Disclaimer: In Real Life is a platform for everyday people to share their experiences and voices. All articles are personal stories and do not necessarily echo In Real Life’s sentiments.
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The Bees & The Birds & Their Other Bees & Birds
When I was 17, I thought I caught my mother cheating on my father: I came home half a day early from a trip, walked in the front door, and caught my mother getting ploughed on the living room sofa bed by a guy who was certainly not my father.
That was how I learned that my parents are Polyamorous.
Simply put: My parents are engaged in consented romantic and sexual relationships with other people.
Even as a primary school kid, I notice that something was “different” about my parents. They were not like other parents or people. They were always the chatty, flirty vivacious types, the so-called “life of the party,” on every occasion.
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Literal Strangers In My Home
I think that I started to notice it more when I hit my early teenage years: My parents would host parties on Fridays and Saturdays. I’d get sent to stay with extended family, a neighbour or a friend so their “friends” could stay over too.
There were nights during the week when an “uncle” or “auntie” would suddenly be staying over. I stopped coming home straight after school because I didn’t like finding literal strangers wandering around the house. Sometimes, I think they were more uncomfortable that they were in the house with somebody else’s daughter.
Sometimes these “relatives” would stay for a few days or a few weeks. Rarely, maybe a month or two. They were always nice to me and kept a certain distance from me, and I quickly realized that none of these “extended family members” was around for festivals, and holidays.
I never saw my parents do anything public beyond a chaste kiss, but there was always too much physical contact, and the flirty comments never seemed to stop. The older I got, the less secretive they became.
I didn’t put the pieces together until that fateful day when I saw what I saw. Needless to say, my mother’s fling-du-jour fled half-naked through the front door I’d just walked through. There were moments of silence, and my mother said, “Let me call dad. We…need to talk.”
Source: Mikhail Nilov on pexels.com
Yeah. Dad knew. That one-liner threw my already off-kilter world, completely off its axis.
It took several days, some shouting and yelling at each other to kind of find understanding and a more neutral middle ground. Unfortunately for me, there was no going back to my former naïve self. Ignorance, sometimes, truly is bliss.
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My parents kept trying to explain that they believe that love is a “free spirit,” and that they are just open about love and loving other people. They believe for everyone, love is unique and each new lover gives something unique to the relationship.
My parents think my views on the subject are due to how I “found” out: That walking in on her and one of her lovers left me “shocked” and “traumatised” and “unable to accept this kind of love.”
It’s been a few years since then. I graduated from university just before the pandemic but I’m still not sure if I’m ok with it. It makes living in their house (not home) awkward, to say the least.
I leave early and come home late to avoid everyone. My fantasies involve having my own place so I wouldn’t have to keep hearing so many things going bump in the night.
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Needing Something More … Normal
Don’t get me wrong: My parents were good to me. I had nearly everything I needed growing up, except for perhaps the one thing I needed, and wanted most: A “normal” family.
Looking back, I realize it’s because even as a child, I have never felt close to either of them. I feel that I had to compete with these random strangers dropping in and out of my parents’ lives for attention and affection. I feel pushed aside, because their partners were there, taking my parents away from me at birthdays and other special events.
My 18th and 21st birthdays were strained to say the least. Don’t get me started about my university graduation. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a community out there for bitter, estranged Gen Z with a host of mental health and confidence issues: “Children of the Poly.” That sounds like an incel sub-culture.
It’s a massive unresolved issue between me and my parents, and frankly, I’m not sure I want to talk about it with them, or even know how to. My mother… I know I hurt her with some of the things I said when I caught her and didn’t know about their polyamory. My father keeps trying – I get a lot of “can we have a calm discussion about this?” messages – and I make a conscious effort to bite my tongue.
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How Does This Affect Me?
The whole thing brought something very emotional up in me, and it keeps me permanently angry, dulling other feelings and emotions. I’m seeing a therapist now to try and work it out, and I guess my therapist put it best: Either I figure it out for myself or die with it on my mind.
From where I’m standing, my parents’ lifestyle choices hurt me a lot growing up and gave me a lot of the issues that I’m now trying to sort out and work through.
Until I sort myself out, there’s no space in my life for the parents that neglected me because they were too busy indulging in love and f#cking around.
Do you know anyone with an interesting story to share? Drop us an email at hello@inreallife.my and we may feature the story.
For more stories like this, read:
“I’m 24, he’s 32. I’ve never dated anyone ‘old’ – should I accept him?”
“Modern Dating For Millenials/Gen-Z’s Are Nothing Like In The Movies”
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