(and Not Needing to Be the Only One)
I never planned on being polyamorous. It wasn’t rebellion. It wasn’t theory. It wasn’t a manifesto in a Moleskine journal.
It was quieter than that. Slower. Like something I’d always known but hadn’t had words for yet.
I just remember sitting with someone I loved—deeply—and feeling no jealousy when they told me about someone else. I felt something else instead: gladness. That they were lit up. That they were desired. That they’d been seen in a way I couldn’t see them, and didn’t need to.
That was the beginning.
Polyamory, for me, isn’t about having more.
It’s about holding better.
More truthfully. More generously.
It’s about loving people without pretending you could ever contain them.
The myth of being someone’s everything
I don’t want to be someone’s everything. I never have.
I want to be something true.
A place they return to, not because they must, but because they choose to.
A body they hunger for—not because they’ve been told they can’t have anyone else, but because they can, and still want this.
Polyamory isn’t a loophole for lust.
It’s not “less committed.”
It’s not a fear of intimacy or a lack of ability to settle.
It’s a surrender to love’s expansiveness.
Its wild, inconvenient, sometimes aching truth.
Polyamory and not needing to be the only one
There are hard moments, of course.
Desire cracks you open sometimes.
Comparison claws at the door when you think you’ve finally grown beyond it.
You wonder if you’re enough—if they’ll come back, if their longing for another body means your own is lacking.
But I’d rather face that ache than trade it for a love built on fear and ownership.
Because polyamory—this form of chosen, ethical non-monogamy—asks you to stand bare in front of truth. And to stay.
It means making space.
It means asking, What do you need?
And being brave enough to listen to the answer—even when it isn’t you.
It means being chosen, not by default, but with open eyes.
It means choosing back.
And for me, that’s not lesser.
That’s love.
What Polyamory Meant for Elias
A moment from His, Theirs, Enough
*“He hadn’t stopped loving Lina. He’d just learned that love wasn’t a door that closed behind one person. It was a room with windows—wide ones—and when Alaric walked in, something shifted. Not away from Lina. But deeper into himself.
Loving both wasn’t a betrayal. It was a return. To want. To truth. To letting himself be seen, not just by one person, but two—differently, wholly, entirely.”*
For Elias, who is bisexual, polyamory wasn’t a theory—it was survival. A way to honour the full complexity of his desire. To accept that hunger could look different depending on the hands that touched him.
And more than that—it was the first time he didn’t have to shrink. Not for one, not for the other. Not even for himself.
Visit More Than Two – For a practical guide to being polyamorous, ethically.