Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory

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My ex-husband lives in a homeless shelter, and there’s nothing I can do about it.  In the six years since I took my children and left, he has deteriorated into a person I hardly recognize.

I started to read something today, about the #WhyIStayed stories trending on the interwebs.  These are the stories of abuse victims, and you can either Google or check out Twitter if you are interested.  I had to stop reading at one point, because some of the words hit so close to where I live.  My secret is that I stayed because I wasn’t strong enough to leave.  And it took me a long time to forgive myself for that.

Today I am strong.  I am independent.  I am also guarded, and slow to trust.  It affects me, every day, and it affects my relationships.  So be it.

Special Man and I are in a new, solid place with each other.  I’ve come out to my children;  my mother. My Meta CC is coming to meet the kids in a couple of days.  We have  pizza and Uno planned.  I am both optimistic, and terrified.  I want it all.  I want my big happy poly family fantasy.

But I’ve been disappointed before.




Everyone wants to feel special. Everyone wants to feel loved and adored and wanted. Everyone wants to feel needed.

Three years ago tonight, I received a text message. “Hi,” it said. “It’s T. Are you still interested in getting together for dinner sometime?”

::Yes.:: I typed back immediately, surprising myself. This was a man who scared me a little (a lot.) This was a man I’d exchanged a few messages with over the previous six months. A man I knew was married and polyamorous. A man I didn’t quite understand. A man I had already backed out of a dinner date with several months before, because somehow I knew.

I knew he was a game changer.

Three years ago, tomorrow, I put on a black and white dress, and drove to the sushi restaurant near my house. He wore a deep red dress shirt. I was so nervous I wanted to throw up.

He wasn’t nervous at all.

Because I said yes, three years ago, my life changed. I am loved, that is true. But more importantly: I am loving. I am more open with my emotions. The tears I swallowed down during an abusive marriage, are allowed to surface, even at weirdest times (Like during sex. Or randomly at dinner.) I smile. I laugh, and I make him laugh. I can tell him when I’m afraid, and he never, evermocks me. He says he loves my beauty: my face without makeup, my pudgy little toes, my unruly breasts. He loves and accepts every piece of me, even the parts that scare me.

He provides me safe space to say this: I am me. And I like me. This has been his gift to me.

(And he likes me too.)



I want to write, but it feels as if I have forgotten how.

I want to sleep, but it feels as if my brain will never be quiet.

I want to cross everything off of my Big To Do List, but there is always something else to be added.

I want to get in my car, and drive to Somewhere Else, which I think secretly means, I want to get in my car, drive to Somewhere Else, and be Someone Else.  (Just for a little while.)

I want to eat another pumpkin chocolate chip cookie, but I already had two, and it puzzles me that I just want to eat all the cookies, regardless.

I want to write.  I haven’t forgotten how.  I just need to begin.


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Special Man and I continue to stay connected.  I am safe and I am loved and my heart remains open.  I am happy and hopeful, and I am ready to share what I’ve learned about myself and my poly.

Stay tuned.  






I said no.

I said it more than once.  I said it quietly, to a man who said he loved me.  I choked it out louder, through tears as he ripped into me, and then the pain made me mute. It took everything I had for me to say it again.


There were a lot of other words then.  Stop. Get off. You’re hurting me.

And the man, who said the sun rose and set with me, who said I was an angel, who said I was going to marry him and give him babies, replied, NO.

And he didn’t stop.

When it was over, I called the front desk for new sheets to replace the blood soaked bedding.  When the boy working room service came fifteen minutes later I smiled, so he wouldn’t  know I had just been raped.

The man and I went out for food because he was hungry. It was hard to walk. It hurt to sit. I was ashamed of myself because I had allowed him to take my virginity, and now I was ruined.

He was proud.


Today I read an essay about rape.  I wept, and I wrote.

I’ve never used the word rape before.  Not really. I always said “a kind of date-rape thing” when asked about my first time and then I changed the subject as fast as I could.   I always felt horrible about it, and I tried to forget. 

You don’t forget.

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“For Women Who Are Difficult To Love”

you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.

~warsan shire



Today is the monthly Poly Potluck in my small city.  I’m not going.  I don’t feel comfortable, and it’s unclear to me if it’s the fact that Special Man and CC are hosting it at their house, or if it’s simply the Big Breakup and this vague feeling of displacement that I’m carrying, that is keeping me home.

Probably, it’s a combination of both.

I’ve seen SMF several times.  It is hard to let go.  It is hard to not continue to look for a way that we can be together.  I have mixed feelings.

I love him.  It makes things complicated, a word I’m beginning to truly loathe…

I’ve dropped twelve hours per pay period at work, in an effort to force my hand in looking for alternate ways to supplement my income.  I’m excited and terrified.   As I get older, I want… MORE.  There are many things about bedside nursing that are satisfying.  I’m paid well, and I’m good at what I do.  But I can’t keep up the hours and the nightshifts.  I want more joy, and more beauty in my days.  I’m seriously working towards supplementing my income with photography.  I’m happy.  It feels right.

I’ve gained almost exactly ten pounds in the last two months.   I’m sure I’m stress eating.  I need a post  break-up healthy eating  buddy.  Anyone?


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