We finally told our daughters we’re polyamorous. Here’s how it went.
By: Ellen Mallernee Barnes
Tags: Polyamory, Parenting, Ethical Non Monogamy, Open Marriage, Honesty

Photo from Boston Public Library on Unsplash

I’d already told my mom. My boss, friends, therapist, coworkers I’m close with, most any acquaintance who had talked to me for more than ten minutes, strangers in bars. I’d hinted around about it on social media. My dog knew more about it than anyone; he’d seen some unmentionable things.

But I hadn’t told my kids that I’m polyamorous. At first, I didn’t even know what we were calling it: ethical non-monogamy? An open marriage? Polyamory? I had to learn what all of that meant.

I didn’t want to tell the kids before I knew what we were doing or why. There was so much for my husband and me to sort through before we could communicate with them about it. In the beginning, I didn’t know if this “experiment” would break us or not.

It did. It broke us wide open.

As the queen/relationship therapist Esther Perel has said, When a couple comes to me in the aftermath of an affair, I will often tell them this: Your first marriage is over. Would you like to create a second one together?

Over a period of three-and-a-half years, my husband and I co-created our second marriage with one another, without telling our daughters. We told them half-truths when we could — that Mama was going to meet her friend [insert man’s name] or that Daddy was going to hang out with his friend [insert woman’s name]. And when cultural norms about monogamy came up, we gently challenged them.

While I was figuring out what the fuck we were doing, I found many other reasons to stay quiet.

For one, I didn’t want to tell them before we each had serious partners. For a long time, my husband did have a serious partner. We introduced her to the kids as his friend. She was lovely to them, bonding with our oldest daughter in particular, even giving her a keyboard when she started taking piano.

Not only did my “serious partner” never arrive, but several breakups knocked the wind out of me. When I lost entire days to tears, I had to play it off to the girls that I was feeling especially blue that day, but for no reason in particular.

It never felt right. In this family, we talk about feelings. While I’m conscious not to pull them into conversations or situations that children shouldn’t have to handle, we’ve set a precedent of genuineness. For me, and for my husband, honesty is almost always the right answer. Furthermore, if our honesty turns you off, we’re happy to see you go. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Of course, there was also the matter of shame. I didn’t want to tell our daughters we were polyamorous because I didn’t want them to be ashamed of us. Would they be embarrassed to tell their friends?

In the meantime, I watched them grow up to be enthusiasts of LGBTQ+ rights. Witnessing their huge, innocent hearts rooting for love, I started to wonder if telling them our truth would be harmful after all.

For years I collected other people’s opinions. Most people, even our dear sex-positive therapist, suggested we not tell them. They’re so young. Parents keep things from their children all the time; this is your private life.

But my uneasiness continued to grow. For a long time I worried that if we waited much longer before telling them, they’d end up looking back mournfully on their childhood and saying it was all a lie, that we were liars.

And were we insulting their intelligence?

Worse, what if my selfish desire to get this off my chest would come at the expense of traumatizing my girls?

Even that was my old monogamous mindset talking.

As it turns out, giving people who you love information about how you love and prefer to be loved isn’t a traumatizing event.

The whole time they have known our truth. That Mom and Dad love each other, head to toe, for better or worse. They see us each day, kissing in the kitchen, dancing in the living room, heading out the door for dates (and marriage counseling), figuring out hard shit, snuggling on the couch and in our bed, showing up for one another, in big and little ways. Being honest with one another. They know the way my voice sounds when I talk about “Daddy.” They know how his sounds when he talks about “Mama.”

By hiding it, we were implying that what we were doing was something that needed to be hidden. It’s not.

Three-and-a-half years after opening our marriage, it was time to stop waiting for the “right time” to tell the kids.

About a week ago, I told my husband I was ready to tell them. He was the embodiment of that clinched-teeth emoji, but he agreed. I spent several hours Googling articles and watching videos from other polyamorous people about how they handled talking to their children about it. I took a few notes. But at some point, I closed my laptop resolutely.

I didn’t need anyone’s advice anymore. I knew what to do. I knew what to say. I knew everything would be okay because I knew everything was okay.

The four of us were working a puzzle together. My hands were trembling a little in my lap. Finally, I made myself jump off the ledge.

“Girls, you know how Daddy and I have been going to marriage counseling for a long time?”

Our youngest daughter, 8, immediately tensed. “You’re not getting a divorce, are you?”

In the ensuing panic, our oldest, 11, echoed her, “Are you guys splitting up?”

“No!” I said, “Actually we’re happier than we’ve been in a really long time. We are not getting a divorce, absolutely not. You guys are safe. We want to be together, and we want to be a family. We’ve spent the past few years working hard to get here. And we realized that we have a different lovestyle than most people, and it works much better for us. It’s called polyamory… have you heard of that?”

Neither had.

We explained what it was in the simplest terms.

“So you and Daddy want to date other people but also stay together?” asked our youngest, who had gone back to working the puzzle with growing disinterest in the topic.

“Yes, exactly!”

Across the table, our oldest daughter’s shoulders were practically in her ears. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She was silent but heaving with emotion.

We wanted her to articulate her feelings, but that’s not how she works at first. “I just want to go upstairs and go to bed,” she said, sobbing. We reluctantly agreed.

Ten minutes later, my husband and I went upstairs and sat on either side of her bed. She was sitting up. Her face was dry, her chihuahua cradled in her lap.

She looked up at us with her beautiful eyes, full of love.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I accept you and I really don’t judge you. But I have a few questions.”

They were valid. But much less brutal than I’d feared. We answered them, and she continued to brighten. We told her we loved her and retreated.

Later that night, she found us on the screen porch talking, relief rolling out of us in waves.

“I want to apologize again for getting upset,” she said.

“Noooo,” we said. “You can absolutely be upset!”

“No, I just needed to process it. I want to tell you that I’m really proud of you guys for being honest and being yourselves. That’s rare. And I know you’re happy. I see that. It makes sense to me, and you have my full support.”