“I have to tell you that monogamy is not my thing, so I only have open relationships now,” read the WhatsApp message. Frozen in my once peaceful spot on the sofa, I swiped the notification away as if its disappearance could erase the message’s existence. “What on earth does that mean?” I thought.
I was 21, still a kid in my now 30-year-old eyes, and had just graduated from college. And until a fateful Tinder swipe, I was a staunch monogamist, fully following the romantic standard society had set through its long-term affair with heterosexual monogamy.
The message of this new love affair didn’t quite fit my perfect idea of a long-term relationship. I never wanted marriage, but I believed in monogamy.
Although I have a slight fixation on fairytale romances, something about the text made me tingle—the concept of non-monogamy spoke to a part of my brain that I had long buried due to societal pressure to conform to convention.
When I met my fascinating copywriter, it was supposed to be just a fling. I had just moved away from my university town to do my Masters in London, but then a whirlwind romance began between us.
At first I thought that when he said he was into open relationships, it meant he was polyamorous. I don’t judge anyone who is polyamorous; in fact, I admire the intelligence and patience it takes. I just don’t have the emotional bandwidth to be in multiple romantic relationships.
So it was a relief when he said that open relationships are not the same as polyamory. While polyamorous people generally have multiple romantic relationships, open relationships usually have just one, with both partners allowed to have sexual contact independently of or with their primary partner.
However, this is not a universal rule. The beauty of any non-monogamous relationship is that you can define it according to your and your partner’s wants and needs. And that’s where my questions started.
What are the rules? Do we tell each other everything? Are we allowed to get emotionally involved? What if we get jealous? What if we develop feelings for someone else? Can we end the relationship if we want to?
He suggested I do my own research rather than relying on him to call the shots. I dove into the Google world and discovered a whole host of stories about nonmonogamy, from casual sex to multiple spouses.
The information piled up in a tidal wave of different relationship dynamics until I no longer knew which way was up and which way was down. I returned to pray at the altar of his source of (what I now know is limited) knowledge.
We agreed to focus on each other romantically, but still sleep with others. We set a few rules to keep things clear, including not telling each other details of encounters, always using condoms, and avoiding sleeping with people the other would one day meet, like friends.
I loved the freedom to pursue my desires instead of suppressing them. I loved knowing that we could have fun with other people while protecting our connection. I loved the powerful feeling of exploring nonmonogamy on my own terms.
However, this joy was slowly being tarnished as rules were broken or twisted at will. Whenever I asked a question, the answer was, “That wasn’t what we agreed to.” It felt like the boundary was constantly shifting, but I didn’t know where it was.
I also felt like living out this blessed freedom was a prerequisite for her existence, like I had to prove my worth in this new club I’d joined. It also didn’t help that everyone I met assumed, based on my relationship dynamic, that we’d sleep together immediately.
I kept thinking about all the variations of non-monogamy I’d seen online, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that my approach of only getting into a relationship when I truly felt the desire was somehow wrong. My ex and I dated on and off for several years before we finally broke up in 2020. While open relationships were still tempting, our relationship wasn’t exactly a shining example of it.
After our relationship fell apart and the world plunged headlong into a pandemic, the idea of non-monogamy became increasingly unappealing, largely because it was so inconvenient to meet people at the time. I stopped dating for a long time, and when I started again, it felt inevitable to fall back into the old traps of monogamous expectations.
Its familiarity felt fitting yet itchy, like an old knit sweater. I still dreamed of finding a partner I trusted and with whom I could live non-monogamy on our terms. In 2023, I finally did it.
The relationship between my current partner and I started with clear expectations on both sides, which made all the difference when we experimented with non-monogamy this time around. We both preferred open relationships with our own rules, not polyamory, which meant our relationship was the priority.
We have developed rules that work for us – we don’t follow anyone else’s dictates. We set boundaries that work for our unique relationship and adjust them as needed.
One of the main reasons for our openness is that we are not always physically together. I am from the UK and he is from Montreal, Canada. We are both digital nomads, we met in Southeast Asia and we value our independence a lot.
Allowing ourselves to explore other people physically when we can’t be together may seem counterproductive, as if we’re opening up the chance that one of us will become emotionally unfaithful, but that’s never the case. We’re both so focused on our connection that romantic dates with others aren’t a factor.
After establishing a solid foundation with clear boundaries for non-monogamy, we agreed on one cornerstone: We can ask to resume or end the relationship at any time, but we both have to agree.
At some point, the knowledge that he could sleep with someone else at any time suddenly made me fearful instead of excited about him. So we ended the relationship. Simply and without drama. We haven’t gotten along since. It feels like the right decision for both of us.
Although we are happy as a couple at the moment, I doubt monogamy will ever last.
We’re both comfortable with our ever-changing dynamic because it fits our ever-evolving lives. We accept that our sexualities aren’t always perfectly aligned, and if one of us wants to open the door, the other will always listen. And if one of us wants to keep the door closed for a while, the other will accept that, too.
