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Some of you may remember an arguably controversial article I wrote five years ago, entitled, boldly, “Monogamy Isn’t Natural.”

Admittedly, I did not expand on my views and experiences regarding the topic of non-monogamy for at least a few key reasons:

1. At the time I wrote it, non-monogamy was an abstraction to me; it wasn’t a way of life I was actively or willingly exploring.

2. I was carrying what felt to me like more fundamentally pressing issues in life, such as a profound alternation in perception, self-concept, and the ways in which I relate to others and the world.

3. I think that, deep down, a part of my psyche and nervous system whispered, warning, exploring this topic so publicly and so in depth could prove to be a dangerous endeavor.

Let’s face it: if there is one subject that most people feel strongly about, it’s attachment, relationships, and the ethics around how we relate to our environment and those in our orbit. Furthermore, most of us, myself included, have experienced heartache and injustice at least once in our lifetime, and many of us, if we are honest with ourselves, probably still carry some residual pain, internal scars, and limiting beliefs as a result of those experiences.

Whether we can recognize and admit it or not, those experiences shape our opinions and inform our preferences and judgments.

So, for years, I let the flames flicker and eventually burn out altogether. And yet, recently, an ember of curiosity formed, refusing to be stamped out.

Although I seldom talk much about it, I have had a non-platonic companion for years. We are, in fact, each other’s best friend. We listen and attend to each other’s relational needs with care, enthusiasm, and presence, travel the continent together, tell each other our deepest secrets, and are also just as satisfied to simply sit together in silence—something I often refer to as the activity of “being alone together,” a favorite pastime of mine as well as something I deem a mark of comfort and interpersonal compatibility.

When she and I first met, I was still in the throes of intense grief, up to the neck in the deep waters during a long and dark night, drowning in my tears over the person who I have now come to see as a catalyst for my growth and awakening process. In fact, after I separated from this person and finally understood the significance of that event, I decided, like many other people in a similar situation, that I deserved better and joined a dating app in a desperate but ultimately vain attempt to distract myself, expand my horizons, and potentially even “find someone better,” someone able to see me, meet me, and emotionally reciprocate. I was honest with all of the people I spoke to on that app: telling them that I was intensely bitter and heartbroken over someone else, that because of this I was functioning at a limited emotional capacity, but that as long as they were okay with it, I was willing to explore something relatively casual to begin.

Understandably, some were not comfortable with this confession and out of necessity we parted ways. But my steadfast romantic companion stayed. She stood by me selflessly, through all of the agonizing frustration and all of the many tears I shed over my previous connection. She had every reason to walk away, and sometimes I even encouraged her to do so, but even after a few months of silence, she returned, wanting to be closer and connect with me again out of her own volition and despite my initial hesitation due to the hurt I felt from the person in my life before her.

Slowly, after the worst of what is sometimes referred to as “soul-shock” from that previous connection subsided, I came to love and appreciate her all the more. I knew it wasn’t exactly easy to be with someone who was still hung up on another person, and I openly acknowledged that to her on more than one occasion.

Now, here is the part of my story where I risk being admonished or chewed out, but for my own sake must be said with utmost confidence:

I have recently come to learn and to gradually accept that, as much as I see, love, cherish, and appreciate someone as wonderful as my partner and companion, it does not necessarily guarantee that I will never ever feel any kind of chemistry or “spark” with anyone else simultaneously. And recently, a secondary kind of catalyst came back into my life after two years of disconnection and unwittingly and inadvertently showed me this, quietly but intensely nevertheless.

I met this woman in a self-inquiry community years ago and recently reconnected after a long period of silence.

At the time, we both felt frustrated on our individual paths and talked openly about personal growth, consciousness, our initial awakening catalysts, the state of the world, and what it is we both want to experience in life outside of self-inquiry and connections with others. To me, our conversations were profound, honest, sometimes raw, and emotionally refreshing. After enduring a long period of deep existential depression, I finally felt immensely seen and less alone.

Months prior to our reconnection, I was rapidly losing faith in the unfolding of my own life, thoroughly fed up with all of the books I had read millions of times, the daily self-inquiry practices, traditional teachings, and other parts of my life outside of my relationship and personal growth journey. Most of all, I was searingly disheartened about the state of the world and one person’s capacity to truly and wholly rise above their own internal mess and the real structural barriers and collective ignorance. However, when we started to talk once again, I discovered that I wasn’t alone in feeling this existential pain, and over time, something in me lit up a bit.

Not only did we share our existential and philosophical frustrations, but we also processed some deep-seated pain together. On at least one occasion, my friend sent me a message telling me that she had a sudden burst of insight that she felt comfortable enough to share. One day, in particular, I actually found myself sobbing and my heart hurting on the other end of the phone because some of the insights that she shared about herself felt so deeply and painfully familiar to me. Somehow that mutual depth of emotional processing coupled with some shared interests, goals, perceptions, and worldviews stuck with me in a manner I could not easily shake off. I even felt deeply impacted by it for several days following, although I did not tell her this.

Now, my partner knows about all of my friends and vice versa, and she certainly knows enough about me by now to know that I relate deeply with not only her, but with a few others as well. In fact, I often tell her the gist of what my friends and I talk about without divulging any of my friends’ messy and personal trials and tribulations that were told to me in confidence. I have always been wired to revel in deep conversations and generally feel less fulfilled in superficial discussions. Although I am a classic introvert and am selective in who I open up to, when I do ultimately manage to open up to a person, I open the doors into my interior world. She doesn’t take this personally and knows it to be a fundamental and incontrovertible pattern. She knows that this is how I relate to her and others, because intimacy and depth are things that make me feel most invigorated and alive.

Likewise I tend to be fascinated with the inner lives of other people, hence the reason I have always felt compelled to read memoirs and, at one time, wanted to become a counsellor. This also means that, at times, I can potentially feel a kind of “spark” for other people if other conditions and qualifications are met.

Yes, I’ll admit that it probably takes an unusually secure person to be with me, but I am finally coming to a point in my life where it is becoming increasingly difficult for me not to do what feels most natural. And what feels most natural to me, by design, is to slowly but surely begin to say to myself: screw the rigid self-imposed shackles of shame and guilt handed down to me by my culture, including other people, that I have efficaciously used to strangle myself with. It is now time to loosen those shackles and begin to accept that I am flowing, am fully alive, and that perhaps I really do have a messy and incorrigible human heart.

My feelings don’t always fit into neat little black and white boxes and categories or make complete and utter sense to me, especially when they concern what it is that I think I want or when it comes to how I feel about other people. Perhaps this is true for many of us, and together, we can begin to accept that we are innately complex human beings—sometimes even, arguably, an outright mass of contradictions. The mind and heart, after all, are complex instruments, and sometimes one strikes a “C minor” while the other a “D major” simultaneously. We sway to the music they play, however clumsily.

After a month or two of guilt and trying to deeply process and understand my own emotions as well reflect on my past relationships, I finally found the courage to tell my partner about these feelings and tendencies. It wasn’t easy, and I cried outwardly, while inwardly, I quivered. I reassured her, however, that I truly loved her and that it wasn’t that she wasn’t enough.

So, could I be somewhere on the “polyamorous spectrum” if polyamorous were indeed a definitive orientation? Probably, yes, and this is certainly true on a mental and emotional level for me. As much as people may scoff at me for this, I honestly do not firmly believe I am one hundred percent monogamous all the time, and instead of shrinking into a chronic state of self-rejection and self-abandonment, which I believe is both unfair and unhealthy, I am now choosing to accept this about myself.

I began telling myself, affirmatively, that people are more likely to accept you when you fully and radically accept yourself without apology first and foremost, and that even if they do not accept me, perhaps they are not meant to have a place in my life after all.

Alternatively, the cost of not being honest with oneself and others is usually much more sinister with time. Furthermore, not being honest with oneself could be something a person easily and sadly comes to regret at the end of his or her life. And who wants to die with guilt or regret as their companions?

The reason I may not have been more fully aware of these proclivities much earlier on in my life or current relationship is because:

1. I am not typically drawn to many people. Nor deeply or for any great length of time.

2. For the first few years, I was trying to mentally and emotionally detach and disencumber myself from the initial catalyst who triggered a profound reorientation toward how I approached life and saw myself. I wasn’t focused on too many other things at the time.

3. Although I had these proclivities even while I was married eight or nine years ago, I didn’t feel safe to “come out” or speak openly about this part of myself. At the time, I was too young and not as self-aware as I am today. I didn’t exactly have a word or concept for how I internally operated. As a result, I surrendered multiple friendships and other opportunities to ensure my spouse felt comfortable and knew how much I was devoted to her.

Over time, I began to feel stifled and suffocated in that relationship. That feeling of being stifled was, in hindsight, the beginning of the end for me. After our separation, I was bursting at the seams and couldn’t wait to see what was out there for me. I knew there were 8.5 to 8.8 billion people in the world, and I couldn’t wait to expand my horizons. No longer could I make her the centre of my existence anymore. It had cost me too much.

In the present, I am now coming to understand that essential qualities I absolutely need in any person I devote the majority of my energy to are open-mindedness, a strong sense of self-assurance, trust in my genuine love and care for them despite an occasional “spark” for someone else, and non-possessiveness. And in turn, I know I must offer this to them in fairness.

I truly and firmly believe that sometimes different people have the capacity to touch us deeply for whatever reason, despite a primary commitment, and that we can learn and grow from such an experience. In the words of Virginia Woolf, “Different people draw different words from me.” I find the same to be true for me, and my awareness of life and self is incredibly enriched by all the words each person draws out. I grow rapidly on connection with other people who act as mirrors and catalysts for my personal growth. Sometimes one person and connection just can’t do all the work. Also, I am learning that just because we feel intensely for someone else doesn’t mean they are meant to become something more defined and significant to us.

Going forward, I do not know exactly how this will impact my current or any possible future connections, but I do know that I feel more and more compelled to begin to tell the truth and live a life that feels authentic to me.

And that time is now.

~

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