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Posts published in “My Diaries”

Time, the Cost of Consent and Parallel Polyamory

Juggling time is a huge deal in a open relationship if the type of open relationship you have means investing in every relationship you develop. And it's not only in your intimate relationships, it's time spent with their parents, their brothers, sisters and depending on how close they are, cousins, uncles, aunts and the rest. It's the emotional labour of negotiating holidays, cultural and family traditions and personality dynamics.

Why I’m solo-polyamorous but living in a community

After many such processing sessions and respective conclusions, I've come to a grand, meta conclusion. Whilst I might long for multiple connections, I function better alone. I learned some years ago that a solo style of polyamory would be the smart choice for me; that's a bit of a conundrum when you're already in a household of six which includes two small kids.

Life as a Story

I know my desire for change might make me an incredibly hard person to live with for it is like an addiction. But I also know myself and I know what I need. I need change, I need the story, I need life.

A Spell of Consensual Objectification

To get the truth of what's going on inside a man's head is an amazing privilege. It's one that my boyfriend and I have cultivated for almost three years now. Because to get honesty, you have to accept whatever honesty brings. Including bias. Prejudice. Entitlement. All that good stuff we like to vilify, but which is rife because well, we're human.

The Clash of Relationship Anarchy with Romantic Hierarchy

I have no one more important than my chosen family. Right now I exist for them and as a reflection of them. I fear that the death of my family, would be the death of me, even if logically I know it to be untrue. In the past I have cleaved towards friends whom I considered as important as my family, only to have them demote me--when push came to shove--in favour of blood ties, even blood ties they despised.

The Unacknowledged Soulmate

If only she knew how much I love you. How much it hurts that you, that we, are not acknowledged. How you are regarded as some disposable piece of detritus. How fickle and worthless she believes my love for you is.

Becoming Chosen Family

She had no piece of paper, no recognised validity save what she and my partner felt for one another. She was a guest in my home--the home of a woman she hardly knew--but it was also her boyfriend's home and she knew him a lot better. My lack of trust was understandable, acceptable even, but that didn't make it easier for her to handle.

Unhealed Wounds & Wet Pants

They were once my family, I was not born to them but I chose them. How foolish I have been to think that I am healed, that I am whole. There is always more to work on. More wounds to re-open. So as I saw them, I remembered how much I love him, and how much I still miss him.

In my End is my Beginning

I think about it. I think about it all until I am exhausted. And when my mind has no reasons, nothing left, all I have is my love, my loss and my grief. My heart breaks and out of the shattered pieces comes still more love for him.

Schrodinger’s Child

I stayed up all night looking after her and at 6am Freddie awoke wanting to play. Morten and I were exhausted. But when I looked at them still I felt, it was all worth it. And smelling of sick, I still burned for them.