I thought I’d been writing this story for months, but it turns out this story wrote itself a long time ago. I’d like to say I started this year drinking wine and cuddling with one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met, but that wouldn’t actually be the truth. My year had started a week before, sitting next to a man I had loved for three years in his car, listening to him tell me how he had left the woman he told me he couldn’t leave for another woman.

Only a few days before, on Christmas day, I had sat in my living room waiting for a call that never came from a man who never showed up.

This year, I truly settled into polyamory. I focused on experiencing people instead of opening them, and truly had some of the best moments of my life with some of the most amazing people. But the thing with experiencing people nobody ever really talks about is how some of those moments burn your spirit. This is for the men who put butterflies in my stomach and stars in my eyes. The men who made my toes curl and who were so warm I wanted to sink into them every day. For every single man who reminded me sex can be as fun as it is intense, and never treated me like an egg or disrespected me.

I fell in love over and again, each time different in its intensity and dynamics. I let myself fall every time, knowing it wouldn’t be reciprocated, knowing it wouldn’t end well, but still unafraid. I thought feeling so deeply about more than one person simultaneously would be confusing or draining, but it really wasn’t. Each time, it felt just right letting myself be enveloped by the emotion from being with people who got me. But nothing lasts forever.

This is for the ones who broke me. This year, I’ve had to deal with feeling like my heart was ripped out, crumbled up, throw on concrete and run over by those massive tyres on those fuel trucks. It’s not something I’m used to. The most recent one seems like it’s lasted for months upon months, even though it’s only been about two months. There have been days when I’ve just sat in my room and cried to let some of the pain and frustration out, gasping for air and wondering when the torture will end. Sometimes, heartbreak feels like an incurable disease. It feels like it will never end, and I will never not know the pain of having a part of me ripped out and taken away.

I thought I had a bad year, because I only focused on the pain. But that’s what I mean about how these things burn. When you truly experience a person, you can’t pick and choose the parts you want to hold on to. The bad times get mixed right in with the good ones, but that doesn’t make it all bad. Life can be sucky. Things will happen that will be out of our control, and all we can do is roll with the punches. And so, I’ve learned to just take each day as it comes with what comes, even though it hurts like hell. It doesn’t last forever. That’s what I tell myself over and over, and I desperately believe a day will come when thinking about these men will bring more smiles than tears.

It took me ages to write this because I felt a little ashamed. I’m still broken by some things that happened months ago, even though I should probably be over it. But that’s okay. I am no longer embarrassed by the fact that I let myself be vulnerable and got hurt. I’m allowing myself time to heal, because it’s what I deserve.

In 2020, we go again.


Truly, you are one brave woman.