58 - Polyversary

Happy first Polyversary to us! One whole year of open marriage—without divorce, meltdown, broken dishes, or midnight police intervention. Just a bit of emotional origami. If that’s not worth celebrating, I don’t know what is.

Technically, I should throw a party and invite everyone we’ve met with this past year—whether in bed, in a car, or in the woods. Just imagine their faces when they open the envelope and read what they’re invited to. It’s so absurd, I almost want to do it. Though maybe I should run it by the mister before I hit “send.” 

Dress code: casual nude. To bring: condoms, a healthy libido, and a vivid imagination. And of course, the game of the evening would be Polynopoly.

We started out looking for a few no-strings-attached sex dates—with optional spanking—and somehow ended up with one steady partner for me, and two ongoing, friendly-intimate relationships (complete with optimal threesomes) for the mister. That’s basically like landing on Park Place—with a hotel. And feelings. Maybe we’ll save the party for the five-year anniversary.

Over the past year, we’ve grown—both as individuals and as a couple. We’ve talked endlessly, laughed a lot, sometimes cried, and of course, fucked. We’ve met more new people than in the previous sixteen years combined, and drifted farther from where we started than we ever imagined. With a bit more courage, it could’ve been the most colorful guest list of the year.

For the mister, open marriage has become a new hobby—a b(r)ed game with ever-changing rules that everyone plays but no one’s actually read the manual. Some players have to skip a turn; others get kicked out. At least no one’s landed in jail—yet.

For me, open marriage is the permission to finally be myself. It’s a part of my identity—something I’ve always been, but spent years trying to squeeze into a box two sizes too small. I wish there were words big enough to express how endlessly grateful I am to my husband—for setting me free from the cage of monogamy before I forgot how to fly.

Or worse: before I decorated the cage with IKEA furniture and pastel-painted walls.

At first, we thought it was just a new road on our shared journey. Now we know it’s an entirely new world waiting beyond that crossroads. A world I never would’ve dared to search for—until we set out hand in hand.

We took small steps forward, allowing ourselves to feel each one: 

How does it feel when your partner sleeps with someone else? 

When he or she stays overnight? 

When she falls in love?

My conclusion? 

My secret to happiness in an open marriage is to let go of standard rules and just go with the flow—without constantly doubting everything and everyone, including myself. I trust my feelings. I give myself permission to step beyond old boundaries—even if it hurts. Growth isn’t painless, but it makes me feel alive.

And that’s still better than emotional stagnation inside the comfort zone of convention. So cheers to outgrowing ourselves—one boundary at a time.