The Situation

Although I don't like hierarchical relationships or primary partners, I do have one partner only at the moment. We have been together for close to two years, and although we have both dated others, neither of us has embarked on another romantic relationship in that time period. My partner has a couple of friends with whom he is romantic but not (currently) sexual. I sleep around with other people when I can find people I want to do that with.

This arrangement is perfectly fine. I'd like to find another partner or two, and/or some long-term sex partners. I'd like to get under my belt the experience of my partner having other partners, by my definition. It's a little funky since he doesn't label relationships and considers me and his friends mentioned above on an even plane. One is overseas, but he spends a lot of time with the other. In some sense therefore he already does have another partner, even though there's no sex involved.

These lines are quite arbitrary, as is obvious given that he and I have different definitions of relationship words. I sometimes do a thought experiment where I find a partner I want to be monogamous with (not likely), meaning that I wouldn't date my current partner S anymore. I could still be friends with S though; my hypothetical monogamous partner wouldn't be controlling. So I can still hang out with S. Perhaps I can still hug S hello and good-bye.

What about more? Could I cuddle with S on the couch when we watch TV? What if I were to give S a little kiss on the cheek? Suppose I could do everything I used to do with S, except touch his penis? The line is pretty arbitrary, see?

Insecurity and the Roots of Anxiety

Lately I've been considering struggles and how people struggle along the way. Relationships are scary for everyone, but most people don't have chronic anxiety about them. Many people are afraid of public speaking; I don't mind it. I get a little nervous but it's not debilitating and it goes away quickly.

I'm convinced, though, that I have anxiety which hangs itself on relationships. It could just as easily have hung itself on work, or school, or some of the other things people think a lot about. Romantic relationships loom larger in my life than I wish they would. It's hard not to fall into the trap of defining ourselves by our relationships.

I never was in any kind of romantic relationship until college, and even then it only lasted two weeks. I can remember two weeks of total sleep deprivation, because we would be up all night making out and/or trying to sleep in a single bed. The first time we made out, I had a panic attack, though I didn't recognize that at the time. I'd walk around in a daze, thinking to myself, "Who am I? I'm someone's girlfriend!" That feeling of validation as a person was very pleasant, but it was based on a couple of ugly things. First of all, I wasn't all that into the guy himself. I was far more into the idea of being someone's girlfriend. Note above where I didn't say, "I'm Steve's girlfriend!" (Steve was not his name.) Secondly, I have worth as an individual. I don't need validation by a relationship.

It took me years to learn that, years in which I struggled alone, feeling lonely and useless. I was doing good work, taking interesting travels, moving to different places, but I had a hard time making friends, let alone finding romantic partners. Of course, I assumed that no one found me attractive, and that was why I didn't have romantic prospects. Although that may have been part of it, a bigger part would have been my inability to go in a romantic direction.

So it's not surprising that my anxiety would hang itself on relationships; those were the part of my life whose lack I felt most keenly, and and the part I was convinced my lack of physical attractiveness was blocking me from. When I discovered fat acceptance and got into therapy, I dealt with a lot of those feelings of unattractiveness and I found partners, but the anxiety stayed.

Psychiatry

Yesterday I visited a new psychiatrist. This one thinks I don't have social anxiety and diagnosed me with anxiety, unqualified. I used to argue with the old one about whether I really had social anxiety, so it was nice to hear that this guy agreed with my perception.

Certainly I don't have most of the more traditional elements of social anxiety. I'm not afraid to go to parties; I don't have trouble peeing in public restrooms; I'm comfortable getting up in front of people and performing. Social anxiety isn't a crazy diagnosis, but I didn't think it was a strong fit either.

Based on that conversation, I'd like to have more conversations with fellow sufferers, and in more detail, because I had always assumed that my symptoms were typical of anxiety and rather mild. Perhaps they are; I don't know. People don't talk much about mental illness.

Rejection and the Possibility of Rejection

Dating is often a difficult experience. I mostly do online dating, which I feel helps me cut down on part of the anxiety. It's a lot easier to ask out a stranger over the internet than a person I've met in real life who I may have to see again after they turn me down or it doesn't work out. That may be a challenge to set myself to in the future.

Meanwhile, first dates are not that traumatic for me. The early stages of dating aren't exactly stress-free, but it's not too difficult if things end a few dates in. It's a bummer if I was into the guy, but not really an anxiety trigger. The thing that gets me is when things start getting serious. My brain starts going wild with scenarios -- they're not as into me as I am into them; I've misjudged the situation; they're about to leave for parts unknown and haven't told me yet; my feelings aren't as solid as I thought; on on on. A lot of this comes down to fear of rejection. The anxiety comes when I'm afraid of being rejected for something I care about -- a relationship with this person who seems pretty awesome.

The only other time I have this strong an anxiety response is with auditions. I do musical theater, and I get severe anxiety before and during auditions, to the point where it affects my performance. I'm a good singer, but a number of directors probably couldn't tell because I was so nervous. I sometimes wonder if I fuck up relationships for the same reason. I'm an awesome relationship partner, but it's hard to tell in the beginning stages because I'm so terrified.

Fear is almost never a reason not to do something, so I keep going on auditions and I keep being open to new relationships, because the rewards of actually being in the show or being in the relationship are worth it. Oh, but it can suck hardcore to start. Yes, anxiety can flare up during relationships too, and it's always related to fear of rejection/losing the relationship.

Funny how knowing this doesn't make the anxiety go away. It's almost like there's something wonky in my brain making me have anxiety whether I want it or no! (Oh wait, there is.)

Acute Stomach Flu and Chronic Self-Care

I think sometimes that anxiety is a bit like stomach flu. Really long-lasting, chronic stomach flu.

Anxiety feels physically like a gripping in my stomach. My head feels hot, my arms feel weak; I'm restless and can't hold still. When I'm in the throes of it, I can't imagine what it's like not to feel that way. This is where I'm reminded of the flu. A stomach bug also feels like it will never end. It's as if I've always felt that way, and I will always feel that way. I can tell myself that it will end; I know it will end; but I can't quite make myself believe it. And unfortunately, although a bout of anxiety is not as intense as a bout of stomach flu, it lasts a heck of a lot longer.

BUT the thing is, flu ends. I do stop feeling quite so horrendous. And anxiety flare-ups end too. They end on their own, though it helps to find useful ways to deal with the obsessive thoughts that accompany them.

Here's what helps keep anxiety symptoms at bay and prevent flare-ups for me:

• Regular exercise, to the point where my muscles feel worked out.
• Limiting or preferably eliminating caffeine consumption.
• Connecting emotionally with people I care about in a general way; and
• Discussing what is particularly bothering me before it gets out of control. If it's a relationship issue, discussing it with the other person or people in that particular relationship.

That last one is something that I keep having to relearn. I try and talk myself out of obsessive ideas rather than bothering someone else with them. This seldom works and I work myself up into a frenzy before breaking down and having some sort of crying fit to be told that it's just not true that so-and-so wants me to go away and never come back. 

Accepting

Perhaps accepting that I may never be free of anxiety is a step in the right direction. I came across this blog post from last year. I recommend reading the whole thing. It's very eloquent and filled with nerdily interesting Star Trek references.

There feels like a lot of commonality between me and the author. I, too, am someone who does not require polyamory for happiness, but who is pursuing it for life enrichment reasons. I, too, have a clinical diagnosis of social anxiety. Never once does the author assert that not being poly would reduce anxiety. Rather, she/he assumes that anxiety just is. There are times when it will just chatter and there's no way to shut it down. (Mind you, I've known booze to do the trick, but the anxiety comes roaring back when the drunk wears off.)

The author points out that folks like Franklin Veaux and the authors of books such as Opening Up and The Ethical Slut have a lot of helpful info for people dealing with jealousy and insecurity in poly relationships, but that this advice is not always useful for those with anxiety disorders. They can make it seem like if we don't conquer our jealousy, it is our fault for not trying hard enough, when in reality anxiety is a way tougher beast than that.

In a way, I find this freeing, just as I did when I decided I was done limping through life on my own and needed to find a therapist, and then again when I decided my mental health would benefit from psychotropic medications because I was making decisions based on fear rather than on what would be best for me. It's okay if I can't always control my anxiety. Sometimes the best I can do is to make a distinction between what seems founded and what doesn't, and to ask if I'm not sure.

A fear I often have is that my partner is secretly mad at me. I know perfectly well that if he's upset with me he will say so. There have been multiple occasions when he has brought up issues with something I said or did, and vice versa. But I still have a hard time shaking the fear that he is mad at me. It's not illogical necessarily, because seething with unspoken resentment is something people do A LOT, and I've done it too. But in this case, I know it's not happening. Well, I'm 95% sure it's not happening, and it's that other 5% that drives me crazy.

However, there are ways to deal with this. One way is to ask. My partner responds a lot better to questions than assumptions, which can come out in ugly ways. The other way is to remind myself that the anxiety is just being a douche today. Or both.

Attractiveness

It's not always easy to remember that some people find me attractive. Oh sure, I'm pretty. A lot of people are. But that's not the same as being attractive.

I went to high school with a girl, let's call her Alice, who was not particularly pretty. Most people, looking at a picture of us side by side, would have said I was the prettier. But Alice could flirt, something I've never been much good at. She was rather magnetic; people found her attractive.

Myself, I have always felt awkward. I can be charming on a first date, and that is a new development. But it doesn't seem to make a whole lot of difference. When I first met the person I'm dating, I felt extremely awkward because he was so handsome. He could sense the awkwardness too, but he wanted to see me more because he thought I was cute. I told him I'm often surprised when people find me attractive; he found that stupid. 

But this is an angle on anxiety: the fear that a partner will find someone more attractive than me. It's a common feeling among poly people who are not perfectly secure. Of course, that isn't the point. The point is, even if a partner finds someone more good-looking than me, the partner won't leave because of it. The partner values me for me, not my pretty face or nice-looking cleavage. As for more attractive, well, that's not just looks. Attractiveness has many facets. Maybe someone else is funnier, or more empathetic, or athletic, but she or he doesn't have the same mix of characteristics as I do, and won't have the same chemistry as I do with the partner.

The same goes for me, of course. I could meet someone who is more attractive, physically or otherwise, than the person I'm seeing. I suppose it's even possible that I could find this person so very extremely attractive that it would overpower my good sense and lead me to throw over any and all other loves for the sake of him if he wanted me to. But that is so infinitesimally unlikely that it's really not worth considering, and the same goes for the partners of my partners. 

As with many things, it comes down to putting oneself in the place of another and seeing where the thought experiment leads. 

"You Are My World"...Not!

A great deal of anxiety can be traced back to popular conceptions of coupledom.

Some myths perpetuated by popular culture:

• All people want to get married. Those who say they do not are deluded or damaged in some way.
• Marriage or any dating relationship is always sexually and emotionally exclusive. 
• Cheating is the worst thing a partner can do and always spells the end of the relationship.
• A relationship in which partners cannot be everything to each other is not good enough and will not last. Nor is it what people really want.

Being poly flies in the face of these ideas. We don't necessarily want to get married, or if we do we are not exclusive sexually or emotionally. Cheating is still possible, but more difficult given that being poly gives space for other sexual connections. We assume that partners cannot be everything to each other and may seek out other partners to address needs not fulfilled in our existing relationship(s). 

The above myths are pervasive, and I didn't realize how much I believed them before researching polyamory and getting into a poly relationship. I'm still parsing out how much of my feelings and ideas are based on them, and how much are things I really feel/believe. Perhaps they are not separable. 

However, I think breaking down these beliefs is a key to resolving some of my anxiety. 

• I know it's not true that everyone wants to get married. I don't want to get married, though sometimes I wonder if I am deluding myself because of the above cultural idea. 
• I don't want to be exclusive with one person. This is easy for me. The harder thing is handling other people not being exclusive to me. 
• One nice thing about what I'm doing now is that I cannot cheat. My poly partner and I have no rules about when and how we can have sex with others, except around condom use, and I'd do that anyway. 
• Sometimes I do wonder if I want to be in a relationship where the partner are everything to each other and don't need/want other connections. However, I realize that such a person would be extremely difficult or impossible to find, and when I think hard about it, relationships like that seem rather creepy to me.

There, anxiety solved! Okay, that's an exaggeration, but it does look nice all spelled out like that.

My Own Primary

Sometimes my anxiety tells me that I need to have a primary partner, someone who will set me above all others, to make me feel secure. This is not my better nature talking. The only person I am sure to have a lifelong relationship with is me. I can love other people, and I can even feel for myself that I will love this or that person my whole life, but I can't guarantee that they will want to be near me for my whole life, or that they will even outlive me. This is scary as shit, but there is nothing I can do about it. If I could force someone to stay with me even when they didn't want to, that would suck even more. 

If you don't know what a primary partner is, it usually describes someone like a spouse, with whom one lives, possibly has a mortgage and kids; and may be legally married to. Occasionally an individual might have two ore more primary partners, but I'm not sure how common this is. Secondary partners usually don't cohabitate, and often have primary partners of their own.

This model is not for me; I prefer a more egalitarian model where each relationship is separate and not labeled. I also don't want to live with a partner. This is a preference mostly separate from my anxiety. I just really like having my own space and not being responsible to another person. I adore my housemate; we've been living together for nearly 10 years; but it's not like living with a romantic partner. 

As far as I'm concerned, the only hierarchical model I can ascribe to is that I am my own primary partner. I am responsible for my own well-being. As an example, I came home drunk from a party recently. When I used to live with a partner, I would make him drink a full glass of water before I'd let him go to sleep when he was drunk like that. As my own partner, I made myself drink a full glass of water. This is a good standard of behavior -- how would I take care of a partner? That's how I mean to take care of myself.

Relationship Anarchy and Categorization

I found this Web page:

http://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/andie-nordgren-the-short-instructional-manifesto-for-relationship-anarchy

It's not the first description I've found of relationship anarchy, just the most recent. Relationship anarchy is something I have a hard time wrapping my head around, but at the same time it seems like it could be super good for me, a little like learning to drive standard without learning to drive automatic first. Once you can do it, you can drive anything.

As I understand it, relationship anarchists don't categorize people. They don't have "girlfriends," "partners," "friends," etc. Every relationship is unique and therefore defies labeling. I love this part of it: since every relationship is unique, the participants need to discuss the relationship and talk about their feelings. Yes. This is part of what I love about poly in general. When I was monogamous, there was a lot of assuming, and although any two people can misunderstand what the other is about on occasion, in my current relationships we try and minimize assumptions. But with regular poly, a person might say, "Yes, you are my partner, and here is what that word means to me. Let's discuss it." With RA, a person might say, "I have XYZ feelings for you. Let's discuss it."

I can sometimes find a lack of labels to be anxiety producing. If I don't have a word to hang on someone, I don't know where I stand with him, and have a hard time knowing how he feels about me. Even if someone says, "I love you," if there's not a word like "partner" accompanying it, I can get anxious. Calling something a name feels like a guarantee of permanence, even though there is no such thing and there's not really much point to pretending there is.

Striving for a more RA outlook is good for me. I think I'm letting myself miss experiences by categorizing people or insisting that they be categorized. For example, I don't fuck my friends, because I've done that in the past and it hasn't gone well. But if I don't think of friendships as separate from other kinds of relationships, the stress that accompanies a bout of friend-fucking doesn't have to exist.

Some people who are poly also have anxiety. It doesn't mean we shouldn't be poly.

Some might think that those of us with anxiety shouldn't be poly. If one relationship makes me anxious, wouldn't multiple relationships make me more anxious?

I used to be in a monogamous relationship. I worried a lot about that relationship. I used to worry that  that person wasn't the one I "should" be with, and wonder whether I ought to break up with them. Was I holding them back from dating someone better suited? Was I holding me back from dating someone I'd be better suited to? In the end, that person dumped me and it sucked a lot. The anxiety I had after the breakup was probably more ongoing than the episodes I had during the relationship, but not any worse.

These days I am dating someone I'm much better suited to. I met him after I had researched and decided to try polyamory. Like many others, I define this as the practice or desire to have romantic and often sexual connections with more than one person at a time.

Obviously, this means I'm not holding anyone back from being with other folks, and I'm not held back from being with other folks either, except that obviously I don't date the monogamous now. On the other hand, it gives me a whole other set of things to worry about -- will my partner like someone else better? Leave me for someone else? Am I comfortable not being the only person in their thoughts?

Logically these things don't make sense to worry about.

1. My partner could like someone else better whether or not we are monogamous. It's shitty to compare people, so if they are doing that or at least not striving against it, they are not a good person for me to date.
2. My partner could leave me for someone else whether or not we are monogamous. See above.
3. No one is ever the only person in someone's thoughts. Even if you are monogamous, you still have parents, friends, children, pets, co-workers, etc. People who are jealous of all their partners' other relationships are abusive assholes. So if my partner cares about all those other people, and also other partners with whom they probably also have sex, there's no reason to worry about that either.