I Believed In Non-Monogamy. My Body Didn’t.

“Oh, by the way, I’m grabbing drinks with Lex* on Thursday,” my girlfriend mentioned casually, sandwiched between texts about work and travel. The message landed like a slap. I had been out of town for more than two weeks, and Lex’s name had been sliding into our conversations more and more lately. Lex had recently entered our friend group, and her radiant smile and effortless flirtation had all of us hanging on her every word. I could tell my girlfriend Harper* was developing a crush before she’d even said it out loud.

While I conveyed casual indifference in the days leading up to their date, my body was churning with jealousy. I tried to unpack exactly what was driving this — was I jealous that Harper had a crush on Lex? That Lex might have a crush on Harper? That I might lose one or both of them to each other? My body raged with increasing discomfort as Thursday night’s date turned into Friday morning with no word from my girlfriend. “She’s allowed to do whatever she wants,” I reminded myself. “That’s why we have an open relationship.” But after 24 hours of silence, that didn’t matter — I was in absolute panic mode.

The seeds of my ethical non-monogamy journey had initially been planted nearly a decade before on my first date after moving to Los Angeles. When the spectacularly sincere theater major across the dinner table excitedly shared his philosophies around pursuing multiple relationships and the inherent abundance of love, I felt as if a door inside of me had unlocked.

Is this really a way I could exist? I wondered as we casually dated over the next couple of months and I sought out books like Mating in Captivity and The Ethical Slut. Although unfamiliar, I was immediately drawn to a more expansive way of loving, one rooted in honesty and intentionality. I had always felt like monogamy had been a kind of performance — a show of commitment and exclusive emotions that felt forced and restrictive. The more I learned, the more I realized that monogamy, like so many structures we cling to as humans, is primarily a social construct.

“Historically, we see non-monogamy in communities around the world,” explains Valerie Reich, professor of human sexuality, licensed marriage and family therapist, and certified couples and sex therapist. “Relational style exists on a spectrum, just like all things in human sexuality. Every representation exists in nature; it is all natural.”

A few years and a couple of monogamous partners later, my polyamory journey kicked into full gear when I moved to New York and met three crush-worthy people by chance in a single week. At first, I was on a high from this new way of living — especially since it mostly involved me dating whomever I wanted and my monogamous-leaning partners more or less staying exclusive to me.

I reveled in the intimacy we were fostering through our transparent communication, and I found myself blossoming in their diversity of care. Each person offered me something unique — emotional connection, intellectual stimulation, a sense of joy and levity — and I offered something unique back to each of them.

In the ENM world, there’s often an unspoken pressure to be the cool, unbothered partner, to see jealousy as a personal failing rather than a natural human response.

Envy struck when the partner I feared was out of my league mentioned how hot the other girl he was sleeping with was, so I repeated all of the compliments he’d ever given me in my head until they drowned out my insecurity. When the girl I was falling for suddenly stopped texting me, I let myself cry for a weekend and then buried my discomfort in my other two relationships and a string of new queer dates. I journaled my way through occasional jolts of jealousy.

In the ENM world, there’s often an unspoken pressure to be the cool, unbothered partner, to see jealousy as a personal failing rather than a natural human response. I proudly — and naively — thought I was especially evolved. But my skills weren’t truly tested until Harper, my first serious poly girlfriend, started crushing on Lex.

When I met Harper a couple of years ago, she already had existing partners. None of them had ever triggered bites of jealousy because they were woven into the foundation of our relationship from the beginning. But watching my girlfriend smile at her name, and getting a play-by-play of the adorable date she’d planned through Lex’s Instagram Stories? That activated my insecurities like never before.

I didn’t hear from Harper for more than a day after their drinks date, which was unusual. I was at a yoga retreat in Mexico with friends, and despite the fun of getting matching tattoos with the group, my mind was back with her. As I anxiously spun up stories — she is leaving me for Lex, she doesn’t love me anymore, I’ll never hear from her again — my anger fumed. Meanwhile, Harper was in her own spiral of shutting down. When she finally reached out without a single mention of Lex, I confronted her. She admitted that she had avoided texting me because she felt overwhelmed and had wanted to wait to talk about it in person. But she shared that, yes, after a great date and a night full of make-outs, she realized she was definitely into her.

I found excuses to nag Harper... I even sent her a 1,600-word email from a work trip in Vegas detailing the needs she wasn’t fulfilling for me.

Despite her day-late affirmations of how much she had missed me, my fear of abandonment was out in full force. I journaled furiously from the window seat the entire plane ride home. By the time Harper showed up to my apartment with flowers and grand apologies later that night, I had put on a calm face. I channeled my anxiety into nitpicking how she handled the situation instead of how I really felt. I grasped at more palatable reasons to be upset: You didn’t text me, you didn’t show me the care I show when I go on dates, you downplayed your feelings about Lex and didn’t handle this with the respect I deserve.

We made up and agreed to give each other more honesty, proactive communication, and intentional demonstrations of care. I told her that was all I needed to feel better. Over the next couple of weeks, though, whenever Lex came up, I felt my pulse race and my chest tighten. I cycled through my ENM-approved grievances out loud — I have a right to feel uncomfortable, she wasn’t forthcoming with me about Lex to begin with, she continued to drop the ball on our agreements — but my jealousy was still seeping out. I prickled every time Lex was mentioned and found excuses to nag Harper about previous times she’d let me down rather than move forward. I even sent her a 1,600-word email from a work trip in Vegas detailing the needs she wasn’t fulfilling for me.

The more Harper apologized and offered what I was asking for, the more I realized that it didn’t matter what she said or did — I was still going to feel unsafe, deprioritized, replaced. Not enough. All my darkest insecurities from childhood were simmering just below the surface. While intellectually I was 100% on board with non-monogamy, my nervous system’s clear rotation through fight, flight, and freeze showed that my body was not.

After a night out with friends including my girlfriend, her new crush, and a few too many martinis, my primal panic took over. I watched myself scream at Harper, my words heavy with blame and littered with indictments. What I really meant was: I’m hurting. I desperately need love and security right now, and because I’m not getting it, I’m spiraling and scared.

“You can’t mindset your way out of a nervous system response,” says Orit Krug, an award-winning board-certified dance therapist and licensed creative arts therapist focused on trauma and attachment. “Your brain might be on board with non-monogamy, but your body is tracking: Am I safe? Am I chosen? Am I about to be left?”

You can be monogamous and deeply insecure, or non-monogamous and deeply grounded.

That night was a wakeup call. I spent the next day meditating, journaling, and talking with friends. I realized that in trying to be the easygoing ENM expert, I had abandoned my own needs. In avoiding the truth of my jealousy, I caused myself and the person I loved harm.

“Jealousy or feelings of insecurity are common in non-monogamy,” shares Dr. Lauren Fogel Mersy, licensed psychologist, certified sex therapist and couples therapist. “These feelings alone are not a sign of failing or being a poor fit. This just means that our attachment system feels threatened and that we need to do something to tend to it.”

After that, I knew something needed to change. I took a week away from everyone but my therapist to focus on caring for myself in the way I’d care for a small child: with patience and gentleness, and without rushing toward being OK. I took stock of my uncomfortable feelings, not viewing them as signs of failure, but simply as information.

I examined what was and wasn’t reasonable to ask from Harper. It was fair for me to want a loving text before a date and a check-in after, but I couldn’t expect her to be the sole reason I felt all right. Once I got clearer on that line, Harper and I set up weekly check-ins and created guidelines for handling conflict. We made lists of small things that help us feel loved, like spontaneous afternoon cold brews and frequent compliments — not only to ask of each other, but also to remind us to give to ourselves.

“The issue isn’t jealousy. It’s how you relate to it,” Krug says. “This can look like pausing instead of firing off the text, and feeling sensations in your body instead of overthinking them. Over time, your system learns: This is uncomfortable, but it’s not dangerous. This shift lets your body stop fighting itself and finally settle into ease.”

At first, I found this process extremely painful, and even shameful. But I was committed to making progress. A few weeks later, when Harper forgot to tell me she had invited Lex to a party and not me, I let myself draft an initial text with all my unhinged reactions. I acknowledged my messy feelings without judgment. I gave myself time to breathe, recoup, and rewrite before replying — and mostly, it worked. Moving forward, the more I was able to face my fears and stabilize within myself, the healthier all of my relationships became.

Ethical non-monogamy, I learned, isn’t just about ideology — it’s about clear communication and accepting your wiring while also working to heal it. “You can be monogamous and deeply insecure, or non-monogamous and deeply grounded,” Krug says.

Lex and Harper turned out to be a short-lived fling. A few months later, though, I felt another sting of jealousy one morning when Harper texted that she’d met a new crush at a lesbian rock show. This time, I knew the drill. I took a breath, went on a long walk, and made the kind of lunch that requires real vegetables. By the time Harper came over that night, I was ready to curl up into her on the couch and lovingly ask questions as she excitedly detailed her latest steamy ENM adventure.

*Name has been changed for privacy.