Ideals vs. Realities
 

There isn't anything in life as amazing as when your reality lines up with your ideal - but how often does it really happen? I've imagined myself with a sister-wife sort of set up for a number of years now, but when it started actualizing itself, I freaked. So, does that mean it's not my ideal? Does it mean that it can't be reality? I guess that's why I found these boards in the first place - to explore my experience with people who are trying to figure out some of the same questions I am.

I'm 33. Married for two years, together for five. I have some busted up relationships in my past that are so tragic that I just won't get into it, but in the midst of that rubble I rose like a phoenix from the ashes. I've never been normal - I rocked hairy armpits and a shaved head in a small town highschool, made my own punk ass magazines and fought for gay rights WAY before I ever knew I was into ladies. I've been outspoken, well read, in your face for as long as I can remember, but still managed to be the kind of girl that my men's mums were thrilled they were dating. In my later years I traded in that mohawk for long, expertly highlighted hair, my zine for newspaper articles about literacy and cooking, my fist pumping at rallies and protests for sitting on influential boards in my community. I have my health in my hands, and know the link between exercise, sleep, good food and happiness, whereas my younger self floundered in misguided ideals around a multitude of lifestyles.

I like myself. Fuck that. I love myself. I love my life, and the people in it. I'm popular, but it's weird, a lot of those people don't know me. At all. Even a little bit. Only a very few people know my heart, and I kind of like it like that. Social butterfly, sure - community activist, sure - yes, the mayor's my fuckin' friend on facebook, but she sure as shit doesn't know that I lurk about on polyamory sites, or that I have a strap on, or that I cry because I'm scared of people loving me, and me believing in that love and gettin' gutted from their failure to be good to me. Nope. She doesn't. And I like that. She wouldn't be 'friends' with me if she knew that shit anyways, to be honest. My life is lived in camouflage... but only sort of, because what I do during the day is genuine, and comes from my core. But so does the shit I do at night, too.

Being married to this man is incredible. He has a heart unlike any I've ever met - so full of love, so deep, and endless. My heart chose him. That was a first, as I am fiercely analytical in life. My heart KNEW he was my match for now, maybe forever. We had to fight to be together - lived far apart, relationship complications, totally different lives in general, but something about him was different. He was like me in a lot of ways, more ways than I ever knew - we had met a number of times without even knowing it - my sister had known him decades before, his best friend renovated the front of my business (even told him about the "hot blonde" working there!) only a few years prior. He'd had an art exhibit at a gallery I frequented, was rallying for different things right around the same time, so many threads tying us together long before life drew us into each other's arms. He was my secondary in a sexless marriage to Ward Cleaver - nice fuckin' guy, but wow, I could see my whole life laid out in front of me, much like standing in a field in the prairies, watching your dog run away for hours. I remember the day that I chose. Chose to put my balls to the walls and tell him how I felt. How he pounded his chest and cried with relief, months of wanting me so badly, willing to settle for nothing more than knowing I was alive. Waited his whole life, and had given up on finding me. But he did. And I did. It was like the dam in my heart burst.

It was hard for the first couple of years. Two passionate, fiery souls forging a life together was not without some truly epic fights. I'd never fought like that. We went to counselling, we loved and fought and fought and loved, and as the years passed, so did the rage against each other. It was like we needed to test it out, make sure it could pass all crash test dummy ratings. It does. It's strong. We have a core of something that can never be meddled with, never be shaken. I love this man in a way that I have only ever loved myself. It is fierce. It is unbreakable.

We're together, years pass, and I keep thinking about pretty ladies. About threesomes. It's kinky and fun, and I like to fantasize, but I start bringing it up. He likes the idea (surprise, surprise) and soon enough, we manifest it. I manifest it. A friend joins us for a few months off and on, and it is incredible.

I'm always moving friends in when they need a spot to land. Have too much space in my knock-a-bout house. Always wanting that community - communal cooking, chores, watching movies, games nights, whatevs - hanging out in bunches. Start thinking more seriously about having a GF for us to share who would share that with us. How amazing that would be.

And I manifest THAT too. And there's the rub. Once I have it, I freak out. And so I'm here, on these boards, sharing, listening, reading, talking, learning. Trying to figure out how to make my realities line up with my ideals. And I'm talking emotional realities, spiritual realities, and lifestyle realities. I doubt many people get it right the first time, but I don't want to believe that it's not possible. So here I am. All of me. Not just the pretty parts that the mayor likes, but all of me.

Seriously awesome start to your blog. I very much look forward to following your journey.

Please keep blogging! I have the feeling this is a story I really want (and need) to hear.

Welcome! So much I'm curious about here... so, you moved your gf in? How long had you been with her before that? Is she interested mainly in you, or your husband, or both of you fairly evenly? What does freaking out mean in this context? It's your blog, so of course you can tell your story at your own pace, these are just my immediate thoughts.

Also, I wonder if the mayor had her own secret life...

Annabel, she wrote all about it in another thread.

BP, I could read your words all day.

Surely, if it took many epic fights and counselling to get on a good track with your amazing soul mate, it could take just as long to get poly-fi sorted out to your comfort zone.

I'd never want to limit my options that way... way too many hot smart cute people out there.;)

Thanks, Mags! Haha, I should have done my due diligence before posting.

When Did Weekends Stop Being Fun?
 

I love my weekends - love the laziness in the morning, the sleeping in, the lack of obligations surrounding the hours stretching out before me. Love rolling back over and going to sleep, knowing that my hubby's gunna get up and make us lattes, bring them to bed; how i'll sit up and sip mine, piping hot, thinking about what I might do, or what I won't do for the rest of the day. Some chores, a lazy trip out to a nearby town for a pint at a pub, a walk with the dogs somewhere we don't normally go, holdin hands, being close.

Lately, my weekends have been a fucking mess.

About fives months ago, this MFF triad started. A post, a find, craiglist gold - i have a craigslist horseshoe up my ass, always have. We start seeing this woman, beautiful, intelligent, we're on nervous dates, hubbo is sweaty and overplays his vocabulary in an attempt to impress and i just about die watching him be so fuckin' cute. Fancy restaurants. We have money, and it's fun to spend it, normally jes' paying down the mortgage and doing renos and being silly with our money. We focus it on wicked weekends, on ridiculous hotels. The sex is so hot we leave burns on the beds we sleep in together. It is insane. It's our third foray into triad/quad play, and we're lovin' it, she's lovin' it, we're lovin'. Falling in love. Love. All three of us. Me with her. Her with me. Him with her. Her with him. it's gorgeous and sensual and mindblowing. Galleries, the symphony, walking around holding hands on the street after a gorgeous three course meal, tumbling into our own home and bed with the snow outside, warm skin on skin, mouths on mouths, scotch and settles of catan and sleeping in all tangled up together.

And then something happens. Something shifts. my daydreams have been stupid - I have been lookin' at real estate, dreaming of a future, we've talked about moving in together. It's an NRE haze, and no one can see their own hands in front of them... they're too busy fondling the nearest ass, and high fivin' our own selves for being so awesome in our little love triangle.

And as I mention. Something happens. Something shifts.

Shifts. Happens. Fuck.

I have a lunch date with a friend. I head out to meet him, but he doesn't show - I'm confused, but figger he forgot, or something. had left lady in the bed, man at work at a neighbours house doing finishing work for her. Come home, silence. Weird rustling. hubbo comes out naked from the bedroom. he's not a work. Not a work. Naked not at work. I've just hung up my jacket, put my bag on the counter, and it's like hitting rewind on a vhs tape with the tv still on -g et to watch it all in reverse. me putting back on the jacket, me pickin' up the purse, me getting in my fancy fuckin' car and gunning out of the driveway, down the road, cept this time it's not all groovy tunes and salivation over the upcoming meal with a book lover of a friend who will whittle and while away a couple of hours in conversational bliss. it's me. fuckin' bawling. pissed. We had this boundary, see. About no sexy times without all three of us there. i had asked, is this what we all want? are we sure? yes yes all heads nod, we only want this.

But lunch was cancelled. Cock was out. Naked. Not sex. But something. Something sneaky and not good. Not what we had all signed up for.

We talk. I talk. I rage. He listens. He apologizes. Don't need his apologies, just want to know what the fuck he's playing at, putting me in a "catching them" situation, sneaking, lying, knowing i'd be out so doing something weird and dishonest and. Separate. Separate from me. My heart. my body. My experience.

And now I can't shake it. See them. Not me. Not me with them. Not me with her and him. Them. And i'm on the outside lookin' in, heart pounding, not feeling right anymore. Not feeling much of anything right anymore, just anxious and nervous.

my first husband left me for crack. A secret unlike any i'd ever discovered in a person before. The darkest hole of despair that came out of left field - just dabbled, and then got sucked in, and my BBQing man of bliss that made a roomful of people laugh without even trying very hard, so charming and handsome like a movie star, so loving and gentle and delicate became a monster wanting to inhale nothing but smoke. I lost him. Lost him to drugs and it was HORRIFIC. I don't like secrets. Secrets can rot everything from the inside out. But I grew. I left him, reclaimed my life, and vowed i'd never choose a man again that would keep dirty secrets from me.

I know. I have baggage. Not perfect. Bringing it all with me, this need for total honesty and transparency, this kneejerk response to being upset, to struggling with someone else doing something that fucks me up. I know. I'm no dummy mumbling around in my own life - I'm open and honest and fluid and intelligent. But I know when someone is trying to pass off a dirty secret as a truth to me. Like this one.

I try to keep hanging out with them, but the NRE is like a blanket - they're under it, I'm on the outside looking in, with this solid stone in the center of my chest from that betrayal. There are others, other boundary pushes and sneaks and badness. I watch him cowboy it up with her, watch her glom onto him, and my nervousness/alienation turns to near revulsion as i feel more and more excluded.

i've booked us a trip. A fancy trip on a plane with a hotel. it's all paid for. I know I need a break, but there's this trip, and so we all get on a plane. I bring ativan because I know i'm not in a good place - got prescribed it for some weird thing with my ear a couple of years ago, kept arguing with the dude at the pharmacy, "no, not for anxiety, for my EAR!" as he kept telling me to take it when i was anxious and needed to calm down. I gave up, but those pills knocking about on the top shelf came with me to vegas, because it wasn't my fuckin' ear giving me trouble anymore. I got through the weekend, and it was kind of fun. I managed my shit, and I was proud of myself for getting through it.

And I asked for the break that I knew that i needed. A solid break, of a couple or a few weeks. To get clear, to find out where i stood. more shit hit the fan - she found my rants on here and broke up with me, then apologized and we set a date for the three of us to go see a concert together in a couple of weeks. A light date, to reset the intention, to start to try and build something with all three of us again. So. Much. Processing.

My weekends so full of talking with hubbo, about the boundary shoves and pushes and twists and tweaks. We get to a better place, and then... and then... and then....

he goes out to the city to see a friend, they drink, have fun, and he txts her. Meets up with her. Has a drink. innocent enough, sure. but he knows. knows that we're on a break, that space is needed, that they've NEVER hung out without me there before. Ever. And that it was a big deal to me.

i'm fucked. my weekends. Fucked. Lost my desire to try and work it out, so sick of being pushed in places that don't feel good. To know that he snuck. Deleted the txts between them from that night out of his phone. she told him that if he didn't tell me, that she would - was shocked when he walked in - knew that it was wrong. WRONG. Dishonest and sneaky and wrong.

Two days later. His shameover lifts, but i'm so torn. And here they both were saying *I* wasn't ready for poly. With my honesty, my stupid blinky trusting eyes, wanting everything to move forward into a dreamworld. Instead there is him. Stomping on my heart with dishonesty and sneakiness like it's an affair. Like he's a teenager juggling women instead of having a woman who WANTS to be in love with someone else with him. Pushing. Pushing me away.

Shattered, but whole. Angry but calm. Told her that i'm not willing to pursue anything with her, that i have too much work to do with him right now. And him? he wants to keep seeing her. loves her, or so he says. i don't even know what to do, just torn up inside and wishing.

Wishing my weekends were still fun.

Ugh!

hugs to you BP.

So sorry he's sneaking and cheating! Breaking the boundary you so needed, that is all kinds of wrong.

BP's husband: stop being a moron and learn some respect! Jesus. Grow up.

Caught in the Middle.
 

Woke up this morning in a very "Charlie Brown" place. Missing my GF, missing that triad connection, missing the simplicity that used to be at the center of our relationship.

Hubby & I had lots of talks yesterday, of course, because this indeed my new hobby. Processing and talking. I admire his honesty, but admonish his tendency to call himself a "bad person" and the like, as it puts him in a place of powerlessness and helplessness, rather than seeing himself as being a fundamentally good person who makes some "bad choices" sometimes. That's power - knowing that it's just a choice, and you can make a different one when you're in a similar place in the future - learn, grow, evolve. He's posted on her now, which I'm happy about - I think there are some frickin' amazing people on this forum, and know that by having them to guide/shape/advise/help/offer wisdom to him that it will help him as he figures out how to move away from this awful attitude towards boundaries.

I struggle so mightily with what to do from here. On one level, I want to free the GF from all of this drama and allow her to find a less baggage filled triad to be a part of. On that same level, I want my husband to experience the sense of loss that should be a natural extension of that kind of sneakiness, but I know that in part this is my vindictive self wishing for a wee bit'o'revenge. At the same time of these two things, at the heart of it is the confusion of missing her, loving her, and missing that connection with her; she's got a huge heart, a huge love inside of her, and is so forgiving and gentle with me despite all of my human-ish flaws. Eff.

Hubbo wants to still honour the lighthearted upcoming date that we did have planned, even though I've gone all silly and told the GF that I just need time to work on my relationship with him. This is in light of me crying last night, and this morning about how I miss her in my life, and just wish that everything could be better. I understand why he wants to do this - to make it better for all of us. I just am trapped, not knowing what to do.

I feel like, on some level, we deserve to lose this woman because of our total inability to be mature within the context of a triad. That our insufficient boundaries, and my hubbo's disrespect of them is enuff to show us that we have some major fuckin' work to do, and shouldn't be continuing to yo-yo this lovely woman around. That my emotional work around jealousy, betrayal and loss will keep me busy for awhile.

Reading Annabel's story of her partner's first foray into "unicorn hunting" (eep, don't like that phrase, but it gets the point across) makes me realize that we're not alone in how terribly we've done, but it doesn't strike confidence in my heart that it's workable.

So what now? Where to go? What to do? For a woman who is so capable and knows what the shizah is going on ALL the time in her professional life, and almost all of the time in her personal life, this grrl is finding this uncertainty hard to swallow.

Hey BP! I'm glad the story made you feel less alone, there are many others like it out there, sad to say. Many people just seem to totally lose their bearings at first, and then (hopefully!) come back wiser and stronger.

It's worth noting that there were some other serious issues in that situation... Eric realizing he'd never really meant it when he'd been saying he loved Jen, Jen being legitimately crazypants. There may well be a path forward for you guys where there wasn't for them. If there is, I would imagine it involves taking several large step backwards and going sloooow, keeping it light, and creating that separate space that you were missing the first time. Work towards building the trust you need to date as the individual people you are, not just as a unit, and hopefully it'll all be a little less insane.

As you're figuring out what to do, don't forget that your gf is capable of deciding for herself what's best for her. You and Elemental should of course do what's best for the two of you, and that may mean ending this relationship, but if you do so, let that be the reason, not to spare her the pain or craziness... there's nothing more infuriating or hard to get over than being broken up with "for your own good." Let her gauge what makes sense for her, and when the joy is worth the tough stuff.