A few months ago, I was at a family dinner. Amidst the chatter of people, I was talking to a distant, older relative. Asking all of the obligatory questions, he teased me about school, and my social life.
“Well now, you probably have so many boyfriends!” he chirped, before taking another sip of scotch and directing his attention to a conversation on the merits of retirement living.
Although he was joking, it hit uncomfortably close to the truth. I was in an open relationship, and dating more than one person at the time.
Open relationships are a complicated grey area of romance that are often pretty misunderstood.
In an open relationship, one or both people date outside of the relationship. Their relationship is the most important one, but secondary people fill it in.
It is completely honest, consensual, and informed. Sometimes it includes a physical component—a lot of relationships are open because of differences in sexual preferences—but doesn’t always, depending on the couple.
At first, my decision to be in an open relationship was personal rather than ideological. I had been in a monogamous relationship for over a year, and was feeling stifled. I didn’t want to break things off with him, because I loved him and we made a good pair. All I wanted was a bit more freedom.
After thinking about it a lot, I brought it up to him. An open relationship gave me the freedom I wanted, while allowing us to keep our relationship intact. We gave it a shot.
A lot of people think the idea of being in an open relationship is contrary to what a relationship actually is. People say that “commitment” is central to a relationship—but I think they really mean monogamy, and those two things are not the same.
There’s an article in The Atlantic that I read while writing this post. It’s called “Multiple Lovers, Without Jealousy,” and it deals mainly with polyamory—a relationship with multiple partners, all of whom have equal interactions with each other.
Despite the difference in the two kinds of relationships, I found the explanation remarkably similar and succinct: “[The people in them] are long-term couples who don’t happen to think sexual exclusivity is the key to intimacy.”
I was lucky—my friends understood my choice, and accepted it without judgment. They wished me luck before every first date, but continued to love my boyfriend like they always had.
However, one of the questions a friend asked made me wonder. How it could be a relationship, if it lacked the commitment that monogamy implies?
But here’s the thing. A relationship is, at its core, two people who have agreed to love and respect each other. Although I was now dating other people, I didn’t love my boyfriend any less. He just wasn’t the only person in my romantic life any more.
Although my open relationship started out as a personal choice, it became increasingly ideological as my ideas about love and feminism changed. Being in an open relationship became part of my feminism, and I felt more empowered and independent. It’s not the only way to be in a relationship, or a feminist. It’s just the one that worked for me.
Being in an open relationship takes a lot of effort. The key is honesty—lots of it, all the time. It’s difficult to admit that you want or need more, but it’s the only way an open relationship can really work.
Jealousy is only natural, and it’s important to keep that in mind. It’s not a shortcoming, but it’s important to deal with it. If you’re the jealous one, ask yourself why you feel that way, and focus on what you love about your partner and your relationship.
An open relationship was a lot of work, but for me, it was worth it. I felt happy and free to be myself.
I never told that old, tipsy relative about my dating arrangement . . . I can’t imagine what he would have thought. But if it works, why not? And besides—variety is the spice of life.
