Polyamory was something so foreign to me. For most of my life, the love story I was told looked like this:
You meet someone (ideally of the opposite sex), date in a way that’s not too physical, maybe get a bit flirty but not too flirty, eventually marry them (in a church), and then you stay with them—only them—until one of you dies.
That’s love, that’s commitment and ultimately that’s what God wants.
However, that’s not what happened.
So when my wife and I began deconstructing monogamy, it felt… disorienting. Like stepping out into a thick fog where the only map we had was one we’d been handed by systems we no longer trusted.
We didn’t set out to become polyamorous. It wasn’t a “goal” or a fixed destination. It started, like a lot of things in deconstruction, with the whisper of a question:
What if there’s another way to do this? What if monogamy is over-rated?
The Realisation: Understanding Our Relationship to Monogamy
Before I go further, let me say: this isn’t an anti-monogamy post. If you’re in a monogamous relationship that feels expansive, safe, and true for you—amazing. Truly. Monogamy can be beautiful when it’s a conscious, mutual choice. But that’s the key word here, choice.
What my wife and I realised, slowly, is that we never really chose monogamy. It was just what we did, because it was what we were taught. It was what the church said was right. It was what our families expected. It was what made us “good” people, and later, a “good” couple.
We had ticked every box. Married. Committed. Queer, yes, but still monogamous. Still palatable.
But at some point, after years of working through religious trauma, unpacking purity culture, and peeling back layers of identity. We found ourselves standing in our marriage, asking:
Are we still doing this because it’s true for us? Or because we’re scared of what it would mean not to?
It wasn’t about dissatisfaction or betrayal or anything dramatic. It was more like a quiet ache, a knowing that something about how we’d been taught to love felt too small for us now.
The Journey Into Polyamory: Exploring New Possibilities
If you’d told me five years ago that I’d be writing publicly about being polyamorous, I would’ve laughed awkwardly and run in the other direction.
And yet… the signs were there. The way I always felt uncomfortable with the idea that one person could (or should) meet every single need. The way I loved big, and often, and sometimes in ways I didn’t quite have language for. The way we both felt curious when we heard stories of people doing relationships differently, not in a “grass is greener” kind of way, but in a “wait, you’re allowed to do that?” kind of way.
Our journey into polyamory wasn’t one big conversation, but a series of many small ones:
- “What would it feel like to be open to other connections?”
- “What if we reimagined what commitment means to us?”
- “Could we still be us while also exploring something new?”
And maybe most importantly: What fears are coming from our actual selves and what fears are coming from years of religious conditioning?
Unpacking the Fear: Letting Go of Shame, Guilt and Grief
This was the hard bit.
Because even though we’d deconstructed so much—hell, even though I work in this space—I still felt that tight, quiet guilt creep in.
Monogamy had been spiritualised for so long in our lives. It wasn’t just “a relationship model.” It was holiness. Faithfulness. Moral high ground. Which meant that even just thinking about loving more than one person carried weight. Shame. A fear that I was becoming too much. Too needy. Too selfish. Too messy.
But those weren’t my fears. Not really. They were the echoes of youth group retreats, church sermons and the countless ‘christian marriage devotionals’ we pressured ourselves to do.
And my wife? She was having her own internal conversations, too. We moved at different paces, processed in different ways. We both had moments of panic. Of grief. Of wondering if this would break us or become the very thing that deepened our connection.
There was grief, though. So much of it.
Because when you start letting go of monogamy as the only path, you also start to unravel all the stories that were built on top of it. The fairy tales. The “one day you’ll find The One” speeches. The belief that longevity equals success.
We had to grieve a version of our marriage that, for a while, felt safe, even if it wasn’t fully us. We had to grieve the myth that if we just followed the formula, nothing would ever hurt. (Spoiler: hurt is part of all relationships, regardless of structure.)
But the grief was worth it. Because what we’ve gained is something far more honest and nourishing.
It didn’t break us.
It grew us.
Evolving Our Love: A New Understanding of Commitment
I don’t want to romanticise it, it’s been a lot of work. But it feels more natural for us now. There are moments of uncertainty, and sticky communication glitches. But there’s also this expansive sense of freedom and trust that I don’t think either of us had ever experienced before.
We’ve learned to talk more openly than we ever did before; about desire, about needs, about the full spectrum of human connection. We’ve had to get honest about things we were once afraid to name.
It probably goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway: polyamory isn’t about doing whatever you want, whenever you want. It’s not “permission” to be careless or hurtful. It’s not the absence of boundaries, it’s the intentional creation of them.
We’ve spent so many nights with chocolate and talking through agreements, desires, fears. We’ve had check-ins after every new step. We’ve talked (and cried, and laughed) about jealousy, about connection, about communication. We’ve held each other through the wobbles.
And maybe the most healing part? We’ve given each other full permission to evolve. To be our whole selves. To keep growing and still choose each other in the process.
So… Why Share This?
Honestly? Because I wish I’d had someone share it with me.
I wish I’d seen someone in a healthy, queer, long-term relationship say, “Hey, we love each other and we’re also building something that doesn’t fit the norm.” I wish someone had told me that you can be polyamorous and grounded. That it’s not always dramatic or messy. That it can be deeply intentional. And deeply healing.
I wish someone had said, “You’re not broken for wanting love to be bigger than what you were told it could be.”
So this is me, saying it to you.
Maybe you’re here because you’re curious. Or maybe you’re in a relationship that’s starting to stretch. Maybe you’re single but rethinking what kind of connections you want to build. Maybe you’re reading this with a nervous lump in your throat because something about it feels familiar.
Wherever you’re at: you’re not alone. You’re not too much. You’re allowed to question what you were taught. You’re allowed to imagine love differently. And you’re allowed to build relationships that feel true for who you are now and not who you were told to be.
I’ll leave you with this:
- Love doesn’t have to be small to be safe.
- It doesn’t have to be exclusive to be meaningful.
- It doesn’t have to follow the script to be real.
If you want to connect or have questions, jump over to my Instagram for posts or to DM me! @anchoredcounsellingservices
I also offer relationship counselling, if this is something you and your partner/s need support with. Contact me!