ENM. I’m not sure what it might stand for in other circles and contexts, but in the context of dating and relationships, it stands for ethically non-monogamous. It’s an umbrella term that describes several non-traditional relationship lifestyles (polyamory, swinging, open relationships, casual sex). There’s some debate over using the word ethical (and probably the word traditional). Doing so not only implies a non-ethical version, but it sets up a hierarchy of morality (and tradition) with monogamy/pair-bonding at the top… Proponents of dropping the term ethical have suggested that there are far too many examples of non-ethical monogamy around to single out non-monogamy… or perhaps the qualifier should be applied to monogamy as well. As for the distinction between ethical and non-ethical, it seems to hinge on notions of consent and communication. Non-consensual non-monogamy is just old-fashioned cheating. As such, it’s a violation of trust and causes harm to the person who didn’t consent. In these instances, consensual means all parties involved are aware of what is going on. Because of this, some prefer to refer to it as CNM (consensual non-monogamy).
While I suspect it has existed for as long as human relationships have existed, CNM has, over the last decade or so, become more widely accepted as a lifestyle choice. By which I mean, people seem more willing to talk about it and to identify as practitioners of it. I can remember a time a few years ago when a Facebook friend was sharing a lot of posts about the logic of a CNM lifestyle. Based on what he shared, it seemed like he felt the need to defend his position, though I’m not sure anyone was questioning it, much less arguing with him over it. Outside of anecdotal observations, I can’t speak to the growing acceptance and practice of CNM. I see more people listing it on their dating profiles than I used to – though they often list it as ENM (an acronym I had to look up when this un-hip country bumpkin first encountered it). A 2016 study of two national samples of single Americans found that just over one in five people surveyed reported engaging in CNM at some point in their life. That’s not an insignificant number of people.
Living out on the west coast where social norms are decidedly more fluid than what I’ve experienced in central Pennsylvania, I find myself encountering more people who embrace not fitting into society’s traditional and narrowly defined boxes. Trying to be an open, curious, and reflective person, I don’t shy away from conversations with people who have different views on life or live different lifestyles. If anything, my openness seems to attract the unconventional. In most aspects of society and private life, I believe that individuals should live as they see fit provided it doesn’t cause harm to others. Of course that’s a very slippery approach to ethics when we consider there are different definitions of harm and there may be distinctions between perceived harms and actual harms – just as there are perceived needs and desires and actual needs and desires… again, slippery slope with a lot of gray between all of those things in a “perception is reality” sort of way.
This week, I was invited to a poly-amorous happy hour. I didn’t go. It’s not my chosen lifestyle, and I would have felt out of place. I would have felt like an interloper. All of that said, conversations with the person who invited me have nudged me to think about what it is I value in relationships and why. More specifically, it’s forced me to question if my very strong preference for pair-bonding and monogamy is a deliberate choice, or if it’s an unthinking societal default. And if it is a choice, is it one that’s informed, examined, and enlightened or is it being made from a position of fear and insecurity.
Despite being what some might describe as an old-school, traditional romantic (one who believes in attempting happily ever-afters and till death us do part), my life experience (and the divorce rate in America) suggest that maybe we’re not supposed to be with one person for all of our life. This thinking is not new for me. I have frequently bounced between Vonnegut’s statement that marriages fail because we’re are not enough people for each other and Joni Mitchell’s statement that if you want endless variety, stick with one person and get to know them on as many levels as possible. And it’s not that I believe Vonnegut is making a case for consensual non-monogamy or that Mitchell is arguing for a strict interpretation of monogamy. In fact, Vonnegut makes no mention of CNM, but he is making a case for broader social networks and having a life outside of the relationship. What I think I get hung up on is trying to figure out where I fall on this spectrum, and of equal importance, where would I prefer my partner to fall on this spectrum. What might I tolerate/accept/desire in another? In many respects, this isn’t terribly different from trying to understand where I am on the introvert/extrovert scale and who is a good match for me in terms of energy, how we go about recharging, and how we maneuver having our needs met.
That’s a lot of word salad. Sorry.
When I encounter concepts that challenge my thinking, I usually ask myself, could I have that belief, or live that way? I then follow that up with a why or why not line of investigation. What are my core beliefs around the issue? Are they true? Can I back them up with anything? Can I pinpoint where they come from?
It would be easy to dismiss these questions. It’d be easy to say polyamory or CNM isn’t for me and leave it at that – or to blindly justify my stance with, “I can’t explain it, I just know it’s not my thing.” But the why seems like it might be important, or at least insightful.
In the case of polyamory vs. monogamy (which sounds like an awful episode of Law & Order), I’m finding contradictions in my own thinking. I believe relying on our primary partner for all (or most) of our emotional needs not only puts pressure on the partner and the relationship, but may limit our growth. I believe, generally speaking, that we’re better off when we have multiple sources of joy and support. Following that logic, polyamory makes sense. Maybe we’d all be happier if we had one person who was good in the sack and one who met our emotional needs (and one who cooked/cleaned, etc. etc. etc.) And yet…
That’s where I get stuck. Despite believing we might do well to seek multiple sources of joy, I have this somewhat contradictory belief that the best relationships are full of deep (almost endless) curiosity about the other person – a level of curiosity and attention that I’m not sure is compatible (or can be fully realized) when we have multiple partners. Admittedly, this is a limiting view of what humans are capable of. Personally, I don’t even like talking to more than one person at a time on a dating site because I can’t always remember what I said to whom. Brain science has shown that we’re not very good at multi-tasking. Similarly, beyond some technical geographic anomalies like the four corners monument in Utah/New Mexico/Colorado/Arizona, it’s nearly impossible to be in more than one place at the same time.
In addition to what seems to be a capacity challenge, I believe that we can minimize our needs and desires, and compartmentalize them in such a way that we know where to go for what. In a sense, I believe that when we practice gratitude, we can get pretty good at seeking fewer things. In that context, a monogamous relationship can have more than enough depth to feed our souls for a lifetime. Taken even a step further, Buddhism teaches us that we have everything we need within ourselves. If each human contains an entire universe, it makes a certain sense to focus intently on understanding the universe within and perhaps one other universe.
But there are other elements to all of this that make me uncomfortable. For one, I want to believe that love is boundless and inexhaustible. A belief in a type of monogamy that suggests we can’t love on the deepest levels if we don’t focus on one person is, by definition, limiting. And then there are my struggles with the contradictions between possession and control on one side and freedom and autonomy on the other. We’ve all heard the saying, “if you love someone, set them free.” Couldn’t polyamory be seen as a high form of that type of love and freedom? Isn’t monogamy and attempt at control and possession – love with some very strict guardrails? What do we really mean when we say “someone to call my own” or “found my person”? Viewed under the unflattering light of control and possession, these seemingly affectionate and endearing phrases can cast some menacing shadows.
As with so much of what I write here on this blog, I’m not sure I’ve brought any clarity to my own thinking (and I haven’t even approached how my thinking on this subject has been impacted by the experiences I’ve had with infidelity and abandonment). When I’ve challenged myself with the questions around CNM, the best I can come up with is that it’s not how I wish to love. It is, in some respects, an admission of my own limitations. My preference is to focus on one person. All of which is fine. When I challenge myself with the question of whether or not I could focus my attention on one person if they weren’t similarly focused on me, I face the uncomfortable admission that my view of romantic relationships involves reciprocity. I’d be hesitant to go all-in on someone who isn’t going all-in on me, and that very statement suggests I’m unwilling or incapable of loving unconditionally… that perhaps I’m not big enough or secure enough to love differently.
All of this sounds much more complicated than it is or needs to be. Then again, nobody ever said understanding the human heart (or brain) was easy.