She’s right there, asking me “But what If I do have sex with someone else and I end up feeling awful about it? What if I get my heart broken or my ego bruised? What if it makes me so emotional that it scares them off ‘cause now I’m crying and I can’t explain why? What if they feel used because this all turns out to prove that I’m not polyamorous and I can’t do it?”
I realized how very few times in my life I've actually allowed myself to fail at anything.
The next thing you know, the insecurity is in control not only of the established relationship, but its tendrils are reaching in and poking at the soft spots in the nascent one as well.
...when I try to break down what people are talking about when they talk about sexuality, I think they're often talking about a bunch of different things that don't all fit in a simple graph or system that's easy to digest.
...it feels like a very real possibility that at some point in our lifetimes, the luxury of having services that deliver food to your door via mobile phone app connected to your paypal account, and corporations that produce two-ply toilet hypo-allergenic paper that you can pick up at the local grocery store with your rewards card are going to the things that future children will treat like fairy tales.
Identities, for me, are not permanent. Well, not all of them, anyway. I allow for plenty of fluidity and lots of possibility for change in my life, so when I say I am monoamorous, I generally mean "have been up to this point in my life."
This time of year has a tendency to present the perfect conditions for me to question everything about my life. It's not a great time for me to be alone, but it's when my instincts tell me to withdraw from having to be present anywhere where I have to put on a mask to hide what's going on inside.
Once or twice a year I let my mind wander and imagine what it would be like to have another romantic relationship in addition to the amazing one I'm already in.
I would never have to enjoy my life without him. I would have my pepperoni forever. He made me happy. He loved me. I loved him. This whole pizza thing was making me hungry and confused.
In which I learn to reframe a particularly rude and infuriating question that gets asked at every family function.