Making the bed for your meta

A while ago, my kitten had a date with one of her other partners on a Friday, and he’d be spending the night. As usual, I’d slept over at her house from Thursday to Friday, and I was helping a bit to tidy up before he got there.

She asked me if I’d mind changing the bed, and I told her I would.

As I was changing the sheets my mind went “In poly, everybody talks about the hot sex and the emotional labour, but nobody ever mentions the amount of laundry!”

I chuckled to myself a bit, but also noted how I felt in that moment.

It was a simple, cosy feeling. Making sure my meta would have a nice, clean place to sleep, that he’d be comfortable and happy. It’s a special kind of compersion, to do small acts of kindness for your metamours, knowing that you share a bond through loving the same person.

That small, happy moment got rudely interrupted by my brainweasels, saying “You should hate this.”

Now, that made me pause what I was doing.

I know my brainweasels are in a real sense just a part of me, but the things they like to whisper in my ear are often the things I’ve been told when I was young.

In this case, the message was that I shouldn’t feel happy and content. I should very grudgingly accept the fact that “my woman” sleeps with other men (because of course only men count!), only because it allows me to sleep with other women. And I should make damn sure I’d have at least as much sex as she did, or I’d be a laughing stock.

I quit making the bed, sat down for a moment, and took a deep breath. I let the feeling wash over me. These thoughts were so toxic they were nearly laughable, yet they made my gut clench.

They weren’t really mine though, so I did my best to treat the fear with kindness.

I’m her Daddy, she’s my kitten. It’s a cute dynamic, but there is also a deeper truth underneath it. Cats are only yours as long as they choose to be with you. You don’t truly own a cat. If you treat a cat badly, it will wander off to find a better home.

But also: once you’re a cat’s person, they’ll stick with you. They’ll comfort you when you’re sick, they’ll offer support when they can. And cats may love to go on adventures, they always come home.

That’s us. That’s always been us.

I don’t own her, nor would I ever want to. That voice from the brainweasels, it’s just my upbringing. It’s my dad’s ghost telling me that I’m a naive idiot who needs to learn that people are out to get you, that they’ll take advantage of you the moment your back is turned.

Most of my growth over the past few years has come from me accepting that actually, I’m OK as I am. I have flaws, I have stuff to learn, but at the core, I’m a good person trying his best. All these “lessons” in how I’d need to change to survive: they may have been well-intended, but ultimately they were just harmful.

I don’t want to spend my life looking over my shoulder. That’s not a life worth living. So, I’m choosing to trust.

And if anybody would indeed laugh at me? Well, thank you for showing me you’re not the type of person I want in my life.