What can monogamous people learn from non-monogamy?

This was her response after I mentioned that I was already in a committed, non-open relationship. Perhaps unusually, my role as an advocate in sex-positive spaces means I’m sometimes left feeling like the only monogamous person in the room, as evidenced by the flirtatious woman’s surprise. I’m OK with that; if anything, it’s a crucial reminder to remember my privileges. Whenever I feel like an outsider, I can just as easily open my phone to find insensitive jokes at the expense of poly people, or reflect on how marriage, law, inheritance, and more are still built on the assumption of the nuclear family.

A natural consequence of being surrounded by non-monogamous people is perhaps to interrogate your own identity. I did my own exploration, tried negotiating some more flexible relationship terms with a partner once, read The Ethical Slut, and eventually concluded that with my own particular strain of attachment issues, monogamy does indeed work best for me. (Not negating the fact that non-monogamy can also be helpful for many people navigating attachment patterns). Still, I learned a lot from that exploratory period, and I continue to learn from my non-monogamous friends and educators. 

Many monogamous people risk assuming that monogamy itself requires no reflection or work. When I tried other relationship models for myself, what really appealed to me was the freedom to create our own agreements within relationships. Non-monogamy offered a rejection of the cultural expectation that we should inherit what’s been handed to us, from a time when women were considered “property” and gender roles were restrictive. What I hadn’t realized then was that I could carry lessons from non-monogamy into monogamy; I could still shape my relationships and boundaries on my own terms, rather than readily accepting what had been passed down. 

With this in mind, here are the lessons non-monogamy has taught me, that I believe monogamous relationships can benefit from.

You can define what infidelity means to you 

“Cheating,” “not cheating,” “not cheating but disrespectful.” Those are the three categories for a TikTok #CouplesChallenge where (primarily monogamous) couples hear a list of scenarios, and must decide which response applies. Oftentimes, one partner is surprised to discover what their significant other does or does not believe qualifies as infidelity. You’d assume most would agree that having sex with someone outside of a monogamous relationship counts as cheating (about 9 in 10 Americans say so). But the consensus drops for situations like lying about spending time with another person (80%) and forming an emotional attachment (73%). Some scenarios differ sharply by gender, others surely depend on the context, but all reveal important questions we should be asking each other to be clear on what constitutes betrayal.

The fact that this TikTok challenge even exists is telling; that there is so much debate and uncertainty about what cheating is within comment sections, or even established long-term partnerships. Upon seeing videos, I interpreted the challenge as an indicator that monogamous people are struggling with boundary-setting, and yearn for clearer communication. Sure, we’re still beating around the bush, but in a way, this development was exciting to me. Monogamous people had invented a creative, socially acceptable way to start conversations that mainstream society tells us we shouldn’t need to have. It’s one thing to not initiate a conversation about what cheating means because doing so would be out of the ordinary. It’s another to assume you don’t need to have a conversation about cheating because we should all be operating on the same definition of what cheating—or, indeed, a relationship—means. Similarly to compulsory heterosexuality, monogamy operates as the default. When we assume we’re all using the same system, we don’t bother discussing how that system actually works. There's another, more insidious component to compulsory monogamy though: we’re taught that straight up asking the question is wrong. 

I learned this lesson the hard way. When I was 19, my university took our class on an international trip. I was in a monogamous relationship at the time, and my emotional needs generally weren’t being met. This person clearly didn’t want to spend as much time together or communicate as often as I'd like. As a teenager, I lacked the self-awareness and maturity to understand that or put it into words, and when someone else on the trip started giving me romantic attention, I felt guilty for simply enjoying it. I felt like a cheater every time I talked to this other person, which inspired me to ask my partner at the time what cheating even meant to him. His response? I was met with anger.

So, I found out early on: when you ask someone you’re dating to define infidelity, the question alone might indicate that you have different perceptions (but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask it). I know now that it’s naive to assume you’re on the same page without clear definitions. More than that, though, it’s painful to feel like you can’t ask without risking the relationship itself. That’s the culture that dominant and compulsory monogamy has left us with. A society that stigmatizes anything outside of monogamy (while struggling to define monogamy consistently) leaves us all guessing, and sometimes, accidentally hurting one another.

If we want to normalize this conversation beyond the context of a TikTok challenge, we need a cultural shift. That means readily opening conversations with current and potential partners, and eliminating judgment toward non-monogamous people, who have been navigating and defining these boundaries long before the rest of us. Even within monogamy, relationships aren’t always exclusive: situationships or “talking phases” exist. Talking about what non-betrayal looks like in these liminal stages could spare everyone some heartbreak. 

Jealousy can be worth unpacking

I was five years into therapy and working on regulating a number of different psychological patterns: my anxiety, my scattered brain, my tendency to ruminate, my time-blindness. Around then, I stumbled across a post by non-monogamous educator Sam Cat about jealousy. They had created a worksheet for moments when jealousy arose—part of which involved familiarizing yourself with the discomfort that jealousy can create. 

That struck me. Like my anxiety, my jealousy often stemmed from irrational thoughts and jumping to conclusions without evidence. I treated anxiety as something worth working on, yet my jealousy went unchecked. Why shouldn’t I learn to self-soothe when I get jealous, the same way I do with anxious thoughts?

I’ve been told that “don’t you get jealous?” is a contender for the top three questions non-monogamous people get asked way too often. Monogamous people often assume their non-monogamous counterparts are simply built differently; that they don’t feel jealousy the way monogamous people do, or else they’d never choose that kind of dynamic. The truth is that many of us, regardless of relationship style, may experience jealousy. In some instances jealousy might feel mild, hardly noticeable; in others it can feel all-consuming. 

The difference seems to be that, in monogamous culture, jealousy is not only accepted, it’s somewhat celebrated. If you were to subscribe to the messaging pushed by a range of mono-heteronormative social media influencers, you’d see “jealousy” framed as proof of “love”—often weaponized into controlling a partner’s behavior, from clothing choices to friendships. What if we all reframed our thinking about jealousy? What if instead of passively accepting jealousy, we asked where it came from? Perhaps it’s insecurity, but how can we unlearn the narratives we’ve absorbed about worth and love? Perhaps it’s trauma, so how can we stop projecting and instead trust that our partners are different from those who have hurt us in the past? 

Looking inward can be a part of healthily processing jealousy, as is initiating open conversations about jealousy with a partner. Tammy Nelson, author of Open Monogamy, offers couples some frameworks to start talking. She suggests phrases like: “When you_____ it makes me feel_____.” “I might be doing_____ to participate in some of those feelings.” ”I need_____ from you right now.”  If a partner is expressing their own jealousy, you can ask questions like: “What is upsetting for you about our recent experiences?” “What are some things that make you uncomfortable?” “What do you think we should change?” 

There’s also the concept of compersion—which may provide comfort to some monogamous people. This term refers to sympathetic joy, essentially the opposite of jealousy. Think about instances when your partner gets good news, a promotion at their job, or a friend of theirs is getting married. Their happiness doesn’t directly involve you, and it may not affect your life at all, but your empathy allows you to feel genuinely happy with them. Within non-monogamy, many people intentionally re-frame feelings of jealousy into this sympathetic joy; feeling glad that their partner is having enjoyable romantic, sexual, and emotional experiences with others. While that exact dynamic likely does not translate for monogamous people, the underlying ethos still applies. In monogamy, sympathetic joy that opposes jealousy could look like, for example, feeling happy that your partner is spending time with friends even though they’re apart from you. 

Your partner might be attracted to other people

Cultural conditioning around monogamy sells us another message: in a relationship, you should only be attracted to your partner, and your partner should only be attracted to you. But it’s normal to experience attraction to others even if you’re in a monogamous relationship. Many of us might be able to recall moments when we found a stranger hot while in a monogamous relationship, and can therefore assume our partner has too. For example, in a study of women who had been in a monogamous relationship for at least three years, findings indicated that it was common for them to experience attraction and even crushes on people outside of those relationships. 

Dr. Heath Schechinger agrees that “in today’s relationship landscape, many find it profoundly helpful to recognize… feelings of non-monogamous attraction,” and that “it’s imperative to cultivate an atmosphere of acceptance and open dialogue.” 

Typically within monogamous relationships, any attraction to someone else goes unspoken, largely out of fear that it will trigger anger or conflict. But instead, it could be helpful to find ways to navigate this within your relationship. You can frame these conversations as a way to co-create boundaries: you two could decide to keep certain feelings to yourself, share them openly, or maybe only express them when the crush is a celebrity, for example. This might become a way to know one another on a deeper level, or alleviate feelings of shame and guilt. Prioritize understanding over judgment, listen with reassurance, and choose language that isn’t accusatory.

The relationship escalator is optional

Monogamy often—but not always—hinges on the so-called “relationship escalator,” a social script which encourages greater and greater levels of commitment: a first date which escalates to emotional and sexual investment, to agreeing to be exclusive, getting engaged, getting married, buying a house, having kids, and so on. Of course, this framework is fulfilling for many—and poly and non-monogamous people may want to follow a similar path, too. Equally, plenty of monogamous people actively choose not to subscribe to all the steps on the escalator of commitment (they might choose not to get married, or not to have children, for example). 

But still, the relationship escalator persists as something that many monogamous people don’t really call into question. Seldom are we prompted to ask ourselves: is this something I really desire for my life, or was I just told that I’m supposed to? 

That’s why I’m urging monogamous people to look inward, to consider whether these kinds of relationship expectations resonate with you and why—whether you’re choosing them because you truly want to, or because you feel you’re “supposed” to.  Maybe you’d still choose to follow the escalator all the way. Or maybe you’d replace some of the steps with life goals that you’d feel more fulfilled by. In the end, a lot of joy can be derived from choice; making decisions for your own life with intention rather than compliance. 

So yes, I’m still monogamous in this economy. I feel confident in my monogamy knowing that it isn’t something passive; it’s an active and ongoing choice. I talk with my partner about whether something as small as accepting a drink from someone at a bar might cross a boundary. I re-consider jealous thoughts when they surface. I understand that both my partner and I find other people attractive, and that doesn’t make either of us bad people. I can explain in detail why I’m excited about having kids, and why I have mixed feelings about marriage. By normalizing these kinds of conversations on a broader scale, we can build greater empathy for people in all types of relationships, and make our own partnerships all the more enriching. 

If you’re ready to explore your newly redefined perception of monogamy, you can tag it as a desire on your Feeld profile—and find the meaningful connections waiting for you.