To someone prone to overthinking and anxiety as myself, consensual non-monogamy including open relationship seems like a recipe for disaster. I am also, however, someone who is curious, likes to challenge myself, and highly values genuine connections.

Why do people do it? Is it for me? Will I ever be able to overcome my own insecurity and jealousy to pull this off?

After all, it was not just my second ex, Piano Man, who, after almost a decade together, wondered what else was there, whether we were it. I wondered too. We became a couple right off high school and, before then, either of us had only been in a relationship once. So, it was only human that we would be curious. It was a pity we did not discuss this desire early or candidly, which opened a Pandora’s box of jealousy and insecurity. Eventually, that led us to go our separate ways.

A year later, I came across the concept of polyamory and open relationship, and was almost immediately drawn to the philosophy behind it.

Lucky for me, I learnt from my past shortcomings and, with my next partner The Spaniard (now my ex), I was able to discuss our thoughts and expectations around the exclusivity of our relationship. I no longer took it for granted.

In our exchange, we learnt that in the past we had always been in exclusive relationships, but both agreed that there might be merits to consensual non-monogamy (CNM). I devoured articles, social media posts, and podcasts on the subject. We searched ourselves and asked whether an open relationship was something we both really wanted to try. The answer was yes.

Why did we even want to try that?

Consensually non-monogamous relationships were seen as an opportunity to broaden one’s sense of self and to experience more variety in activities in a way that reduces pressure on any one given partner. They were also seen as a way of growing and expanding a current relationship, allowing for deeper intimacy and connection as well as a greater feeling of security.

Psychology Today

What rang true to us, at the heart of CNM is the understanding that you cannot expect someone — in most cases, your partner — to be your everything and meet your every need.

For instance, how many times do couples get into fights because they feel roped into doing something they do not enjoy, only because they feel obligated to their partner? Or, how often do you feel like you have to “perform” as someone that checks all the boxes of your partner’s interests? CNM — though definitely not the only way — can help take this pressure off.

Another key thinking was that, we live on a planet with seven billion other people. For us, personally, we felt that it was not reasonable to expect each other to never feel any attraction to others, or to never act on that attraction. Especially, over the decades that we hopefully would be lucky enough to live through.

An open relationship meant the best of both worlds: we would have an anchor, and the option to entertain our curiosity if we ever felt a spark with someone outside the relationship. We did not have to use that option, but we did have it.

Specifically for my partner The Spaniard, since at the time he had just moved to a new country (and we all know how lonely that can be), dating also provided an easy way to find some company.

In any case, this did not mean we were less committed to each other than a monogamous couple. Our commitment only looked a little different, and we both agreed that it was to keep choosing each other every time, day in and day out. We did not have to stay together. We had options. But we chose to come home to each other after every adventure we got to have on our own, because we wanted to.

And in a way, to overthinkers, this could be liberating.

How did it go?

Before we even agreed to formally open our relationship, we discussed various scenarios that we might encounter. We talked, a lot, about what we were comfortable with and not. We set boundaries. For instance, we agreed that it was perhaps best to start by keeping the outside experimentation casual, with no feelings involved. We also agreed that friends and family were off-limits. And we promised that, as soon as we felt that any of these might change, we would revisit our discussion.

Did this automatically mean smooth sailing?

Hell, no. But through our ups and downs, we learnt so much, about each other and about ourselves.

On the up side, with every successful interaction outside our relationship, we brought in, kept fresh, and multiplied the “new relationship energy (NRE)”. NRE is that glow you have after a good date, when you feel admired, desired, or validated. In my case, it made me feel confident, perhaps more than usual, and that was reflected in how The Spaniard and I interacted with each other.

We also ended up communicating with each other so much more. Not only because communication is crucial in an open relationship to maintain intimacy and manage potential fallouts. But also because with each interaction outside the relationship, we learnt more and more just how much we loved each other’s company. We fell deeper in love with how open-minded and supportive each other was.

One of my favorite experiences from opening our relationship was when The Spaniard called me after a date with someone else and, even though he had fun with his date, told me how he ended up talking about me for most of his time with her.

On the flip side, I learnt that my jealousy, insecurity, and overthinking would still eat me up from time to time. Even The Spaniard, who said he’d never been jealous in his past relationships, would at times tell me how crazy jealous he could get when I spent time with someone else.

In navigating all these, there were times when we wanted to know everything about the other’s interactions outside the relationship. And there were times when we did not want to even hear a peep. No matter what, we did our best to cater to these preferences as they varied over time.

What’s the key takeout?

From this life-changing experience, I learnt how invaluable trust and communications are. Open relationships are hard. For it to work, we had to want to make the right choice in how we conducted ourselves every day that would help make the other’s life easier. In return, we got to see just how much love and compassion we had for each other.

Personally, having an open relationship also required me to practice a lot of self-awareness and self-work. When jealousy stroke, for instance, I had to try and detach myself from my anxious “monkey mind” and remind myself to not compare or ruminate.

In the long run, this could get exhausting — especially when everything else in your life was unstable. I knew that it was getting out of hand for me when The Spaniard went on a platonic trip with a girl he’d gone on dates with twice previously, and I practically spiraled down in my anxiety. At that point when everything was overwhelming for me, all I wanted was just the simplicity of a monogamous relationship, and The Spaniard kindly agreed to close our relationship until I felt better.

All in all, I got to learn so much about my jealousy, insecurity, and — as cliché as it sounds — my fear of abandonment.

Having tried this, will I keep going for open relationships in the future?

Honestly, I think I will not. I figured, if anything, I might be more of a monogamish — that is, exclusively committed for most of the time, with few, specific opportunities to explore; for instance, when we’re on solo trips.

One thing I know for sure: I’m comfortable to not have my relationship preference written in stone. I might completely change my mind along the way and I’m allowed to — as long as my future partner and I discuss it openly and conduct ourselves ethically.

After all, isn’t that what life’s all about? You try, you might get hurt or you might find what you’re looking for, and — most importantly — you learn.

How do you approach the topic of exclusivity in your relationship? Have you ever thought of opening it up? Curious, non-judgmental, and respectful discussions are welcome!

Credits:

Photographs from Pixabay and Stocksnap