In 2021, I thought a lot about the joys of non-monogamy

Published on 16 December 2021

Thursday is usually Ellie’s day. By the time she gets to mine she’s often halfway to the weekend, fizzing like a glass of champagne in a silk dress that I love almost as much as our flurry of limbs in bed the next morning. She’s the perfect pick me up after a long day, a peal of laughter and charm that fills my home and lingers covertly in wine glasses and coffee cups for days. Weekends with Caitlyn on the other hand are slower and more luxurious: martinis toe-to-toe on her sofa, mornings nose-to-nose in her bed. For breakfast she rides her scooter to the bakery for almond croissants that I eat in bed shedding pastry confetti over the sheets.

This isn’t quite how I’d imagined life at 35. Six years ago marriage was high up my wish list having watched most of my friends tie the knot in a blizzard of canap​​és. Watching them make their vows, I hungered for my own person, someone with kindness, integrity, humour and strength who could make the good days brighter and the hard days less bleak. I wanted love – not the silly kind from books but the real bitter and raw kind that gets in your blood and spikes it for life.

I joined a handful of dating apps, uploading photos and a bio so slender it could only capture the smallest part of me, like a pinkie or a toe. I swiped late at night, amazed at how I could turn page after page and still there’d be someone new: Bea, 27, Highgate; Lucille, 36, New Cross; Su, 41, Dalston. The choice was so lavish I could dine on hope night after night, never worrying if someone dropped off because there’d be a hundred people waiting to take her place. It was beautifully efficient, a harmony of mathematics and attraction that seemed infinitely more logical than trusting blindly to the fates. I was convinced that if I kept swiping for long enough it wouldn’t be long before I was chapel-bound with my internet bride in tow.

As time passed though first match flutters gave way to fifteenth match frustrations as I racked up date after date but no sparks. I saw the uglier side of internet dating – ghosts, cat fishers and time wasters who’d send a few grey words with no sense of inquiry, just a fistful of heyas and hellos and babes flung distractedly across the ether. Where an abundance of choice had initially seemed like an advantage I began to wonder if the daily drop of newcomers was making us flakier and more distracted. Occasionally I’d delete all the apps in a flash of defiance thinking to hell with this I’ll go it alone but then weeks later I’d be back at the edge of the crowd desperate for another flutter.

Before long, dating fatigue set in. Casual encounters that had once felt joyfully spontaneous left me bored and hungry like trays of cheap canapés at a wedding convention. Frustrated by dead ends, I became reluctant to initiate conversations but carried on swiping, afraid someone wonderful would pop up sliding doors-style if I didn’t. All the pleasure of the dating process – the thrill of meeting someone new, of becoming acquainted with the contours of a new face, a new life, began to fade and in its place grew a tedium that seeded apathy in its wake.

Friends were sympathetic but increasingly preoccupied with planning the next stages in their lives. As they began to embark on motherhood, the pressure to catch up intensified as I felt myself cast adrift in a world that offers few inspiring options to those who, whether by choice or design, don’t fit the status quo. Grappling with the double whammy of life without a partner and a growing sense of social isolation from those closest to me I pushed myself to keep swiping, certain that if I just clung on a bit longer all my grafting would pay off.

I didn’t realise that my fixation with finding a forever relationship was cultivating an attitude to dating that would become deeply unhealthy. I raced through prospective matches only to discard them after a disappointing first or second date. I had no patience or perseverance, no appreciation that dating in your mid-thirties could bring increased baggage to navigate or challenges to overcome. The few relationships I did manage to muster all seemed to end in tears but I couldn’t recognise the common component was me. “You make me feel like I’m not good enough,” one ex said to me after I’d clumsily tried to verbalise why we weren’t compatible. Ironically my obsession with finding ‘real’ love had made me profoundly unloving.

Then 6 months ago I met Ellie. Recently divorced after a difficult marriage, she mentioned she was exploring ethical non-monogamy, an alternative approach to love in which people have multiple meaningful relationships with different individuals. Although I wasn’t sure at first – I assumed someone would get jealous or crave something more – I was also tired of a happily ever after narrative that seemed so unattainable, unrealistic and even outmoded at a time when millennials reinvent themselves from one day to the next. I decided to give it a go.

It’s been a revelation. I can see now how my attachment to monogamy has blinded me to the many ways there are of connecting with people and the benefits that can bring. Having 2 partners with different interests has enriched my life, but keeping it casual means I can still be extravagantly self-indulgent with my time and energy. My days with Caitlyn and Ellie leave me feeling both nourished but also excited to be with my own thoughts and to enjoy the deep sleep of a bed unshared. I have the companionship and intimacy I need blended with the solo lifestyle I love – a thrilling contemporary hybrid.

Dating has become fun again. Now that the pressure to find a partner has been alleviated, dating can be the carefree experience it was always supposed to be – a time to meet new people and try new things with the bonus that it might turn into something more serious. Most importantly though, my attitude to love has matured. I don’t expect one person to give me everything anymore, which means I’m more willing to compromise and better equipped to be in a relationship, monogamous or otherwise. 

I can see now how my attachment to a romantic ideal constructed by society and glamorized in fairytales may have actually frustrated my efforts to form deep connections. By ignoring convention and trusting my heart to find what feels good I’ve unearthed possibilities for happiness that I never imagined. Perhaps I’ll have a monogamous relationship again but for now I have no interest in pairing up with one person. Why would I when I have the best of both worlds: I am free but cherished, strong but supported, by 2 people for whom I care deeply. 

The only question then is what to have this weekend: almond or plain? Perhaps I’ll have both.