This evening, I experienced a surprising epiphany: for the past decade, I’ve unintentionally been engaged in open relationships. This revelation took me by surprise.

Over the last ten years, my romantic life has been a series of casual entanglements, rarely progressing to the definitive “what are we?” conversation. On the rare occasions that conversation did occur, it often led to one of us opting to retreat.

However, tonight it became clear that throughout this period, I’ve effectively been navigating open relationships without consciously realizing it.

In today’s dating landscape, the absence of an official boyfriend-girlfriend label often implies the freedom to see other people.

And that’s exactly what happened—I explored other connections, and so did my partners.

This realization hits home, especially considering my longstanding skepticism about open relationships. Despite hearing horror stories from friends, insights from divorce attorneys, and various statistics, I now see that I’ve willingly participated in this dynamic for years without acknowledging it.

I turned a blind eye to rumors and gossip about the men I was dating. And I certainly didn’t divulge my own dalliances either.

So yes, technically, I’ve been in open relationships for a very long time.

I turned a blind eye to rumours and gossip about the men I was dating. And I certainly didn’t divulge my own dalliances either.

For the past decade I’ve jumped from one situationship to another, very rarely making it to the dreaded ‘what are we?’ chat

And how did I stumble upon this realization?

Well, I recently found myself going on quite a few dates with just one man. I know. Bravo me.

We went on wildly romantic dates, spent entire weekends together, met each other’s friends. It all felt very green flag. And after two and a half months of dating, a few red wines deep, I decided it was time to tell him I wanted us to be exclusive.

I’m an anxious avoidant, so vulnerability doesn’t come naturally. But I put my big girl panties on and I did it.

His reaction, however, did not follow the script I’d been playing in my head. The one where he smiles, looks relieved and tells me he’d love that.

Nope.

His first response was a very clear no, followed by, ‘Let’s talk about it in the morning.’

By morning, I’d already high-tailed it out of there.

Mortified by his reaction, there was no way I was sticking around to hear him reaffirm his desire to keep sleeping with other people. My sensitive heart wanted absolutely no part in that.

When he woke up and later chastised me for leaving, I felt awful.

So, a week later, we went on a long walk, and he explained that he’d been married twice, for most of his adult life, and now that he was finally out of those relationships, he needed more time to be by himself.

He also reminded me that his last marriage had been open and that he wasn’t exactly opposed to that arrangement.

Was he suggesting we do the same?

Spoiler alert: yes, he was.

A few weeks later, after two mandatory martinis, I raised the exclusivity conversation again. This time he said:

‘Put it this way. Let’s keep seeing each other, and if other opportunities arise and it feels right, we go with them. In the meantime, we keep seeing each other and see how this goes. If it goes well, then we’ll have the exclusive chat.’

In other words, a beautifully constructed word salad that still meant he wasn’t planning on shutting up shop anytime soon.

I managed to hold it together until I reached my car. Then it was full waterworks, dear reader.

The old me, the me of ten years ago, would have swallowed it and said ‘Okay,’ quietly hoping he’d change his mind. Oh, the delusion. I’ve held out far longer than a couple of months with men like this before.

He also reminded me that his last marriage had been open and that he wasn’t exactly opposed to that arrangement

But this time I recognized the pattern.

I could see exactly where this was heading. Another unintentional open relationship. Another slow erosion of my needs. Another version of myself waiting patiently for a man to choose me.

And I realized something else too.

It’s not that open relationships don’t work for anyone. It’s that they don’t work for me. And pretending otherwise has cost me years of clarity, and more than a few tears in parked cars.

So, this time, instead of agreeing to something that would quietly break my own heart, I chose to walk away.

Not dramatically. Not angrily. Just honestly.

Because if I’ve learned anything from a decade of accidental open relationships, it’s that wanting exclusivity doesn’t make me needy or unreasonable.

It simply makes me honest.