My partner is my co-parent, confidant, and intimate companion - but he isn't the sole individual I engage in sexual relations with: the behind-the-scenes narrative of an open marriage

We hold this belief so firmly, often to the extent that even thoughts of others feel perilous; even a glance across a room, lingering for a moment too long. For me, the openness we've introduced into our partnership isn't merely about engaging in physical intimacy with others. It's about each of us being a champion of the other's exploration and happiness throughout life's journey. Recognizing that we each harbor a wide spectrum of desires, we grant each other the freedom to pursue them in both subtle and significant ways: from harboring a fleeting crush on someone we play ultimate Frisbee with, to embarking on an exhilarating date with a captivating physiotherapist I encountered last month. In my experience, it's acts of kindness and transparency that sustain a long-term relationship, rather than the mandate that our sexual identities be confined to one individual for eternity.

I never envisioned having an open marriage (or indeed, getting married at all), and had never engaged in an open relationship prior to this one. In my vague understanding of such arrangements, I perceived them as distasteful, likely imposed upon one partner, and liable to lead to heartbreak. The day I exchanged vows with David arrived before we had ever broached the subject of a less conventional form of partnership. It remains one of the happiest days of my life.

So, how did we arrive here? David and I are quite dissimilar (I'm an introvert while he's an extrovert; I strive too hard to appear composed, while he exudes effortless whimsy), yet we shared an interest in certain pursuits before our paths crossed: dancing, theater, and the vibrant festivals and parties where revelers don eccentric costumes and embark on enchanting journeys.

Prior to meeting, we had both dabbled in London's nightlife scene, attending events like Torture Garden – a name that may evoke fear but, in reality, encompasses a diverse range of tastes, from fetish enthusiasts to those curious about alternative relationships, to individuals primarily drawn to the music and social ambiance. In the initial year of our marriage, we broached the idea of attending together. We had assumed that this realm, which we had only glimpsed before, was now closed to us; discovering otherwise was exhilarating. Our conversation unfolded organically, gradually transitioning from the realm of fantasy to concrete plans. It was not driven by one party, and there was no need for persuasion. We were uncertain how exploring intimacy with others would feel, or whether it was the right path for us. We did not know if jealousy would rear its head.

Together, we returned to Torture Garden and found the experience extraordinary: the attire extravagant, the atmosphere one of liberation yet marked by profound respect, markedly distinct from any environment we had encountered before. As a woman who had spent her formative years frequenting "traditional" clubs, constantly on edge due to unwanted advances and discomforting encounters, these spaces and their emphasis on consent felt revelatory – and incredibly gratifying. That night, we engaged in conversation with fellow attendees, admired their attire and makeup. On the dance floor, we encountered a striking stranger, and shared a kiss. Jealousy did not rear its head. Instead, we felt elated, and undeniably united.

There exist countless permutations of open relationships. My own experience is but one variation, our arrangements deeply personal and subject to evolution. Detailing the specifics is challenging, inviting discomfort from both myself and others, yet essentially, David and I engage in intimate interactions with individuals beyond each other, and for myself, I am drawn to various forms of intimacy regardless of gender. These connections may be fleeting or enduring, but we do not label anyone else as a "partner." We do not keep these encounters hidden from each other; yet, David does not demand access to all my communications.

I feel immensely fortunate to share my life with someone I adore deeply, with whom I share a satisfying sexual connection, who cooks delectable pasta dishes, empathizes with me during menstrual discomfort, and collaborates in raising our children. Because, indeed, we are parents. Parents of two children. Our eldest is six, capable of reading the summaries on the back of my upcoming novel – a fictional exploration of couples embracing non-monogamy – which presents a challenge. Eventually, my children may come across this article.

Despite knowing numerous other couples in open relationships, I acknowledge that most individuals still find it unconventional. Thus far, we have not felt compelled to broach the topic of our openness with our children, nor have we outlined its intricacies – though I often contemplate how those conversations may unfold in the future. However, in sharing my novel with the world, I recognized the difficulty of sidestepping the life experiences that inspired its narrative. By writing pieces such as this, it feels akin to coming out. It is a comparatively straightforward process compared to the coming-out experiences of many around the world. Nonetheless, it is public, exposing, and laden with complexities. We are blessed with supportive families, yet I carry the weight of concern for those closest to us who find this challenging. Some worry for our well-being, fearing potential repercussions stemming from our unconventional relationship and my decision to discuss it openly. Others withdraw, perhaps feeling uneasy or embarrassed. Yet others express intrigue – a sentiment often accompanied by the refrain, "I wish I could do that, but my partner would never agree." While most of my friends are already aware of our lifestyle, I am mindful of those who were not – former colleagues, future employers, past romantic partners – and now will be. Though discomfort may arise, I hope it is mitigated by the liberating act of speaking one's truth and standing firm behind it. My fervent wish is for my children to grow up embracing this understanding.

Becoming parents amplifies a partnership. Previously, one could independently make all decisions. Now, every choice – whether it's working an extra hour or taking a quick jog – likely impacts the other person, who may be occupied with bathing, feeding, tidying, reading stories, or assisting with homework. If one of us desires to go out, the other must attend to the children. If we both crave a night out, trusted loved ones must care for them.

In her insightful work "Mating in Captivity," therapist Esther Perel highlights how modern long-term relationships function as pressure cookers of sorts. Unlike eras past where partners often specialized (one earning, the other cooking, for instance), today's expectations demand that our partner be a confidant, an engaging conversationalist, often a co-parent, and match us in financial contributions. We expect them to share household responsibilities equally, engage in detailed discussions about our shared lives, and fulfill our romantic desires. Perel suggests that this intense intimacy is antithetical to eroticism. Cultivating a sense of otherness in one's partner, she posits, is crucial for sustaining attraction amidst familiarity over time.

Achieving this sense of otherness can occur through various means aside from opening up the relationship: separate vacations, observing one's partner in public speaking engagements, or witnessing them with a new hairstyle. In our relationship, we counteract the routine of long-term love by viewing each other through the eyes of others. Seeing him, gregarious and thoughtful, often adorned in zebra print, allows me to witness the allure others find in him. Meanwhile, I embrace opportunities to don oversized boots, dance with captivating strangers, and revel in my body's form – a feat not always easy for busy, occasionally stressed-out mothers. By attaining a deeper understanding of ourselves sexually, we enrich our connection with each other.

Regarding boundaries, many assume that open relationships entail fewer restrictions. However, individuals in non-monogamous dynamics might argue that they have clearer, more frequently discussed boundaries. My friend Joe astutely pointed out this misconception during a lengthy WhatsApp conversation about non-monogamy. Joe challenged the tagline of my book: Two Couples. No Boundaries. His words dissected that enticing promise like a knife through a ripe peach. Naturally, there are boundaries in the book. In many respects, it explores boundaries – and the act of transgressing them.

David and I have not found it necessary to establish rigid rules for our relationship. Thus far, we have exhibited a mutual understanding and effective communication. We allocate time to address concerns and grievances, often opting for discussions during walks outside the home. Additionally, we openly communicate about intense emotions that occasionally arise: feelings of rejection, hurt, longing, or confusion. While our relationship is far from flawless, and we argue as frequently as any couple, this topic seldom incites conflict between us.

However, navigating this terrain isn't always smooth sailing. Upon returning home after that remarkable night away, I encountered several challenging days. I felt empowered yet on edge. The house remained disheveled, our son struggled with preschool, and David expected me to seamlessly slip back into our routine. Yet, I resisted conformity, feeling a newfound sense of liberation and excitement at the prospect of breaking free from old constraints. My refusal to conform unsettled David, and I struggled to express empathy – buoyed by newfound strength, I felt defiant. Ultimately, we learned that discomforting one's partner isn't catastrophic, provided we offer support, understanding, and refrain from repeating the same actions. This experience deepened our understanding of each other's desires and fears, resonating long after its occurrence. We realized that there were shared interests and desires we could explore independently, alleviating pressure and fostering individual growth.

We implemented some tangible changes as well. That overnight excursion signaled a pivotal moment of transition, both due to its profound impact and its empowerment of my own self, where previously I had felt utterly powerless; looking back, I recognize that I was grappling with postnatal depression, and this experience played a role in lifting me out of that state. Newly emboldened, I perceived avenues for improvement in our lives. We revamped our approach to childcare division, which had previously confined us to the home. The weeks following that getaway are etched in my memory as some of the happiest moments with our children at those ages. One particular day stands out: the four of us dancing around the living room to "Let It Go" from Frozen, forever echoing as an anthem of the liberation of being true to oneself that I experienced that day. Here I stand, and here I’ll stay.

I engage in conversations about intimacy with my close friends, albeit not usually delving into minute details – it's a private matter, and many of us prefer to maintain it as such. Yet, for me, privacy doesn't equate to complete concealment within the confines of our home. I believe in acknowledging the wondrous, electrifying, and occasionally awe-inspiring nature of sexual energy.

Consider, for a moment, the person you've desired most in your entire life. You may recognize certain elements. Initially, there's often a distinct and exhilarating sensation – being "turned on" is aptly named, as it can feel akin to a surge of electricity coursing through you: heightened awareness, a different perspective on the world. Then, you may become aware of the sensation of being forbidden to entertain thoughts of that person. Perhaps it's not your partner. Maybe it's an ex. It's intriguing to ponder what we deem "permissible" in matters of sexuality. I'm not referring to anything illicit or harmful here, just the ordinary fantasies people may entertain but consider taboo. Embracing non-conformity in desire. Embracing restraint.

Certain elements have remained consistent in my sexual journey, like an enduring fascination with Sean Bean (yes, Sean, please feel free to reach out). Others have evolved, waxed and waned. The sexual encounters of my teenage years (plentiful, in hindsight, pleasant and non-traumatic) differed greatly from those of my twenties (still a source of contention between myself and Cambridge University – intellectual hub, perhaps, but certainly not a hotbed of romantic activity). My thirties were rather fulfilling, though punctuated by the upheaval of pregnancy and breastfeeding. I'm tempted to assert that the present moment is the best yet, albeit with certain caveats: the hormonal rollercoaster, which I've always ridden, is becoming more intense.

Like many individuals raised on a diet of Heartbreak High, Jane Austen novels, and Keanu Reeves films, I too harbored dreams of falling in love and envisioned it with a singular individual. I experienced my fair share of heartache losing loved ones, as well as the ache of a long-term single individual yearning for companionship, a journey I wish I had spared myself. I was both astonished and elated when I finally found that one person. However, the societal blueprint for love and sexuality in a monogamous world implies that all experimentation occurs at the outset, after which it ceases. We make a choice. We must, because otherwise, what? Disrepute; obliteration. I'm not proposing that our approach serves as an alternative blueprint. Perhaps it's more about recognizing that blueprints need not be blue; or that we could permit ourselves to experiment with mixed-media collage instead.

People often inquire whether jealousy creeps into our relationship. Yet, why do we harbor jealousy toward the notion of our partner being attracted to someone else? Perhaps we fear we'll pale in comparison to that individual, or we're anxious our partner will abandon us. Throughout our lives, we've been conditioned to view "cheating" as reprehensible and immoral. Perhaps we've experienced the anguish of betrayal firsthand, amplifying this fear.

If one feels desirable and cherished, if they trust that their partner will remain steadfast, and if they reevaluate society's insistence on monogamy, jealousy loses its grip. Admittedly, I consider myself fortunate not to be predisposed to jealousy. Had I experienced betrayal in the past, my perspective might differ. It's worth noting that the choices we make within our marriage feel diametrically opposed to cheating, rather than adjacent to it. Additionally, our "monogamish" relationship differs significantly, in its unwavering certainty of our commitment to each other, from other forms of consensually non-monogamous relationships, and from polyamory. Not superior; simply distinct.

Amidst obligations such as securing school placements and managing mortgages, life inevitably narrows. I cherish our access to diverse realms, for the transgender woman or the male-bodied individual in a latex dress I encounter on the dancefloor are markedly different from those I meet during the school run. Or, and this notion fills me with hope and joy, perhaps they're not. Perhaps, by having access to more liberated spaces, I've learned to see beyond the surface, challenging my assumptions about people and allowing them to embody their true selves. It's undeniably challenging to remain authentic while wrangling children at a five-year-old's birthday party or pushing a crying infant through a chilly park after a night of interrupted sleep. I'm not suggesting that being a devoted parent or enjoying a monogamous relationship aren't commendable choices. I adore parenthood, and I've cherished monogamy. However, in the present moment – particularly as a bustling urban mother juggling work, administrative tasks, online grocery orders, and bike maintenance, with "normalcy" occasionally feeling like an anchor on my capacity to feel carefree – this exploration serves as a remarkable counterpoint.

Fiction often imparts lessons on the repercussions of infidelity: typically, the dissolution of the relationship and often, the erosion of one's sense of self. From Madame Bovary to Sex and the City: The Movie, most narratives convey the message that infidelity marks an irredeemable endpoint. But what if harboring desires for others isn't unforgivable, nor does it signify the end? That notion ignited the spark for my book and, I suppose, remains one of the many sparks igniting my married life.