At first glance, polyamory may sound glamorous and exotic. 

Yet if I were to account for my own feelings, it's really hard to step away from somebody who loves me as much as my wife, and to think about her remaining at home, lonely, missing me, and quietly attempting to contain her emotions surrounding my sexy/fun time with another partner. 

And still it's really hard to step away from somebody who loves me as much as C, so abruptly after our first all-night time together, to think about her missing me - probably lonely - and attempting to reconcile her own feelings with my absence. 

Glamorous and exotic? No. 

Poly is hard.

The polyamorous lifestyle creates an inherent contention:

• leaving somebody you love for somebody you love is hard - it's a gut-wrenching journey of self-doubt and compromise and it'll force you to reconsider your values and sense of loyalty to all of your partners;
• letting your husband go on an overnight to nurture a growing, important relationship with another woman is hard; 
• bravely seeing your partner off so that he can return to his wife and family - and patiently waiting for him on the sideline - is hard.  

Poly is hard. Not everyone can do this. How fortunate I am to have loving, transparent, and compassionate connections in my life who work just as hard at transforming that inherent contention into opportunity for everyone. 

s1m0n

(Russell)

Defining Marriage From the Inside Out.

About a month ago we had a camera crew parked out here for three days, documenting our lives together, asking questions about how things worked, what was easy, difficult, and lots of general queries that boiled down to, "Why?".

One of the points that came up repeatedly was about being poly AND married.  Why, in a non-monogamous landscape, where we have been poly from Day 1 of our relationship, did S and I choose to get married?  There are a lot of practical reasons.  Things like financial advantages, legal protections, labels that are easily understood by society at large and usable by my daughter, all played a part in the decision to marry legally.

The practical reasons aren't at the heart of the matter though.  I like being married.  My parents and grandparents are still together.  My first marriage was a happy and satisfying one for many years.  Where many people have negative connotations to the legal and social bonds that marriage brings, or see it as a purely antiquated patriarchal system, I've seen it as a positive, stable base to grow from, in tandem with someone I love.

When I got married the first time, one of the facets I appreciated deeply was the ability to choose my family.  Family of origin is a bit hit or miss.  Where I had a largely positive childhood, my inability to believe in Jesus has been an alienating factor since I was an adolescent.  I never quite fit, and the appeal of being able to choose my family in a legally binding way has been deep.

As my views on relationships have changed, so to have my views on marriage in general.  When S and I married, our vows were a bit non-standard, and in keeping with those views.   S's other partner, A, made the cake for our wedding celebration.  My other partner, PBD, was a witness, and, other than S's parents and the officiant, the only others invited to the actual ceremony were close community friends that I consider part of my extended family.   It was as poly as we could make it without adding more actual people to the marriage.   The reception was open to community members, and my former spouse and in-laws attended.

That part is just the ceremony though.  What about the marriage?  How is that different?  Why bother? When I look at S, in addition to the deep love and desire that is strong in our bond, I see someone who wants to entwine their life with mine, to do long-term planning together, to push and reach for things in tandem, to have a level of responsibility and commitment to each other that includes choosing to curtail  personal freedoms at times, in deference to the long-term goals we share, while still keeping growth and individual responsibility as a priority.  We're clear that non-monogamy is an innate part of our relationship, and that physical and emotional intimacy with others is our norm, and that one of our shared goals is the building of extended family and community together.

In short, we've defined our marriage from the inside out, not the outside in.  We steer what our marriage means to us, rather than going along with the societal norm in all things.  Is it still recognizable as a marriage in the semi-traditional sense?  Perhaps, perhaps not.  It IS what we've chosen to share with each other. Over time, it will likely shift and change, as any relationship does with time and shared experience.   Our marriage will be different 20 years from now than it is today.  We will be different as individuals, as a couple, as an extended family, and as part of the community.  I think we'll still define it as a marriage with each other, however we choose to continue to create that together.

Our Vows

I promise to give you the best of myself

and to ask of you no more than you can give.
I promise to accept you the way you are.
I fell in love with you for the qualities, abilities,

and outlook on life that you have.
I won't try to reshape you in a different image.
I promise to respect you as a person

with your own interests, desires, and needs,
and to realize that those are sometimes different,

but no less important than my own.
I promise to keep myself open to you,

to let you see through the window of my personal world

into my innermost fears and feelings, secrets and dreams.
I promise to grow along with you,

to be willing to face change as we both change
in order to keep our relationship alive and exciting.
And finally, I promise to love you in good times and in bad,

with all I have to give
and all I feel inside in the only way I know how...

completely and always.

Learning to Fly

Pink Floyd’s _Learning to Fly_ is one of my most favorite songs.

When I listen to it, I hear a story: the story of a person trying to stretch their boundaries and do something they’ve been told they can’t do. It’s too late for this fellow, though. He can’t turn back. He’s leapt into the void to chase his passion and is hoping for the best.

Love’s like that.

Polyamory is a world of intense opinions, vocabulary, models, and literature.  When I think of people in polyamorous relationships, I see thousands of people like this guy, jumping off cliffs with a guidebook in hand, attempting to learn the nuances, the lexicon, and models, while plummeting helplessly to the valley below. They’re trying to learn how to fly by reading the manual.

In poly discussion groups, sometimes, I’ll indirectly criticize our community in that we obsess over style; words; vocabulary; methods; processes. Indeed, instead of just “loving” and really relishing in the moment, we critique and psychoanalyze love to death. Freekin’ dead horse syndrome. Instead of focusing on the experience, taking in the beautiful moment around us while trying to instinctively stay on top of things, we’re absorbed in a book.

We’re missing the point.

Love is always risky. We risk much as we throw ourselves into the wind and hope that we stay aloft. But that moment, where the wind catches you and throws you into the sky, and you lose your breath, and you don’t know if you’re going to fall … these are the experiences that teach us; experiences that we’ll eventually put labels to and try to make sense of, but then – there in the moment – isn’t the time for manuals, nuance, or methods.

Right there, that’s the time to let go, hope and plan for the best, to stop over-analyzing, stop reading the manual, and simply learn to fly.

That’s why we do this, right? It’s the flight. It’s that experience we’re after, the sensations we wish to gift to our partners, the freedom we hope to convey so that we might experience it ourselves. Remember why you’re doing this. Don’t allow yourself to become paralyzed by an analysis of style instead of enjoying the moment, and learning – intuitively – from the experience.

s1m0n

Make Giving Your Kink

When introducing myself in discussion groups, I will often say that I’ve got no issues. It’s kind of a joke and it earns a good chuckle. My life’s pretty great. I figure my problems are pretty inconsequential as compared to the problems others.  The bottom line is that I’ve really got nothing to bitch about.

This week’s been fairly hard on my friends and extended family.  Parenting negotiations between my wife and her ex-husband introduced significant emotional challenges early in the week; missed expectations rattled a few of my friend’s relationships and sent them into a tailspin of anxiety following a party last weekend; another learned of an MS diagnosis; another friend had not one car break down on her but two – and just on the eve of starting a new job - while another struggles another week unemployed.

In the thick of problems and desires, it may be hard for us to really listen to our partners and lovers are telling us. Events like these … they’re like an explosion. Our senses are overwhelmed. We seek cover. There’s a ringing in our ears.

·      Sometimes it’s the drone of a conversation that we’ve been having for months that hasn’t found a resolution;

·      Sometimes it’s a long hurt that’s turned defensive;

·      Sometimes it’s heartbreak or the ache of lost love;

·      Sometimes it’s missed expectations and frustration over not getting what we want;

·      Sometimes it’s our own anxiety and fear about who we are, the kind of people we want to be, and the commitments we’re willing to make.

In the thick of our problems and desires, that’s the time for our greatest compassion. To pause, breathe, listen, and give. Give. Give in the form of your time, your energy, your patience, your forgiveness, your mentoring, your effort, your assets, your attention, your kindness, your love and caring, your check-in, your stable hand.

It’s tough. We’re hurt, too, but if you can, in a moment of crisis: pause, breathe, listen, and give.

Giving won’t solve everybody’s problem. You can’t and won’t heal all of the damage caused by the bombs that detonated in their lives. It won’t fix anything. Rather, at that moment, giving will erect a bridge to cross from fear, anxiety, and isolation, to a paved path of community, safety, and acceptance.

s1m0n

Not Enough

In the past couple of weeks, my non-domestic partner, D, and I have been unsuccessful in connecting several times for various reasons. I've been missing him quite a bit! This has brought up the idea that some people seem to hang onto when observing poly relationships: If my partner was "enough" for me, there wouldn't be any desire or need for other connections. Really, I'm probably just monogamous, but haven't found the right partner yet, and obviously, I must not really be into S if I still have D in my life, or vice versa, right?

Pshaw! Each person I have found value sufficient value in as an individual to form a significant relationship with is enough, in and of themselves, to be worth including in my life. That I'm missing D doesn't mean that S isn't meeting my needs in our relationship, nor does it make me a greedy woman who is never satisfied. It simply means that I see each of these connections as valuable in their own right, and feel that absence when I haven't been able to touch-in the way I'd like for a while.

One of the ways this seems to impact other poly folks is the sense of inadequacy that can flare up, particularly when one's partner is starting a new relationship. "If I were younger/prettier/thinner/more buff/better endowed/smarter/funnier etc, then Partner X would be happy with just me/us." With the rush of NRE, sometimes things fall through the cracks, and people forget to overtly value their existing partner(s) when they would benefit most from the reinforcement.

What's worked best for me has been when partners reiterate the things they enjoy about our connection, or me as a person in a "this reminds me of how much I love this about you" sort of way. To ramp up the considerate gestures, thoughtful embraces, and spend time together when there are other factors pulling attention takes some effort, but is well worth the energy.

S, you are enough. You are a wonderful partner, and I cherish sharing my life with you. D, you fill a unique spot in my heart, and I value who you are, and the relationship we enjoy together.