Some days are good days. I feel happy, fulfilled, surrounded by love. Some days polyamory is a happy road, and I am strolling down that road with the sun on my shoulders, and a song in my heart. (Granted some days are just average. I’m glad to be poly, working out my own stuff, dealing with life’s stresses, and still happy, though a little frazzled.) Some days, I’m walking on air.
Today is not one of those days.
I am a girl in transition.
Six months ago, I was planning a hand-fasting ceremony to celebrate a five-year relationship, pledging a lifetime to a man I loved and trusted enough to wear a choker and a ring that symbolized the depth of our commitment. I was in love with a beautiful woman, who also loved this man, so much so that she was also planning a ceremony, a wedding. She and I were trying to find our feet with him and this new triad, and explore a new and vulnerable love between ourselves. Life was full of bumps and challenges, we were all trying to navigate the turbulence of so many life changes, even though most of them were positive. I believed in us, in the strength of our love, and in our commitment to each other, and to all our individual relationships. We would sort out the changes, and come out on the other side in a better, happier place.
Five months ago, one of us decided the bumpy road, was in fact, too painful a journey to continue. If you’ve read recently, you know that in that decision, I lost a triad, and a girlfriend, whom I loved very deeply. My heart is still broken by this grief, and I’m still fighting to pick up the pieces and rebuild a “V” relationship with that man, whom I love in a way so deeply intense, there are no words to say it out loud. Fighting to make a place for that love in the midst of this storm takes all the strength I can muster. It is very likely the hardest thing I have ever done in my polyamorous life.
Some days the road feels like an early 1800’s wagon trail washed out by spring rains. We are all three jostled and tossed around so much that we’re bruised, sore, and not very nice to each other. In fact, it’s been a while since she and I have spoken; we’ve chosen instead to focus on the individual relationships we hope to preserve with him.
Today we have a busted wagon wheel. Or I do. It’s so dark and stormy, I’m not even sure I can see beyond this pile of wood and steel at my feet. I can hear the voice of my beloved, and it is breaking with frustration and anguish. If I could see his face, I know his tears would match my own.
I cannot see the horizon. I do not know what lies ahead. I’ve not given up on the strength of our love, or the possibility of healing. But today, I simply want to lie down here beside the trail, and rest until I stop bleeding.
Loving more than one does not mean that I don’t face alone the heartache and grief of change. I know that there are two other men whose only involvement in this particular journey is that they love me, and respect my love for the man and woman who share this road with me. I have no doubt that either of both of them would pick me up and carry me to a quiet place to heal.
If I let them.
I love them both, for that kind of care and support. But I can’t walk away from this wagon, just yet.
Today is definitely one of the hardest days, but it’s certainly not the last day for me.