When a Poly Relationship Leaves You Feeling “Less Than,” Should You Bolt?
I learned long ago that I cannot change how someone feels about me by sheer force of will.
Adam and I had been dating for almost three years. We saw each other about once every month or two, which was never quite enough for me. Schedules, life, and other relationships being what they are in the polyamorous world, that’s what we had.
Much younger than me and single, Adam was trying to figure out his next life move while parsing some complicated relationships. Lu, a sort of ex/ sort of still friend and lover (I kept losing track) would pull him back whenever a post-Adam relationship ended. Adam was ready to mount his trusty steed and ride on over in rescue mode.
Adam was also navigating his crush on Gabriela, a long-limbed, doe-eyed flirt-buddy in his pandemic bubble for whom he had unrequited romantic feelings. She called him when she needed emotional support and validation, but apparently not sex. That was my role. She teased him by describing her perfect guy, which sounded a lot like him, and then seemed to catch herself by saying, “Oh, but not you. I am not attracted to you.” He helped her move apartments. He took her on a platonic weekend away to the country. She was the one he invited to family birthdays and camping trips.
During the pandemic, he had rushed from work to Gabriela’s place on a weekday morning when she texted, musing that she could see why some people thought they had nothing to live for. He spent the night on her couch because he was worried about her. When he texted me about the situation, I was supportive: “Do you think she will harm herself? Did you ask her if she had a plan to do so? Are you prepared to call a suicide hotline or 911?”
Adam had thanked me for my help and told me how lucky he was to have me in his life. He cancelled our date. It was not the first time he had cancelled on me, but life happens, so I said, “I understand. You are a good friend to Gabriela.”
It seemed Gabriela was homesick and lonely during the pandemic but not suicidal. She made plans to relocate and be with her wealthy family abroad. Adam went back to his own place, and bed, the next day.
Adam was a nice guy with what seemed to be a hero complex for damsels in distress who treated him less well than I thought he should be treated. I was no such a damsel.
In December, I remembered seeing, on his tiny kitchen table / computer workstation, a pile of Christmas gifts he had wrapped himself, waiting to be distributed to Gabriela, Lu, and his family. This was after Gabriele no-showed him for a dinner he had cooked for her because she did not think it was a date, and then she proceeded to go on a real date. He complained to me. I listened sympathetically, trying to make him feel better, instead of feeling like he had been traded in for a boyfriend prospect. “Maybe she didn’t realize you were cooking?” He forgave her, as was his kind-hearted way.
Safe to say, Adam was a nice guy with what seemed to be a hero complex for damsels in distress who treated him less well than I thought he should be treated. I was no such a damsel. I was high-functioning with a reliable, loving, and supportive live-in partner. I already had my knight. I thought that was a good thing — Hey, dudes, look at me! I am soooo low maintenance. You don’t need to be my shoulder to cry on or come to my emotional rescue. Let’s have fun as long as we are considerate and communicative with each other. Those are my only two my rules. You down? — but alas, maybe being the easy one, in all the ways, was not always such a good thing.
I liked Adam a lot. He was astute and emotionally intelligent beyond his thirty years. He was close to his family and loved dogs to a fault — at least two other cancelled dates were related to his caring for Lu’s dogs. We enjoyed attending sporting events like baseball and hockey that my other partners were not into. He was also hella hot with long lean limbs, clear aqua eyes, and a shy grin. And, incredibly, he liked me too or at least liked fucking me once a month.
It had been several weeks since my last date with Adam and I was going to be on the road again for work, so we set up a date for a Sunday afternoon.
In the month before, Adam had relocated from his own small apartment to a group house, and he did not feel comfortable having me over yet — like we were loud or something? … okay, that’s possible — so he planned to come to my house, the house I shared with Eric, my husband of many years, whom Adam had met and broken bread with several times.
The Thursday before our Sunday date, I texted Adam: “Let me know what time you are thinking so Eric and I can plan for you and me to have some privacy ;) Thanks!”
Adam: “How about 2 p.m.?”
Me: “OK.”
Saturday morning, I woke up to Adam’s text: “Baby, I can’t wait to see you ❤”
Aw, he had me on his mind and likely somewhere lower. How nice.
I texted back: “Mm. Ditto. [lipstick kiss]”
Sunday, over breakfast, I reminded Eric that Adam was coming over at two.
Me: “What are your plans, hon?”
Eric: “I am meeting a friend about thirty minutes away so I plan to leave at 1:30.”
I told Eric he did not have to vacate the premises, but he was always telling me that he wanted to facilitate my dating life, which was considerate. Oddly, his generosity sometimes made me feel guilty for no good reason, seeing as how Eric’s girlfriend had moved in with us during the pandemic.
Like the long-married couple we were, Eric and I read the newspaper and did the breakfast dishes. We planned to work out and do some household chores — typical weekend stuff. I went upstairs to paint my toenails red for my date. With cotton between my toes I hobbled downstairs to check in with Eric.
At 11:30 a.m., while Eric was showing me an online tutorial about our new car, my phone buzzed with a text.
In a long text Adam said: “Hey, I just woke up. I’m so worried and anxious. Gabriela called me really upset. I’m really sorry but I just can’t focus on anything else at the moment.” End of text.
I had stopped listening to Eric to read the text. I apologized and said, “Adam just cancelled.”
Eric got that look. That silent, stone-faced one that telegraphs, “Guys need to treat my wife better.” He did not say that though. He looked at his watch. “I made plans to be across town so you could have the house.”
“I know. I know. Please don’t change you plans. I have plenty I can do. No worries. My toes are dry enough for a run. I think I’ll go now and clear my head.”
“I am so done being disregarded and third-stringed in your life.”
I needed to think about how I felt. I needed to consider what I should text back. I did not respond to Adam right away. He did not text again.
I knew I should not say the uncharitable things that selfishly rose up in my gut like sour acid, including: “I am so done being disregarded and third-stringed in your life by everyone from your attention-seeking friend you have a crush on and who seems to treats you like an afterthought, to your girlfriend/ex/bff or whatever she is to you, depending on the whim of the moment, whenever she calls and you come running. How many times have I nicely told you — after you cancelled or cut short a date because you thought Lu had a bad day and that being a good boyfriend meant she always came first — that there is a difference between being a secondary and being treated as secondary? And you said, more than once, that I was right, that you understood, and that you would be more considerate.”
I knew that I should not second-guess the Gabriela situation. I only knew the outline, not the full picture. I knew she was young, beautiful, and fully employed — thank you, ubiquitous social media. I knew Adam cared for her. I knew it upset him when she reached out to him in depression or in need. I knew he wanted to be there for her, in whatever way he felt he could.
So, putting aside the particulars of Gabriela — and Lu — how did I feel about me and Adam continuing as we were?
I find it a recurring poly quandary. On the one hand, Adam and I are not getting married or having kids or even moving in together. This is true of all my relationships except the one with my husband and co-parent. I am not Adam’s primary relationship and I do not want to be. I have not met his parents or siblings and likely never will.
On the other hand, or maybe it is not the other hand but just fingers on the same hand — I don’t want to be disregarded. As I type “disregarded,” I grimace at the replay in my head of the movie scene where jilted lover Glenn Close clicks a table lamp off and on as she flatly informs an adulterous Michael Douglas on the phone, “I will not be ignored.” Shudder. I was not that woman.
I want to matter. I want to be valued. I want my feelings and the consequences of Adam’s actions as they affect me to be acknowledged. And, dammit, I want him to put me first when we have plans, barring an actual emergency. I want him to respect my schedule, my life, and my emotions as much as he respects Gabriela’s and Lu’s and his brother who needs a ride to the mechanic and Lu’s sister who needs a jump start to her car. I want him to not fall asleep after spending all day doing good deeds for others and then is too tired to come to my birthday party with nary a word of apology beforehand, but contrite the next day.
Maybe I want too much. Maybe Adam is not able to meet my relationship needs.
After my walk, I texted Adam: “I am not sure what to say. Call me later if you’re able. Take care of yourself.”
No response.
I worked out. I texted my girlfriends. I visited a neighbor. I cleaned the bathroom. I did these things during a time I had thought I would be in bed with Adam, catching up after a month apart.
Eric came home and told me about his afternoon, but I felt like there was something between us, that he was judging my dating choices. That was probably my paranoid projection and my own struggle with navigating what was, evidently, a tertiary relationship with Adam and my emotionally immature response to perceived rejection. Eric had not slept well the previous night so I left him to rest. I made dinner for later and did some writing.
At 8 p.m., I texted Adam: “Hey. How is your friend doing? How are you?”
Adam responded, “She’s okay, physically.”
So, now what?
Presently, I vacillate between continuing to be the supportive, easy going, fun-loving lover and just telling Adam, “I may not be the most important person in your life, but I am feeling like I matter less and less, and I am not good with that, so let’s just part ways.”
After the most recent scheduling snafu where his exhaustion from work and his feeling he was “not a priority” with Lu since her most recent break-up and her diving back into the dating pool, rather than focusing more on Adam as he would like — I had to stifle a comment on the irony there — he apologized to me for “not being a good partner” lately.
Being a non-primary, polyamorous partner does not mean my feelings don’t matter or that I don’t have any.
In a tonal reversal for me, I did not let him off the hook. Instead, I said, “Thank you for acknowledging that.” I think finding that voice — and tamping that one other voice that tells me to be the easy partner at all times — was the result of my girlfriends feeding me that old line, “You deserve better.” But don’t friends always say that, so how much stock could I put in it?
I know that I am not Adam’s primary, or maybe even his secondary, but where the fuck do I fall in the relationship daisy chain, and why does it bug me so much?
Because I am a human being worthy of consideration, and no matter how much fun we may have naked — admittedly, a ton — that does not give him a pass on being considerate to me. I should not have to stamp my feet or cry into the telephone or play some guilt card to merit consideration. I refuse to do that — it feels skin-crawlingly yucky. Being a non-primary, polyamorous partner does not mean my feelings don’t matter or that I don’t have any. The whole of my being and purpose is not an inflatable fuck toy.
Sometimes, I have to remind myself that my being polyamorous and not Adam’s primary relationship, does not mean that I deserve less consideration. More than half the time, I am willing to bow out to primary relationships or partners with more needs, or his siblings, but there comes a breaking point. Am I alone in feeling this way? There must be other polyamorous people who are ready to throw the penalty “Enough!” flag on this play of coming second too often.
As Adam and I near our fourth anniversary of dating, I revisited this piece I started writing months ago. I note that our relationship and my feelings about our relationship have not changed. Rather, I have adjusted my expectations. I enjoy the times we connect for what they are — joyful, intense, and perhaps bittersweet.
I learned long ago that I cannot change how someone feels about me by sheer force of will. “I want; therefore, I deserve and must have.” I find that is a delusional, self-absorbed, circular, and losing thesis.
Eventually, Adam will figure out what he wants in his young life and find a partner — likely monogamous — to build that life with. I will be subtracted from his life equation. I know this. I am old enough to be his mother after all. I will cherish the sweet memories of how he patiently — and repeatedly — explained the offsides and icing rules of hockey to me, his impeccable politeness and punctuality when he didn’t cancel, that he never failed to ask that I text him when I arrived safely home, the time he made vegan tacos for me in his postage stamp-sized apartment, his valiant but failed attempt to build a fire with too freshly cut wood at our airbnb, and, of course, his tender touch.
Thank you for reading! If you liked my story, consider becoming a Medium member and get unlimited access to my work and the work of all of the thousands of Medium writers for $5 a month. Memberships directly support the writers you read.
