I get asked a lot of questions about being polyamorous. How I allocate time. How I navigate conflicting relationship styles. How I get any work done around the presumed bacchanalian nights of group sex and opium dens. But to answer the most popular enquiry: yes, I do sometimes get a little jealous.
Not of my partners, I should clarify. Or indeed any of their partners, all of whom are out here living their best lives, no doubt more concerned about how many jumpers they need to put on this winter to stay warm than finding someone else’s in their laundry basket. What I envy instead are the legal protections and social recognition that is yet to be afforded to set-ups like mine. Or many other domestic scenarios that don’t resemble a 1950s family photograph. Those felt barely realistic back then, and feel even more cruelly anachronistic today.
