Acceptance of loss.

I was talking about polyamory the other day with my partner, Romeo. We were discussing the things we liked about it, and the things we didn’t. We talked about the fact that we are no longer polyamorous, and the reality of how that choice is still and will probably always be challenging for me. 

In that conversation, I asked him if he thought he would ever change his mind in the future—if being poly would ever be a possibility for us. I also reassured him with the truth, which is that I have fully accepted that we will continue to be monogamous, and in no way am I trying to “wait him out.” It was a question of curiosity, not necessity. 

But in answering my question, which he did very thoughtfully and not simply out of reflex or defensiveness, he brought to my awareness a very fascinating concept. I knew I needed to think and write about it more. He said that while we can’t know what we will want in the future, his feelings right now are that no, we will never be poly again, because while he enjoyed many aspects of being poly, there was one aspect that was a deal-breaker for him when it came to me. That, for him, was the necessity of accepting the possibility of loss.

His theory is that when you choose to live polyamorously, it means accepting that you may lose your partner eventually to someone else. Of course, this is always a risk in any relationship, technically speaking. But with poly, you are opening yourself up more to that risk, because you are accepting and even encouraging your partner in exploring relationships with others—others to whom your partner may become more emotionally tied to than they are to you, and could potentially choose to elevate to a higher priority in their life than the position you hold. You are choosing to open your relationship to outside forces that have the potential to change things in ways you can’t control or foresee. You are accepting that your partner may find someone who fulfills them in ways that you don’t or can’t, and that in doing so, they may no longer wish to continue a relationship with you at all. That is the acceptance of loss. 

My partner has good reason for believing that polyamory necessitates the acceptance of loss. In both of our cases, we were poly people in committed marriages seeking secondary partners, when we first started dating. One of the things we connected on so strongly was the prioritization of our spouses and families. We both understood what it meant to be spouses and parents first, and polyamorous second. 

Neither of us would have believed that in finding each other, we were finding partners who would fulfill us in ways we didn’t know (or want to admit) were missing, and that it would lead us down a path to divorcing our spouses. That was something that, at the time, I never believed, wanted, or thought I would allow to happen. I can’t overstate the certainty and confidence that I felt in my marriage. In my mind, we were rock solid and always would be. 

And that’s the crazy thing about life, I suppose. I thought I knew who I was, what I wanted, and what I would always choose when it came to my marriage. But I didn’t know what I didn’t know. I didn’t realize that what you want can change, drastically, even when it comes to desires that you believe are at the core of your identity. I wanted to be married once and forever, more than anything else in life… until suddenly, one day, I didn’t want that anymore. Or, at least, I didn’t want it enough to fight for it when I had something else in front of me that seemed more right for me. 

For Romeo, things were in some ways very similar and in some ways very different. In the end, he made the same decision I did and we both ended up leaving our spouses and becoming each other’s nesting partner (and eventually, each other’s only partner). 

So for Romeo, we are living proof that in poly, all bets are off. There are no guarantees of commitment, even when you feel like you have that. You don’t. Because things can change, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. 

Now, that’s his perspective—and I do see some truth in it. I see a lot of truth in it, in fact. I see the reality that my rock-solid commitment to my now-ex-husband was able to crumble apart when a new partner came into the picture who changed everything for me. My feelings and desires changed, and that ultimately led to the loss of my marriage. This is the reality. 

But, there is another aspect of this story to consider, which is that I have learned and changed and grown from my experiences. Looking back on my choices when it came to my marriage and Romeo, I have mixed feelings.

On one hand, I believe that God has worked for the good in all of these things. They brought me to Romeo, and our love is a love that I could never regret. What we have together is beautiful and amazing and rare, and I am so thankful for it. And, the family we’ve built together is equally beautiful and precious to me. Our child, who we will be bringing into the world within a matter of weeks, is worth everything. I can’t say that I regret my choices, because they all led to what I have now, and that is anything but regrettable. 

On the other hand, I can say that there are choices I would not like to repeat. It makes me sad knowing that I walked away from a partnership that was itself quite beautiful, amazing, and rare, and split apart a family that was equally as precious. I know that I don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to be a person who moves from one commitment to the next, leaving a trail of broken hearts and families in my wake. I want to be a forever partner. 

I have learned that there will always be options that look more appealing. If allowed to be explored and felt, there would always be feelings that became overpowering and all-consuming at times. Those feelings can make decisions feel right, in the moment, even when they aren’t aligned with what you want, long-term. NRE is a powerful drug! But I have learned that feelings are temporary. They matter, and they need to be felt and recognized, and then sometimes honored and sometimes reframed. But they aren’t the end-all, be-all of life. They change. They aren’t forever. It doesn’t mean that relationships can’t be forever. I believe they can be if you choose to make them so. 

So, does being poly mean you must embrace the acceptance of loss?

Yes, and no.

Being alive and in a relationship means you must accept the possibility of loss. Or, you can turn a blind eye and not accept this possibility—and you may end up being just fine, or you may end up blindsided and heartbroken. Then again, does accepting the possibility of loss beforehand really make it any easier if it happens? I’m not so sure.

But, does being polyamorous increase the chances of loss? That is the real question, I believe. And the answer is, it can. But I don’t know if it has to.

Being polyamorous does mean, in many ways, letting go. It means letting go of the false notion that your partner was ever truly yours to begin with. Because people aren’t property. Whether we stay in relationships with others or not is ultimately a choice—being held captive by the illusion that there are no other choices only masks this reality. 

Being poly means letting go of our partners in some ways, so that they can be free to explore the abundance of love and joy available to them in this world. It requires enormous faith over fear to let go in this way. It requires selflessness to accept that your partner may find someone who gives them things that you can’t, and maturity to understand that this doesn’t make you less valued or loved as a partner or a person. Being poly (and doing it well) means embracing personal growth and relationship growth on a whole new level. If these things are not done well, being poly certainly can lead to disaster for a relationship. But that doesn’t mean it has to. 

I believe in polyamory on a deeply personal and philosophical level. I believe that people aren’t property, and love is abundant. I see incredible beauty in love that is truly and profoundly free. And so, the way I see it is that being poly doesn’t mean you must accept loss more easily, but it does mean letting go in ways that can be terrifying and painful, though ultimately for the greater good of you and your partner. 

There’s a popular quote that says: “If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. If they don’t, they never were.” I think this is very insightful, but if I could rephrase it I would say something like this: “If you love somebody, let them go. They aren’t yours, and they never were. A true love will return. You both deserve a love that returns, even though it is free.” Alright, it’s a bit wordy… but you get the point. Isn’t it better to have a love that chooses to stay even when it is set free? 

While I see that as the ideal, I do understand that it’s not for everyone. Being poly is a more challenging way to live and love, no doubt about it. For my partner, poly became something he was no longer comfortable with, because to him it meant accepting the possibility of losing me. (The irony of this, of course, is that he gave me the choice to leave him and be poly or stay with him and be monogamous; meaning, apparently, he would rather lose me immediately than risk the possibility of losing me later as a result of being poly. As I said, ironic… but hey, feelings aren’t always rational, are they?)

Regardless of the way it happened, poly is something I will continue to believe in, even though I have chosen not to live it because it would have meant losing my partner. I would rather lose poly than lose Romeo. Which is interesting because I suppose for me, poly didn’t mean acceptance of loss—but monogamy certainly did. What it comes down to is that Romeo wasn’t able to let go in the ways he needed to in order for us to be a healthy poly couple. So, I let go instead. That’s what partners do. 

The funny part? It’s the letting go that ultimately lets you hold on to forever. And I’m holding onto mine.