Breakups between monogamous couples tend to follow a standard procedure: One minute they’re together, and the next, they’re not. Maybe they mute each other on Instagram, or maybe one of them skips a mutual friend’s birthday party to avoid an awkward run-in. Belongings are returned (or, you know, burned), social media photos are deleted, and numbers are blocked—the idea being to go no-contact until feelings settle. If the relationship isn’t going to work long-term, they exit each other’s lives, often for good.
Polyamorous couples have another option: de-escalating, or remaining in one another’s lives romantically but reducing your level of intimacy and commitment. For example, one person may move out if you share a home. Or they stop being your automatic plus-one to events and you choose to take another partner instead. Perhaps you no longer text every day, and that person stops being your go-to whenever you want to vent about your shitty boss. You stay in one another’s lives, just…less. No need to throw it all away, right?
In theory, de-escalation seems ideal—beautiful, really. After all, you were in love! But in practice, de-escalating isn’t right for all poly folks, and for me, it was actually way too idealistic. (And I have a sneaking suspicion many poly folks feel the same way, they just don’t want to admit it.) In fact, when I tried de-escalating, it failed miserably, and it taught me that, perhaps, just like most monogamous folks, I should strive for a cleaner break.
Two years ago, my then-boyfriend came home after a long work trip, and when I opened the door to greet him, I felt nothing, which I knew was a bad sign. I’d been struggling with some other aspects of our relationship for a while, but I didn’t realize these issues had made my feelings for him dwindle so significantly.
Since we’d been apart for so long, we went to have sex, but I was so in my head that I couldn’t get hard. That wasn’t usually an issue I had with him, so he asked me what was wrong. I told him I didn’t want to share, partly because I just didn’t know what to say. I think I’m no longer in love with you, the romantic feelings I had for you have disappeared? Jesus, hell, absolutely not.
But he insisted I could tell him anything, even if it hurt…so we ended up having a two-hour-long, tear-filled conversation where I shared that I felt like we were two entirely different people, and ultimately just didn’t have that much to talk about. (For example, I’m an author, and he had never read a single book.) I loved him despite our differences—he was kind, supportive, loving, and truly a gem of a man. But over time, I just realized that wasn’t enough.
I told him I wanted to break up. He said he didn’t, so we settled on de-escalation as a middle ground. Instead of seeing him three to five days a week, I’d see him a few times a month. Since there were certain things we couldn’t really bond over, I’d get those needs met elsewhere. After all, that’s one of the beautiful things about being polyamorous—one person doesn’t need to be your everything.
But the de-escalation only lasted a few months until I properly broke up with him. And in those months, I didn’t really feel like a partner (neither primary nor secondary)—I was just going through the motions of being one. Eventually, I began to feel irritated because I felt like I was obligated to see him when there were other folks I wanted to see more. I also knew he was still in love with me, and I didn’t feel the same. That, plus feeling like I should want to spend time with him, made me feel like I was doing something wrong. Do you know what’s not good for a relationship? Guilt and resentment. So eventually, during yet another long, tearful conversation, I ended things for good.
Clearly, we should have just broken up instead of de-escalating from the beginning, but we chose that route because it seemed like a compromise. But in polyamory, a secondary partnership isn’t a middle ground between dating and not dating. It’s still dating, and both people need to be equally on board. If you’re going to de-escalate, it has to be because both partners want to, not because it’s an attempt to “kinda” stay together when one person actually wants out. My mistake was not being firmer about fully ending the relationship when I knew I wanted to. I also should’ve admitted to myself that a big part of the reason I agreed to de-escalate in the first place was because I didn’t want to feel like I’d “failed” at non-monogamy.
This is common among poly folks who choose to de-escalate instead of breaking up. Maybe they want to disprove monogamous naysayers who don’t consider polyamory a valid relationship orientation by staying together even though they know they shouldn’t. The thing is, I don’t think breaking up implies failure. On the contrary, walking away from something that no longer serves you is a good thing. But in my experience, the monogamous world doesn’t always see it like that. They’re quick to view your (one) breakup as “proof that polyamory never actually works long-term.” This will be the first thing Aunt Karen, who’s been divorced four times, will tell you at Thanksgiving.
Poly people often feel like we have to have “perfect” or, more accurately, perfect-seeming relationships. We want to make our relationships look easy in order to convince monogamous people that polyamory isn’t just possible, but great. This is an unfair double standard obviously. Monogamous couples split all the time, but no one ever says, “That’s because monogamy never works out long-term.” (But one poly breakup and Aunt Karen gets on her soapbox.)
Being good at polyamory” can often feel like a huge part of our identity, which is why our egos sometimes take a hit, too, when a relationship doesn’t work out. And as someone who’s not just polyamorous but also a polyamorous educator, I‘ve felt a lot of pressure (both internal and external) to have the healthiest-seeming separation humanly possible.
But through my experience de-escalating, I realized I’m not responsible for representing the entire polyamorous community—and, if you can relate, neither are you. Poly folks should be allowed to break up just like monogamous couples. That doesn’t mean polyamory never works—nor that you’ve “failed” at it. It just means your relationship—like the vast majority of romantic relationships—came to an end.
And, of course, you can always reconnect with your ex in a romantic or platonic manner, but give yourselves time and space. A clean break is often necessary (and legitimately recommended by professionals!) to heal and move on.
My ex and I didn’t talk for four months after our breakup. Later, we reconnected at dinner, hashed out any lingering feelings, and now we have a friendship I cherish.
And today I know that if I want to break up, I can just….wait for it… break up! I don’t need to de-escalate and shouldn’t feel like I’ve failed on behalf of the entire poly community. I can just whip out a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and take some goddamn time to heal, with the knowledge that I’m actually more likely to have a meaningful relationship with my ex in the future if we go our separate ways now.