Rachel Greene

(Transcript)

When I tell people I’m in a polyamorous relationship, a lot of times they think I’m talking

about this other type of open relationship called “fucked up.”

They think that agreeing not to be exclusive means that my partners and I make a point

to sleep with lots and lots of people and have no accountability for each other’s feelings

because “well, we agreed to it.” That is fucked up.

Choosing to open your relationship because that relationship isn’t working but you’re

too co-dependently tangled up in each other’s shit to admit that, and then brining a third

or fourth or fifth or by extension sixth person into your big sloppy joe mess, which then

turns into more of an all-you-can-eat buffet of weirdness and dysfunctionality, is fucked

up.

Coercing your partner into opening your relationship because you are incapable of fully

appreciating what you have and only find satisfaction in seeking more, because you

would rather paint an imaginary sunrise than quietly watch as the sun rises, is fucked

up.

Widening your web will pull on the threads of trust and understanding you have woven,

so polyamory is opening your relationship because these threads between you are

strong. Polyamory is being friends with your lover’s lover, or not being friends with them,

or being their lover too, but knowing that you cannot truly gain at their expense.

On the other hand, playing along while muttering incantations to make your lover’s other

partners disappear, finding every chance to display yourself like a blue ribbon pig at a

fair, or taking care of your partner in ways they aught to take care of them self just to

make sure that they need you as much as you think you need them, is fucked up.

Getting tested for STDs is polyamory.

Lying is fucked up.

Communicating with your partners about your other relationships is polyamory.

Lying is fucked up.

Making the effort to figure out what actually works for everyone is polyamory.

Being a selfish, manipulative shit head is fucked up.

Polyamory is not the man going off to the whorehouse while the woman is stuck at

home with the kids. That’s like some kind of vintage-style fucked up.

Polyamory is him asking me about my date because he wants to share my excitement.

His jealousy all mixed up with inspiration and transformed into attentive, honest

caresses. His jealousy is not fists sinking into curved bodies in a sick plea for validation.

His jealousy is not guilt trip or ownership or running away.

I have a confession: I’ve done fucked up. And my partners have done fucked up. But

it’s hard when all the songs on the radio tell us polyamory is fucked up. Those songs

tell me I deserve someone who can “gimme all their lovin’,” but an exclusive mutual

ownership contract is not the only thing that allows hearts to be true.

I deserve someone who I can trust enough to watch their heart be free. I deserve

someone who can maintain their sense of self-worth long enough to realize that no one

person can, or should try, to meet all of my needs for love and connection.

For me, polyamory is freely discovering what unique emergent property we can create

when our elements collide, rather than following a frantic quest for perfection in the form

of one shining soul.

We all deserve to be loved for who we are, not what someone has always wanted us

to be. And don’t assume that our genuine attempt to find what we deserve is somehow

fucked up.