Long Distance Polyamory: 5 Ways I Nurture My Long Distance Relationship [Polyamory Conversation Cards #21]

Long distance relationships can be hard, and that reality is no different in long distance polyamory. My girlfriend Em lives far enough away that we have to get on a plane to see each other (though close enough that we’re able to do so about once a month, and thankfully on a route with relatively cheap airfare, which is a huge blessing!)

As a result, we’ve had to get really good at growing, nurturing, and maintaining a long distance relationship. Though it’s probably more accurate to say I have had to get really good at these things – she already had these skills in spades due to also being in long-distance connections with her other partners.

In case you missed it, this post is part of a series inspired by Odder Being’s Polyamory Conversation Cards. As often as I can, I’ll pull a card at random and write a piece of content based on it. There will likely be some essays, advice pieces, personal experiences, rants, and more! You can read the whole series at the dedicated tag. And if you want to support my work and get occasional bonus content, head on over to my Patreon.

This week’s card asks:

“How much and in what way would you ideally communicate with your partner(s) when you’re not physically together?”

I have no actual statistics to back this up, but my impression is that long distance relationships are more common in polyamory than monogamy. This is probably at least partly due to the fluidity polyamory affords, and the ability to enjoy each connection for what it is without needing it to fulfill all our needs.

In particular, long distance polyamory is unique in that many people in our community maintain long distance relationships for years or decades with no intention of ever living in the same place. Many of these relationships are happy, loving, committed, and serious.

5 Ways I Nurture My Long Distance Relationship

Before I met Em I thought it would be very difficult, if not impossible, for me to be happy in a long-term long distance relationship. But, like so many others, she’s blown that assumption completely out of the water in the best possible way.

Turns out that, with mutual attentiveness, high levels of emotional intelligence, and great communication skills, it’s possible to feel fulfilled – emotionally, romantically, sexually, relationally – in a relationship with someone who lives on a different landmass.

So what does that actually look like? Here are five of the ways we do it and some tips on how you might want to approach nurturing your long distance relationship (whether it’s polyamorous or monogamous.)

Setting Aside Focused Quality Time

We were laughing the other day about the fact that we schedule regular video call dates, but in reality we end up spending a minimum of an hour a day on the phone together most days anyway. This kind of quality time, whether it happens spontaneously or is planned, allows us to take some time to focus on each other and nurturing our relationship.

There are numerous ways you can do this. You might do a remote activity together, like watching a film or playing an online game, have phone sex (more on that in a minute), or just spend the time catching up and chatting. What matters is to figure out what works for you and your partner.

Including Each Other in Our Day to Day Lives

I love sending Em “outfit of the day” selfies (#femme4femme life amirite?) and I love when we send each other pictures and updates on whatever we happen to be doing, whether it’s working or cooking or travelling or spending time with friends.

One of the hardest things about long distance can be feeling separate and apart from each other’s everyday world. Taking the time to intentionally include each other makes our relationship feel more like a part of our daily lives and less like a part-time connection or a “holiday” from real life.

Intentional time, of the kind I talked about in the section above, is vital in a long distance relationship. But it’s just as important to have these smaller touch-points throughout the day.

Always Having the Next Visit Planned

Saying goodbye at the end of a visit is hard, but it would be infinitely harder if I didn’t know when I was going to see her again. We’re both planners, so always having the next visit in the diary is a breeze (and right now, writing this in early March, we have plans through August.) As someone who likes certainty in my relationships as far as possible, it helps enormously with feeling secure.

It also helps that we both take proactive roles in suggesting things to do and making plans, ensuring that the burden doesn’t disproportionately fall on either of us. Relationship logistics are a group project, y’all.

This might not be possible in every long distance relationship, of course. But if it’s feasible for you, I highly recommend it. I can’t overstate the difference it makes, turning parting from a moment of sadness to a bittersweet “I’ll miss you but we already have something else wonderful to look forward to.”

Getting Really Good at Phone Sex

I’ve long believed that phone sex, cyber sex, and sexting are all a form of real sexual relationship. And in a long distance dynamic, they can be an absolute godsend. Of course, it’s not quite the same as being in the same room as my love, being able to touch her and kiss her. But a hot encounter on the phone is an amazing way to keep a sexual connection alive across the miles. It’s also a form of weeks-long foreplay, ensuring we can’t wait to jump on each other when we’re together in person.

If you’re kinky, you can keep a D/s dynamic alive in a long distance relationship with remote play sessions, instructions, tasks, or pictures/videos. And if they’re your thing, phone sex with your long distance partner is the kind of situation that app-controlled vibrators are perfect for!

When I started dating Em and it became apparent that phone sex was going to be a part of our relationship, I delved back into Kate Sloan’s archives on this topic over on her blog, Girly Juice. Kate is one of the sex nerds and writers I admire immensely. Her phone sex content is a treasure-trove of tips and ideas, and I highly recommend it.

Building a Shared Relationship Language

Each relationship – whether local or long distance, monogamous or polyamorous – has its own language built from shared experiences, in-jokes, adventures had and challenges overcome. We build these languages word by word, sentence by sentence, and they start to come together to form the identity of a relationship.

In long distance relationship, I’ve found this shared language and shared identity of “us” to be even more crucial. Whether we’re giggling over something goofy that would lose all meaning if we tried to translate it for someone else, ranting about our shared political beliefs, or getting teary eyed together over a song that feels like it was written for us, all of these little pieces are something to hang onto on the days when the miles just seem too big and the weeks seem too long.

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7 Things That Helped Me to Get Over a Broken Heart

Heads up: this is not a generic “how to get over a broken heart” listicle. This is tremendously personal and I hope I can trust my readers to be kind.

Yup. It’s been an entire year, and we’re finally talking about this! I have tried to write something cohesive about this experience so many times over the last year, but it didn’t feel like the right time until now. I had to wait until I was sure I was really okay, really truly over it and out the other side, before I could write about it with the benefit of knowing for sure that the pain really does end.

One year ago today, I experienced the most brutal, absolute and devastating heartbreak of my life from someone I thought I would be with forever.

“Blindsided” is not even the word.

It physically hurt. I felt like I was dying.

I still don’t think I have the words to explain the depths of the grief I sunk into, the anger and the confusion, that time I screamed in my car down a deserted road just to let out some of the pressure that felt like it was crushing me from the inside. The nights I spent alternately crying until I felt numb and drinking myself into oblivion just so that, for a few blissful minutes, I wouldn’t have to feel anything.

But this post isn’t actually about that pain, or about the person who broke my heart. It’s about how I got through it. Because that’s the reality of even the worst heartbreak of your life: you do get through it.

One day, you wake up and find you don’t actively want to fucking die. One day, you wake up and you’re not crying before you’re even fully awake, they’re not the first thing on your mind, you don’t see their eyes every time you close yours. Eventually, you smile again. Laugh again. Dance in your kitchen while you make dinner again. Have sex again. Eventually, you even love again.

So this post is for everyone whose heart has ever been broken. It’s for everyone who’s going through it right now, who needs a reminder that there is joy out there and that this too shall pass. But most of all it’s for the Amy of a year ago who felt like she had lost a piece of her soul and thought she might never be happy again. Hold on, sweetheart. Joy is coming back. More joy than you can imagine right now.

This is just my little love letter to seven of the things that pulled me through.

Mr C&K

I have to start with this one because fucking hell, this man showed up for me when I needed him. He picked me up off the floor (literally, once or twice.) He fed me and took care of the house and the cat and our life in the immediate aftermath, when I could barely get off the sofa. When I woke up in the early hours of the morning already crying, he pulled me close and reminded me I was still worthy of love.

Pretty words and promises are nice, but they mean nothing if they’re not backed up with actions. Real love? Sometimes it looks like someone who’s been by your side for a decade sitting with you while you cry and rage and work through the confusion, and then filling the fridge with all your favourite foods in the hope that you’ll eat something even though your body is so full with the sheer weight and volume of your grief that you can’t imagine having room for anything as trivial as food.

Sapphic music

A couple of months after my breakup, I started making a giant playlist of all the sapphic, lesbian and queer girl music I could find.

It was partly an attempt to reconnect with my own queerness, to remind myself that no longer having a girlfriend didn’t invalidate my identity. I found the angsty breakup songs cathartic. The love songs gave me hope that I might find something like that again someday.

Most of all, it was a feeling of being held by these women. Women I’ll never meet but with whom I feel a kinship because of our shared experience as sapphics in a world that simultaneously invisibilises and hyper-sexualises us.

Fletcher, MUNA, Hayley Kiyoko, Girli, Chappell Roan, Xana, Girl in Red, Renee Rapp and more wrapped their words around my heart and, on the nights I felt most profoundly alone, their songs reached out a hand and said “we got you.”

Crafting

You know the cool thing about having yarn, fabric, a set of knitting needles or a crochet hook in your hands? You can’t text the person who broke your heart (or pound that ill-advised fourth shot of gin of the night) while you’re doing it.

Sometimes, making things – counting stitches and rows, figuring out pattern instructions, occasionally ripping it all out and starting again – was the only thing that could stop me from thinking about her, calm my racing mind from ruminating on how stupidly happy I had been and how it had all gone to hell so quickly.

I crafted so much in the few months following my breakup that I ended up taking a stall of my yarn-based creations to sell at a Pride event. Every time I saw someone smile and pick out a piece I’d made in their pride flag’s colours, a little bit of my heart healed. I’d turned my pain into beautiful things, and those things brought other people joy.

Slow, careful and mindful attempts at dating

I got back on the dating apps around August. If I’m entirely honest it was probably a little too soon but I decided, fuck it, it’s been six months, maybe I’m allowed to have a little fun now? (Or maybe I just needed the emotional masochism of confirming, once again, my utter certainty that I would never meet anyone who was right for me ever again.)

Only… I did.

I had a nice date with a woman. Things didn’t go anywhere, but going on a date – laughing and eating sushi and getting to know someone new – felt like gently flexing a muscle I hadn’t used in far too long, like taking the cast off a broken bone. Then I dated someone lovely for about three months. We had fun. Then we realised we weren’t romantically compatible and parted on good terms as friends.

And then…

Well. The next bit of the story comes later in this post.

Queer community

There’s an invisibility that often comes with sapphic love. This is doubled (tripled, really) if you’re polyamorous and your relationship isn’t a socially-sanctioned, legally-sanctioned, highly visible, hetero-read one.

So many people in my life didn’t understand that the relationship might have ultimately been short-lived and non-escalator, but that didn’t make it any less real. It fucking mattered. My love mattered. My heart mattered.

It was my queer community, particularly my queer polyamorous community, that understood. Those people witnessed and held the reality of just how much this fucking sucked. They allowed me to be sad then angry then hopeful then hopeless and then sad all over again. They let me go from laughter to sobbing and back to laughter, sometimes in the space of minutes.

And they never told me it didn’t matter because it didn’t last. That I should have known better, or that polyamory is always a recipe for disaster. They didn’t say at least you still have a partner as if that makes a broken heart hurt any less, or any of the other shit that clueless straight people hit me with.

Friends who understand

Sometime around May, three months after my breakup, I went for coffee with a well-meaning friend. When I got home, I said to Mr C&K, “I feel like an alien in my own life.” I felt completely detatched and cut off from just about everyone else on the planet.

There were a very small number of people who made me feel understood and seen. One of them was someone I didn’t even know all that well at the time, who had gone through a breakup around the same time. Over the course of a few months, our two person #BrokenHeartClub (or #BoozyBrokenHeartClub on the more difficult days) evolved into a friendship I’m profoundly grateful for.

My best friend and his boyfriend let me crash with them for a few days in the immediate aftermath while I got my head back on straight. My bestie alternately took me out and got me drunk in healing queer spaces (Eastenders-themed drag? Surprisingly good medicine for a broken heart!) and let me rage-sob on his sofa.

Finding love again

I had to save this one for last. It’s ultimately one of the most significant pieces of this story and the most difficult to find adequate words for.

There’s something a little paradoxical here. After a breakup, we’re not supposed to start looking for a new relationship until we’re fully healed. We’re supposed to get over a broken heart before we try to find love again. Yet, at a certain point, there is a form of healing that happens within a new relationship. If you want to learn to trust again, at some point you need to practice trusting someone. If you want to fall in love again, at some point you need to let yourself fall.

I met my now-girlfriend Em on a dating app in late October. Our connection was fast. We both read the other’s profile and had a moment of “were you made for me!?”. But it was also slow, in that it was over two months before we could spend time together in person. In those two months, we clocked up over 40 hours of phone and video calls.

On January 7th at 8pm, she walked into the bar and she smiled at me and I knew. On January 7th at 10pm, she asked me to be her girlfriend. Then, on January 26th, I told her I love her. Was I terrified to try again? Of course. But at some point, you have to feel the fear and try again anyway.

She was the final and most crucial piece. She profoundly sees me, understands me, holds me in the messiness and vulnerability of all that I am and have been and all that I might be in the future. With her, I felt able to take that risk. To trust someone. To stare down the fear of opening myself up to that kind of pain again and decide she was worth the risk.

She was – is – everything I needed in a new love. And she found me at the perfect moment.

If you’re trying to get over a broken heart, I hope this gave you a little comfort. I know you’ll get through it. Listen I love you joy is coming.