Tag: integration

  • Capacity

    It’s been over three months since I wrote about my poly journey.

    So much has happened, I don’t know where to begin.

    I’ve entered a new chapter.

    One of deeper exploration, both physically and emotionally.

    I’m learning and growing so much, it’s been difficult to fully process and integrate it all.

    I’m navigating love now.

    Not just feeling love for someone.

    Being in reciprocal love with them.

    And I’m discovering a new side of myself.

    A submissive nature I’ve always inhabited, but never explored before.

    I’ve been lied to.

    Had my heart broken.

    Been promised longevity and devotion only to have it pulled away again, like a rug out from under my feet.

    I’m finding I don’t have endless capacity to hold it all.

    Am meeting my edges, the places where my desires and my limitations intersect.

    I know it’s time.

    Time to shift inward.

    To slow down.

    Pause, process, digest all of these experiences.

    But I don’t know how.

    This part of me just keeps growing, yearning, seeking.

    Autumn has arrived and the yellow leaves from the walnut tree fall all around me.

    As always, the seasons of nature illuminate my own energetic seasons.

    I feel the pull to return to myself.

    To remember who I am.

    And discover where I am, in this moment.

    I started down this path with an open heart.

    So full of love and so ready to share it.

    Yet now that I’ve been hurt, I can feel my trust wavering.

    My protective parts are awake and alert, searching for any clues of danger.

    I wanted so desperately to connect with people who could meet me where I am.

    In the depth, vulnerability, and devotion that flow through me so freely.

    I didn’t fully realize it though.

    How much more capacity it takes to hold this level of connection.

    For all the beauty, excitement, and sweetness that being in love can bring…

    I also have to be able to hold the fallout.

    I’m learning that loving each other isn’t always enough to be compatible together.

    That people may want to show up and meet me in love, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they can.

    At first, it seemed to help.

    When one connection was feeling distant or ending, to seek out another right away.

    It brought me hope when I felt sad and discouraged.

    Every rush of a new spark softening the blow of a flame gone out.

    What I didn’t understand, is that heart ache doesn’t just disappear.

    I now feel a kind of cumulative effect, each painful ending making me more tender and protective of my heart.

    The wounds from the last love infecting my ability to trust a new one.

    I sense myself trying to vet people now, analyzing every little thing to catch any red flags.

    Chemistry can be so blinding at first, I’ve missed important things that I could have seen if my brain wasn’t high on new relationship energy.

    I’m learning though, as I go.

    Every misstep leads to a new lesson.

    Each heart break teaches me more about myself, and what I need in this realm.

    I’m building new pathways, seeing new perspectives.

    Cultivating relational resilience in my nervous system.

    Facing old, deep wounds that keep telling stories I’m tired of believing.

    I know all of this, yet still there are days when I feel hopeless.

    Disheartened.

    Weary.

    I wonder if I can truly walk this path.

    I’m still not sure.

    But I as long as it continues to beat I will keep following my heart.

    Whether it pulls me to stretch and leap, or retract and integrate.

    I will trust in its wisdom and guidance.

    In its courage and capacity.

    That it won’t lead me to anything I am not meant for.

  • Larvae 🐞

    I’ve counted three so far.

    Tiny, black, spotted beings.

    I’m sitting on my back porch, thinking of all I should be doing, and keep finding them crawling on me.

    Each time I pick them up and gently place them on the vase of flowers nearby, the ones on my quitting smoking altar.

    Ladybug larvae.

    They’re not as pleasing to look at as their evolved counterparts, but I find myself curious if they bring a message to offer me.

    Like the butterfly, ladybugs go through what’s called a complete transformation.

    This means they are born into one bodily form, and before they die they change into another form entirely.

    Yet unlike butterflies, they do so out in the open, usually atop of a leaf.

    How vulnerable, I think.

    How exposed.

    How brave.

    I find I can relate.

    This last year has been nothing if not transformative for me, and my inner evolution just seems to continue each day.

    Initially, I felt very much in a closed cocoon that I needed to break out of to grow.

    Lately, I feel more like these little would-be ladybugs.

    Raw and unconfined, laid bare and yet to reach my potential.

    This last month I came completely unraveled.

    So many huge shifts were happening all at once.

    I started hypnotherapy, to help me quit smoking (an addiction I acquired while caring for my dying mom last year).

    As we worked to get to the root of my desire to smoke, we had to go way back.

    It brought a lot to the surface in me.

    Childhood trauma.

    Attachment wounds.

    My sacrifice of self to care for my loved ones.

    It all came flooding through me, escaping through so many tears.

    I couldn’t seem to control when they came or how long they flowed, even though I tried.

    One such moment occurred on the morning of an overnight visit with Two.

    He had kind of dropped the ball on scheduling and there were a couple challenging situations that came up while I was there.

    It meant he was distracted and not as present with me as usual, and my feelings were hurt.

    It led to me breaking down, unable to stop crying or even articulate exactly why I was.

    Two did his best to hold me in that space, but it was much deeper emotion that we usually share and nothing he said actually felt comforting.

    I ended up just going home because I didn’t feel regulated enough to really resolve things, and just needed to get out of there.

    He texted later that day that he felt very heavy after I left, and wanted to talk soon.

    We did.

    He suggested an activity called the ‘smorgasbord’.

    Apparently it’s a tool for people in relationship with each other to discern what they want, are open to, and don’t want in that particular connection.

    I agreed, and kind of dove in head first.

    I looked it up online and researched its origins and meaning and variations.

    Two uses a spreadsheet when he does it, but I fucking hate spreadsheets.

    They make me feel claustrophobic, like someone’s putting me into tiny boxes.

    And I hate being put into a box.

    I decided I could do better, and made my own.

    I added a glossary to mine, because as we talked I noticed Two and I were using the same words but we both had very different definitions for them.

    We’ve had a bunch of back and forth texts and audios about it, and the whole thread of conversation has been a catalyst for my poly journey.

    It’s made me realize that I’ve reached point in my process of exploring where I actually have enough experience to pause, look around, and reflect.

    In the beginning of this chapter, I knew a few things.

    I knew I had an immense capacity for love and wanted to share that love with more people.

    I knew I wanted to learn about myself and the world, through intimate connections and relationships.

    I knew I wanted to practice learning to love others without applying significant attachment to them, or having specific expectations to how things should unfold.

    But that was basically it.

    I had no idea what I wanted that to look like in tangible dynamics with people.

    I also had no idea what I didn’t want yet.

    I was starting from scratch in this ENM realm, and knew the only way I’d know more was to try new things and just feel them out in real time.

    Now, I’m aware that I have had quite a bit of input to work with.

    I have been on four first dates.

    I have made three steady connections that I care about deeply and uniquely.

    I think the honeymoon phase of my poly dating life has begun to transition into a more realistic understanding, with highs and lows and pauses and uncertainty.

    As I try to look within myself and sort through all of these new experiences, I realize how little I’m actually sure of still.

    I think I know what I’m open to, but even that depends on the particular dynamic of each connection I have.

    I also don’t know exactly where my limits are yet, except for one.

    I know I definitely don’t want to just be someone they fuck, and don’t care about.

    I know I at least want to feel like there is a sense of reverence and care in how someone holds our shared space.

    A potential for friendship and mutual respect.

    A presence that communicates to me that I matter to them.

    That’s my one firm need I think.

    Otherwise, I’m still just learning as I go?

    I feel open to things looking all kinds of ways, and actually am enjoying the variety and diversity in my relationship dynamics so far.

    I love emotional intimacy, but if I had that in a deep and consistent way with multiple connections I know that would probably not be sustainable for me.

    I love passion and desire and sensual exploration, but am aware if I only had that element in all my connections I would miss the emotional piece.

    As it is now, on a spectrum of physical intimacy to emotional intimacy, my connections are in chronological order.

    One is the most limited in every way, but our dynamic is heavy on in person physical connecting.

    Two is right in the middle, with a rich physical intimacy and a steady deepening of solid friendship.

    Three is more on the other end of the spectrum, with lots of expressed affection and love and also strong physical desire.

    I like them all.

    I want them all.

    Each brings something special to my life, and offers unique illuminations and insights into my growth and development.

    I’m learning so much about myself, yet as I try to articulate where it’s all leading me it feels difficult to find the words.

    Maybe I’m just still in my larvae form.

    Waiting for the right leaf to emerge in my path.

    Where I can finally complete my transformation.

    Still it occurs to me, I’ll never be done.

    This cycle of birth, death, and rebirth continues on.

    For each form I inhabit and each phase I complete, there will always be more waiting.

    Another cocoon.

    Another leaf.

    Another transformation.

    I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit bewildered and intimidated by this knowledge.

    But damn if it also doesn’t excite me.

  • Permission

    I wanted to be so cool.

    I wanted to only feel excitement and support and compersion.

    After all, I’m the one who opened this door wasn’t I?

    It was me who fell in love with someone else.

    It was me who kissed someone else.

    It was me who realized it wasn’t a one time situation.

    That a part of me had awoken, and I didn’t know how to put it back to sleep.

    It was me who started dating.

    Me who had sex with someone who wasn’t my husband.

    Me who had an overnight.

    Me who took all the steps first.

    So I don’t deserve to have feelings about him dating too.

    I shouldn’t get permission to set boundaries around pacing and crossing thresholds.

    I’m fine! I kept saying.

    To my husband.

    To myself.

    Then it happened.

    He kissed someone else for the first time.

    And the reality of it hit me like a train going full force.

    In my brain, I felt fine.

    In my heart I felt fine.

    But my nervous system freaked the FUCK out.

    It took two whole days for it to stop ringing the danger alarms and telling me that I was not safe, this was not safe.

    I felt ready to call the whole thing.

    I don’t know if I can do this, I thought.

    Is this what you’ve been holding this whole time? I asked him.

    Yeah pretty much, he said.

    And then he shared how appalling it was for him to realize what I’d been holding all this time.

    Going out, connecting with someone new, taking steps with them…

    All the while feeling so guilty, like I’m cheating on him.

    Then coming home, and having so much of my own experience to process, yet having to hold a tender and supportive space for his feelings and reactions.

    Is this what it’s been like for you?He asked.

    Yeah pretty much I answered.

    We thought since we’d been through all of this with me, as I deepened on this path, that we’d be all set when/if he decided to start that journey too.

    Turns out, my process doesn’t just translate to his.

    Actually, we have to start from scratch all over again.

    We were both in awe of each other, of the space we’d each been holding these past months.

    And bewildered at the idea of now holding more.

    His path opening meant we now each had to oscillate between these two roles: the supporter and the experiencer.

    We’d done so much work in this one dynamic, had built a whole framework for processing and navigating it.

    Yet my process looked and looks very different than his.

    And we are our own people.

    What he needed from me as I took steps with others may not equate to what I need from him as he takes those same steps.

    Oof.

    That was a hard pill to swallow.

    It made me realize I still hold so much guilt and shame and self-loathing around the beginning of this journey.

    There is a part of me that still feels like it’s all my fault.

    Like I ruined our beautiful monogamous marriage with my mid-life poly awakening.

    Like I was selfish and greedy for needing anything more than the treasure that is our partnership.

    I thought I’d let those beliefs go, but surprise!

    They’ve hung around, and lingered just beneath the surface.

    My husband is trying so hard.

    To give me permission.

    To counter all these internal beliefs that tell me I’ve done something wrong.

    To create space for me to have all my feelings about this, the compersion and the fear, the excitement and the grief, the delight and the guilt.

    But it’s just so difficult to receive that permission, to internalize that I am worthy of being held in those complexities.

    I was raised by a wounded mother.

    From a very young age I was taught that:

    1) My body, men, and sexuality in general were not safe, under any circumstances.

    2) My feelings were too much, and not allowed to be expressed.

    3) I was selfish and unworthy of receiving love.

    4) Nothing I could do – and I mean nothing – would ever be enough to convince my mom that I loved her.

    5) If my mom was upset, and she often was, it was always my fault and my job to apologize – even if I didn’t know what I was apologizing for.

    I’ve been in therapy for over two decades now, and done so much healing work around these beliefs.

    I’ve moved through them in many beautiful, profound, and transformative ways.

    Yet the pathways they formed in my brain are still there, always primed and ready for new material to latch onto.

    Hungry for fresh evidence that those old messages are still true, and I am the unworthy, selfish, inadequate human I grew up believing myself to be.

    Unbeknownst to my conscious brain, they have grabbed onto this poly experience with full force.

    Working under the surface to convince me that this is a selfish choice I’m making at the expense of my husband’s heart and wellbeing.

    That I’m indebted to him, for rising to this new level of relationship with me and allowing me to explore this part of myself.

    That I owe him.

    And if I owe him, how could I ask for anything in return?

    As my awareness around these beliefs grows, I’m realizing just how deep they go.

    How my mother’s voice still echos in my head, even after all those therapy sessions, even after all the healing I’ve worked so hard to find.

    I thought I was done.

    I’m realizing I likely will never be.

    Even now that I’m conscious of how they have become entangled in this ENM journey, it’s taking so much effort and energy to reframe them.

    My husband has to push and probe and pull it all out of me – my true feelings, my triggers, my needs.

    Has to constantly be verbalizing explicit permission to not just be “fine”.

    As I let it all surface – slowly, tenderly, with the self love I’ve worked so hard to cultivate…

    All I can think is wow, what a fucking catalyst for growth this expansion is.

    How it unearths the deepest desires and also the deepest wounds in us.

    How it asks us to look at our belief systems and emotional frameworks and cultural norms, like nothing else I’ve ever been through.

    This journey of ENM can be difficult and deeply demanding at times, but I wouldn’t go back.

    God, Spirit, Universe – keep it all coming.

    The learning.

    The untangling.

    The raw humanity.

    The epic beauty.

    The profound deconstruction and reworking of all I thought I knew.

    I’m here for it all.

    Bring it.

  • Lineage

    This journey I’m on started with two women.

    My mom, who died.

    And in her death, freed me from the trauma and fear I’d carried on her behalf my whole life.

    And my ex, who was resurrected.

    My first love, my high school sweetheart.

    We reconnected after mom passed, and fell hard and fast all over again.

    But it was hard.

    Too hard.

    You’re married, she said.

    She’d always be wanting more, and I’d always be going home to someone else.

    I understood, but it broke my heart.

    If I’m being honest I’m still in love with her.

    So much so that I can’t talk to her or be friends without it hurting.

    So we went our separate ways.

    And I started dating.

    I thought it would be women.

    I thought maybe I needed to explore my bisexuality more.

    I thought I’d be more comfortable in that dynamic.

    But interestingly, it hasn’t.

    It’s been men.

    The women I like, don’t seem to like me.

    Maybe I’m too straight looking?

    Maybe it’s that I’m married to a man?

    Maybe they just aren’t into non-monogamy?

    Whatever the reason, women and I aren’t happening right now.

    But some of these men…

    Wow.

    The last time I was single I was 22.

    The men, more accurately boys, that were available to me felt so stunted and not emotionally safe.

    Reopening this door now, two decades later, has been surprising and rather taken my breath away.

    All these years I’ve been married and monogamous, those boys have been growing and evolving and maturing.

    Not all of them.

    I’m definitely coming across boys masquerading as men too…

    But some of them have surprised me at every turn.

    These beautiful, emotionally intelligent, communicative, honorable men.

    Every belief my mother taught me about them is being challenged, reframed, and transformed through these connections.

    I find myself healing in ways I never knew I needed to.

    Shifting generational patterns and healing the sexual trauma of my maternal lineage, as naturally as breathing air in and out.

    It’s just, happening.

    And I’m realizing yes, I’m healing, growing, evolving in my sexuality for me.

    But also, I’m doing it for them.

    All the women who came before me.

    All the women who will come after me.

    The ones who never felt safe to heal those wounds themselves.

    The ones who were shown that this world was not made to safely hold a woman’s embodied sexual development.

    The ones who were abused and assaulted and then utterly silenced in that trauma.

    The ones who carried that pain to their graves and along the way completely dissociated from their own bodies.

    My reclamation of this part of me is so much bigger than my one little life.

    It stretches backwards and forwards through time and space.

    I hear their whispers in my ears as I stand in my power and inhabit my body in a way they never could.

    Thank you, they exhale softly.

    Thank you.

  • Discernment

    I wonder if I can really do this.

    Navigate all these new pieces all at once.

    Can I really hold tenderness and vulnerability within casualness and boundaries?

    Can I be a friend… with benefits?

    Can I hold my husband’s sweet sensitive heart and still keep growing in this way?

    I’m really not sure yet.

    Whether I truly have capacity for all of this growth happening inside me.

    One of my connections shared a book with me, and I’ve been reading it.

    The Ethical Slut.

    When it arrived in the mail I opened it to the middle.

    It was the first page of a chapter titled Abundance.

    It talked about starvation economies, and how we’ve been taught to believe that love is finite.

    As though there’s only so much to go around and we need to hold onto it with a white knuckled grip.

    That there is a scarcity mindset wrapped up in the monogamous framework we’re all cultured in.

    I didn’t read the whole chapter, but far enough to realize how deeply embedded these concepts are in me.

    The notion that my heart is limited in how it can hold love, and I have to share it as though it will run out at some point.

    I’m slowly untangling these beliefs inside myself, but they’re woven rather tightly into how I’ve always seen love and relationships and my own identity.

    I’m still really discerning whether I can feel safe and comfortable having physical intimacy with someone without deep, devoted emotional intimacy.

    Even if it’s not dependent on a monogamous covenant, I still find myself preferring to know and care for someone’s heart in a deep way and feel that reciprocated.

    I wonder if I can securely hold that depth in myself, even when it’s not met by a connection I’m sharing my body with.

    I wonder if I even want to.

    So far I’ve only crossed that threshold once with someone new, but as I continue to connect with others I find myself conflicted in my heart’s capacity and true desires.

    Such a part of this journey for me comes from my huge heart and yearning to share my abundance of love with more people.

    I’m just not sure yet if physical love alone is enough for me, when it means I have to withhold or restrain my emotions in tandem.

    I’ve always felt I needed both.

    Now I’m opening to curiosity, and maybe am needing to try it all out just to see.

    How will I really know my truth if I don’t inquire and experience all the different languages it can speak?

    How will I learn where I am if not through examining and discovering where I am not?

    Yet I know I need to tread carefully and slowly on this path.

    I know it might mean hurt feelings and missteps and trepidation.

    I know this heart of mine is tender in its nature, and as its guardian I need to explore without abandoning its protection.

    I know this is a calling of reverence and grace and above all…

    I must lead with love, for others yes, but first and foremost myself.

  • Home

    Did that really just happen?

    Did I go on a date with someone other than my husband?

    Did I really kiss him?

    Did I really like it?

    Yes.

    It did happen.

    And I did like it.

    The way he smelled.

    The way he sounded.

    The way he kept asking me how I was.

    If I felt safe.

    The way his eyes sparkled when he smiled.

    The way our conversation just flowed.

    No long pauses.

    No awkward moments.

    The way we talked about the hardest part of my life and also the plot of the book he’s reading.

    The way it felt like I’d known him for so much longer than a month.

    The way he seemed familiar to me, like an old friend.

    The way he tasted.

    The way his hands felt in mine.

    So soft.

    So strong.

    So gentle.

    I liked it all.

    How sacred it felt.

    This leap into the unknown we were both taking.

    Taking a chance on our hearts, sharing them with someone new.

    Unlocking a new piece of ourselves in this energetic container we were creating.

    It felt so sweet, so easy to fall into.

    Terrifying and liberating all at once.

    Like everything I’ve been so afraid would hurt me was actually meant to heal me.

    The only hard thing was driving home.

    Knowing I’d have to share it with my husband.

    Knowing it would hurt both of us to have that conversation.

    Yet when I came in to tell him I was back, tears of joy welled in my eyes.

    All I could think was how grateful I was to come back to him.

    How lucky I am that he was there waiting for me.

    How the only reason this part of me has felt safe enough to emerge, to become alive in me.

    Is because of the safety of his love.

    The way he has held my heart with reverence all these years, and healed the wounds I thought I’d carry forever.

    I fell into his arms, and told him these things.

    As he wiped my tears and shed his own, I knew I was home.

    With him.

    With myself.

  • Breathe

    Brand new.

    All of this.

    Tomorrow I have a first date.

    I’ve never done this, any of it.

    Dated.

    Met someone online.

    Before last summer, I’d only loved two people.

    Had only slept with a few others.

    I never realized it before, but I think I was proud of that.

    Only now, as I’m faced with letting go of that piece of my identity, has it registered for me.

    This sense that I was innocent or pure, the way I’ve been cultured to be the ideal for women.

    I’ve always felt like my sexuality could only be sacred if I kept it small and private, held in a monogamous container.

    As this new part of me grows inside, I’m having to question that belief.

    I was taught that this side of me was only safe if I held it close, and could bring me pain if I let it truly become alive.

    What if this was all wrong?

    What if pain can find me no matter what, and keeping my sexuality in a cage has been just as harmful?

    What if love doesn’t have to mean ownership, and the process of cultivating deep trust in that love is what actually brings true security.

    It’s hard.

    To let go of who I’ve always been, what I’ve always believed.

    But also, I feel lighter.

    Braver.

    Safer.

    Freer.

    More whole.

    More me.

    Like this part of me has been waiting a lifetime to be born.

    Just aching for me to be ready to allow it to breathe.

  • Witness

    I see you, young one.

    You, the newest part of me.

    Just born.

    Just stretching your limbs and breathing air into your lungs for the first time.

    I hear you, just finding your voice and marveling at the very sound of it.

    I know the rest of me is nervous, afraid even.

    I know the rest of me wants to keep you small and safe, to manage and control you.

    But I’m here, ready to witness who you are becoming in this world.

    I’m here, ready to let you grow and expand and thrive in all the ways you are needing.

    I’m here, ready to nurture your budding curiosity and desire for freedom.

    I’m here, ready to offer you spaciousness to be the wild and feral being that you are.

    I’m here, willing and able to hold room for you to make your own mistakes and find your own way.

    I’m not going to lock you up behind closed doors.

    I’m not going to keep you separate and caged from the rest of me.

    I promise, I will help you integrate and manifest fully within me.

    I see, really see, all the blessings and abundance you are bringing to all parts of my life.

    I understand that letting you breathe and become alive means all of me benefits and flourishes more.

    You are evolving, awakening from the darkness of slumber and mystery.

    You are unfolding right before my eyes, so beautiful and sparkling new.

    You are emerging, ready to be held and loved and tended to.

    I promise, I will do my best to walk with you and witness you on this journey we’re on together.

    I promise, I won’t turn away.