I haven’t been around here. Life has been so busy. I’ve focused (as much as I can) on developing a routine for things that require one. And simultaneously weaving the layers of life around and through those routines has been an ever-evolving challenge. As is the season of my life, it’s been all-consuming of this fickle and finite thing we’ve named time.
I don’t have any serious complaints about what’s most important. Life is what we make of the pieces we find and create, the energies we choose to connect and make new colours with. And those that leave a story on departing.
I haven’t been writing to publish, that’s why some of us are here, right? I’m sorry for that. It gnaws at my brain.
I’ve not committed to deadlines or accepted opportunities because I knew I’d unlikely be able to fulfil any promises, so I haven’t made what I’d break. A pause has been accepted for a time. I may not be completely on board —I sometimes think, ‘I’ll have time here!’, but it’s never so. The decision has been out of my hands. I’ve taken a while to accept that, actually—that I won’t be writing a new novella this week. But I will another day, the wheel is always turning.
You’ve heard my complaints of AI being used too deeply as writing tools, and with the movement there, how anyone can fire a line into a bot and publish what (surface level) appears to be a fairly decent constructed piece of ‘work’ via an article, poem, story, review, book by doing sweet fuck all is disheartening to say the very least. It kills a piece of my soul. A huge piece. This place is full of cheats, liars, manipulators—lazy, talentless, attention-grabbing fools masquerading as mentors, creators, artists—with their borrowed paragraphs kidding themselves that they could or would have created the piece—if they had the time or some other shit they tell themselves. Void of skill, void of an original fucking thought of their own, they’ll sign off a lie with pride, stamping their name to it. I’m not buying it. I never have. Perhaps that’s another reason why I’ve not found the energy to pour into the craft I love, nor had the drive to share—they’d steal your face if they could, as well as the real stories. Change a word here and there, and grin with a face full of stolen cream, declaring ‘mine’. Fuck off. I may be in a ranty place… it’s a human place though. You can trust that.
So, shall we have a sort of old-school bloggy lifey update? Yes, fuck it, let’s draw back the curtain for a peek.
I’ll start with this—since the close of my monogamous relationship, I’ve had the freedom to be myself more than I have in quite some time. Elements that had been neglected for a long time rose to the surface, needing nurturing and satiation, and those core needs have taken time and energy from other things—like writing, where my focus was already struggling. I recently shared some insight elsewhere into my life as far as my sexuality and relationship style(s) go, as these elements seem to spark curiosity, and have at points throughout my life, been used to pitch attacks. Growing up fairly openly pansexual (though bisexual was the term in my younger days) wasn’t all sunshine and groovy rainbows—have I shared the story here of when my parents realised that I wasn’t straight? That’s a belter. They were terrified I’d corrupt my younger sibling with my perverted ways—there were bible quotes and all sorts of hypocritical hilarity, and of course, what will people think of them to have spawned a queer daughter! The horror! And in those teen years, I was essentially made out to be ‘greedy’, and even ‘dirty’ for my sexuality. One of the people I trusted most at that time shuddered at the idea of dating someone who wasn’t ’straight’ or ‘gay’—‘pick one!’—because it’s a ‘choice’, right?
Sharing much in the way of specifics of friendships and romantic partnerships is something I’ve been reminded to be guarded with. People have a way of giving insights with a rusty blade straight to the gut (again, from my experience). Like they forget I feel anything at all. I’m not entitled to that—apparently. If I tell them it hurts, it’s twisted all about, (they may even raise an army by flashing a delusional doodle), and they say it’s me holding the knife—it’s bigger and hurts more. I’m (was) the doormat to drag their shitty boots on, who should remain mute for the privilege—perhaps that’s just family—mine at least. The fact that I have an abundance of self-acceptance and confidence in those aspects of my character has very much held steadfast against the grain of early criticism, judgment, and emotional attacks from ‘home’ outwards. How we process peace internally is of far greater value to one’s wellbeing and how we then engage with others than outside judgment and influences (even blood). Maybe that’s around about way of saying—fuck what anyone else thinks; it’s how you make peace and accept yourself, and how you treat others that really matters. Don’t be defined by how they treat you.
Outside the ‘joys’ of the blood, I’ve always been questioned about my sexuality—some can’t read me—the gaydar might be screaming then I show up with a guy and my friends are like “oh, I forgot you like that too”. And alongside that, more recently, as I’m (happily) poly saturated, I get asked about my relationships too. I don’t hide who I am, but for the most part, I share what’s relevant to the conversation, and I’m mostly private about the one-to-ones. With that being said, I’m openly pansexual and polyamorous—closets are for shame, and I’m not ashamed of those parts of me. And yes, my children know too. As a parent, it’s important to demonstrate confident self-awareness, acceptance and diversity across the spectrums of sexuality and relationships, so I’d be a hypocrite if I ever concealed these aspects of me from the people I’m raising. I’ve never even considered that as optional. Why would I? I’m confident it enriches the dialogue and connection we share—they know they can come to me with anything, and of that I’m fairly certain. I only hope it sticks and helps them accept themselves as they experience their own path of getting to know themselves with confidence and acceptance. We cannot escape ourselves—inner peace and respect have to be priority (armour) against the outside noise.
My sexuality and attraction to another person are predominantly energy-centric. The evolution of my natural relationship style(s) is much the same. I’m very much of the mind that we should move in ways that enrich and enhance one another, lift each other, support, accept, love honestly—if that’s not the core energies, if any of that is opposite, then it’s not going anywhere but out of my life. Movement needs to flow mutually, respectfully and with communication that is clear in the particular connection—this, of course, has a natural variation of style. I’m also much a do as you say type; I trust action above words. I remind myself of this, as I’ve at times questioned my gut instinct when presented with lies from a mouth I believed I should trust, which creates a conflict between what we want to believe and the truth. Always go with truth, even when it hurts. My instinct is rarely wrong; I remind myself of this when something feels off. So many of us (sometimes with the best intentions) lie to ourselves—what we do and how we carry ourselves when we think no one is looking is the truth of the story. To quote a recent read from Bessel van der Kolk, “The greatest source of our suffering is the lies we tell ourselves”. I’m not keen on being in the fallout from such things. Though it happens with this human condition we’re afflicted with. I’m grateful to have communicative partners—even when we’ve faced some challenges (and will do again)—the developments have been enriching, as I’m sure they will continue to be. I’m grateful for each of them.
I do not subscribe hierarchy in my relationships. It’s simply not in my nature. Each relationship deserves its own autonomy and room to breathe, move and develop its own rhythm. And I include my relationship with myself in those I consider—I now recognise, understand and respect my personal needs, specifically my need for physical space, alone time, and quiet. My energy needs time to reset and rest between just about every interaction—the amazing, the terrible and even the mundane. I am perhaps the textbook example of solo-polyamorous. When I use the term, it is in respect of my need for complete solo-autonomy; my relationship with myself is as important as those I have with my others. And with my current paramours and matamoros, I’m of a Kitchen Table Poly style overall. That fills my hippy heart with a massive hit of happy. I love and crave my partners’ happiness and fulfilment in their lives and other relationships. And it’s a privilege to know and experience the care they share with their others through their eyes—even when just a little.
We have different capacities when it comes to relationships. We have different capacities for time, for holding love, for being present. If we set aside the romantic and/or sexual for a moment and consider friendships. Some folks thrive and maintain many friendships, while others prefer a smaller circle—one that may or may not be connected. I prefer small circles.
With my need to respect the autonomy of myself and other relationships, it is interesting the differences I’ve connected with—there are differing values across the board, which may or may not work out long-term—of that I am aware and accepting of. My style differs to each of my paramours (apart from one who shares a strikingly similar mindset and approach), with those that differ—one is open but of a romantically monogamous mind (for me, I’m very aware that at some point they could decide being with a pansexual polyamorous person is not within their capacity, and that monogamy or being with others who work with hierarchical values may be their natural default). And another is hierarchical with the primary relationship holding (the often controversial) veto power over others (again, I’m aware that’s another axe hanging over my head). With both of those differing items, I guess there’s a certain uncertainty—does that make sense to you? What I’m trying to say, is that there’s a comfort in knowing what it’ll be if one of those axes falls, and in either case it’s outside of my control—it’s ‘not me’, and most definitely a them thing. Though we could argue getting involved in the first place was in part well within mine—they are things I’ve chosen to accept as I’ve gotten more emotionally involved. What I’m trying to get across is that in romantic relationships, just as it is holding space for multiple meaningful friendships, we can have differing approaches and values, but in those connections, we carve out our own design that can be profoundly fulfilling.
I may pop back in, since this became more singularly focused than I first thought it would. And my waffling isn’t entirely finished but I have other things pulling my attention now.
Later!
Clan Witch & Word Refinery 