Love determines the form.
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash
"I'm only interested in monogamous relationships."
He said it to me as though I had already cheated on him.
And immediately, I felt trapped.
Trapped by his past trauma. Trapped by his avoidance and his control. Trapped by his need for me to create his security for him.
The funny thing is, I thought I wanted monogamy at the time because I craved devotion, depth, continuity, oneness, trust.
And so I felt torn. Torn between my need to love deeply and my need to be free. In that moment, these two things that I knew made up my essence felt like they were at odds with one another for the first time.
And so when he asked me: "How do you feel about monogamy?" I grimaced and buckled, unsure how to speak to this thing I felt inside of me that didn't align itself with labels or words.
I couldn't bear to fit myself into his box, and so I told him it felt too soon to have that conversation. How could I possibly know?
He was confused. He insisted I must know.
Apparently I'm supposed to know this sort of thing before going on a date?
To me, saying I want monogamy or polyamory is on par with saying I want him to be six feet tall with deep blue eyes that pierce my soul.
The only true thing about that is the part about having my soul pierced. I know I want that every day for the rest of my life. The rest feels inconsequential.
Because my love isn't called forth from someone else's context. My love doesn't confine itself to preferences. And it doesn't arrive on demand once everyone feels safe and anchored into their respective agreements.
It just exists. And it is fluid and flows in the way water is fluid and flows.
"We're monogamous, so you must love me and no one else."
"We're polyamorous, so you must love me but you mustn't be attached to me."
No.
I'm convinced this isn't how it works. We've been looking at love all wrong.
The form doesn't determine how we love.
Love determines the form.