How My Son Found Out | Polyamorous Parenting
Well, it happened. My 12-year-old son found out his parents are polyamorous.
It wasn’t something we were keeping from him, but rather hadn’t outwardly told him. Because we were mindful of age and maturity, and because neither of us had met someone where the relationship had progressed to being long and stable enough to meet him.
That was how I envisioned him learning that we were poly, that we had someone (or someones) who we wanted to bring into our family. I honestly thought it would be a partner of mine, since I was the catalyst to opening our marriage.
But that wasn’t how it happened at all.
It was actually during a peaceful Sunday afternoon in late spring. My husband was on a date, and I was enjoying time with my son in a way I hadn’t been able to do when he was younger. His baby- and toddler-hood had been hard for me for a lot of reasons, and I could enjoy these middle-kid years now for as many reasons, though they were different. His current age meant we could have independent time together - parallel play if you will - and my late-in-life autism diagnosis helped me to realize that I needed that.
But mostly I could enjoy this moment, this afternoon, because being polyamorous had forced my husband and I to communicate better - with other people, and with each other. And I didn’t feel the weight of crippling resentment of parenthood anymore.
I knew time alone with my son was precious and fleeting. I didn’t have that perspective when he was little, the days felt forever long. And, I knew that this solo time was reciprocal in that I would have time away too, because of relationships I had with other people, and because of the priority I put on having time alone with myself, and that allowed me to be able to settle into being present in the now with my child on the cusp of teenage-hood.
On this day, my son had used his allotted game time, and when last I checked was watching TV downstairs with a book nearby. I was absorbed in editing photos, thinking with half my brain that we would take a walk before having dinner together, when my concentration was shattered as he came crashing down the stairs stating loudly “MOM!”
“WHAT?!?” I sat up, on high alert. The hypervigilance conditioning of my childhood activated by his tone.
And there was this strange expression on his face when he appeared in front of me.
Who died? I thought taking a mental inventory of the animals in the house. What did he eat? Thinking of his allergies. “What?!?” I asked again, more urgently this time.
“I was on the computer upstairs…” he stammered, and my brain fought to catch up - Everyone’s alive… when did he go upstairs?? what computer?? I was under the impression that my husband had all his computers, work or otherwise, locked down, and I was using mine.
“... and Dad’s text messages popped up…”
WHAT?!????? I thought.
“What did you see?” I tried to remain neutral in my tone. I had learned in parenthood not to volunteer information, but to let them tell you what they knew. Or didn’t know. But also, *I* didn’t know what he had seen. What had been said? I knew where my husband was, so I could only imagine.
“Well, someone said they had a nice time, and, and..”
I held out my arms and let him fold his awkwardly growing body into my lap, not a little kid anymore, but not anywhere near an adult. “Buddy.” I said, noting the fear in his eyes, and speaking to that, “It’s ok. Dad isn’t cheating. I know where he is and who he’s with. Dad and I are polyamorous. It means we can love more than one person at a time. And it allows us to stay with each other, and with you.”
We talked a little more about the specifics based on the questions he had, talked about LGBTQ+ and if this fell into that, talked about excitement about adding new members to our family, his sometimes lonely only child persona wondering what that would be like, talked about divorce and his anxiety about the future. Then I suggested we go on that walk we had planned, noting out loud that we both process things better (“We think better!” I said in his language) when in motion. He jumped on his bike and I grabbed the leash and dog and we set off.
When we came back he stated: “I thought a lot. It doesn’t really change my life very much.” His head had a thoughtful tilt like a puppy.
I laughed internally. I had texted my husband a head’s up as to what he was walking into, and when he got home to change the password on that computer. Immediately. I had to journal out some rage before he got home as well. It wasn’t his “fault” he underestimated a 12-year-old boy, but also du-ude.
Later, my son and husband discussed in their way, the way they communicate different from the way my son and I communicate. However, my son reiterated after, “Well, it doesn’t change my life a lot.”
Then, a few nights later, I was reading in bed and he plopped down on my geriatric cat’s staircase to the bed to use as a seat (😂) I looked over and he casually asked, “Does being in an open marriage improve your quality of life?”
And I just … found so much delight in that statement. Amusement, and wonder, that this creature I somehow created asked me this incredibly astute question. Curiosity of how children can rationalize things, for good and bad, when told with love and (age-appropriate) honesty. And mostly, gratefulness, that he was my anchor in this journey. And I was so thankful for this reminder of WHY I was doing this, living this lifestyle, going outside of the norm. Even though it can be hard and scary, and I have moments of apprehension as to what the future may or may not hold. But I remembered I had those moments in monogamy and marriage too.
Mostly, I reminded myself how important my continued journey to reparenting myself was, so that I could parent him better - or at least differently - than I was.
So that my son didn’t have to feel that his existence was the reason his parents divorced, a feeling I have felt with my own parents. So that my son didn’t have to watch his parents just hate and blame each other, a path we were once on, but he sees us both doing the work to try to communicate better. Again, with ourselves and with others. He may not see us cuddle and be affectionate in a romantic way, but he perhaps he see his parent’s relationship the way I do, as more solid and with better communication. And the fact that we're able to co-exist and co-parent and run a household together because of these choices. And he can see his parents interact with other people in other ways, a skill I’m hoping is helpful as he grows up. And he can see his parents be authentic in their truest, though evolving, selves. So that he, a sensitive person born as a man, will know how to communicate his feelings, or at least know that he is allowed to feel them, in appropriate ways.
So I said “Yes, I do feel my quality of life has improved, and I’m grateful to be spending this life with you and your dad. And I’m excited to meet who we may meet to add to our forever family like … (and I named a few platonic family friends that have become family).”
And he nodded in agreement, jumped up and away, and that was the end of another day in our one magical life.
It, like all big things, is an ongoing conversation. It’s come up in a few ways already, and I’m sure it will evolve, especially as our relationships do. But it feels good to tell the truth. My son did look at me once since then and said shrewdly “You’ve been trying to tell me all this time.”
To which I replied, “I just told you the truth as much as I could. Because this is nothing to have shame about, but it is something that we can’t share with other people until we have their consent, or unless we are talking to our therapists.”
And then I just said a silent prayer to whatever higher power there may be that I’m not screwing him up too bad. Or at least whatever he will need adult therapy for, it will be an evolution from what I need adult therapy for. ❤️
So, he may have found out in a way I hadn’t expected, hadn’t been planning for, but maybe, just maybe, he found out in the exact way he was supposed to. In the way we all needed. In the way that it was.
Exhausted and overwhelmed halfway through our 22 day stay in the hospital when he was born, but determined to be the best person for him that I could.
