Reflections on Three Decades of Monogamy

This past May, my husband and I marked our 28th wedding anniversary. For the past 29 years, Cesar has also been my one sexual partner.

Our marriage is strictly monogamous, not because we love each other deeply — which we do — but because this is what works for us. Love, it turns out, is not enough to render monogamy a framework where both partners’ dignity and personal growth are valued.

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Growing up, my peers and I were taught unambiguous rules about sex. We learned them at home, at Catholic school, from our parents’ friends, from telenovelas. Such rules included:

Men have a much stronger sex drive than women. Sometimes they can’t control it, so they have sex with easy women.
Men need sex more than women.
It’s fine for men to have sex before marriage. Women must remain pure until their wedding day.

Like most of my peers, I bought into these rules — at first. I began to question them in my mid-teenage years when their cruel, oppressive consequences started to dawn on me.

I now know, for instance, how this setup played out for my mom’s friend Claudia, whom we called Tía Clau. A decade or so before she passed, Tía Clau confided in me that, years before, she’d wanted to divorce her husband. She didn’t say why exactly, but it was a well-known fact that Tío Ramón had had numerous affairs, one of which resulted in a son.

“No one supported me in doing this, not even my sisters.”

I’ve never heard a critical word about Tío Ramón out of my mother’s mouth. I’ve heard her and other women comment on how he looked like a movie star. He was indeed exceptionally handsome. Tía Clau, in turn, was just pretty. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, but it’s as if his looks further justified the cheating.

Of course, had Tía Clau cheated back, so to say, everyone would have condemned it and considered it a sound reason for Tío Ramón to leave her.

Monogamy certainly didn’t work for my Tía Clau. Oppression never works for the oppressed.

Any relationship — monogamous or otherwise- — that robs a person of their dignity is a failed relationship. Because sex is largely about power, monogamy can easily trample on the dignity of one of the partners in the relationship.

For us humans, the reproductive function of sex merely scratches the surface of its significance. Peculiar and plotting beings that we are, we’ve created privilege and social orders based on all manner of categories. One such category is of course gender, as in male vs female.

Gender has forever been of utmost relevance when it comes to the sexual behaviors we deem acceptable. Whether you’re a man or a woman makes all the difference in what you can get away with. I’m talking about sexism, of course, what we call machismo in my native Venezuela, and what rendered monogamy such an oppressive setup for my Aunt Clau.

What’s expected and acceptable has dramatically changed in Venezuela since I got married. Still, I’m certain my upbringing shaped my sexual personality, as it were, and predisposed me to embrace monogamy. I know too that my relationship works because I’m in a marriage of equals.

. . .

I’ve found that, as with all relational arrangements, there are misconceptions surrounding monogamy.

In a monogamous marriage, the flawed thinking goes, each individual looks to the spouse to meet his or her need for connection at all levels.

It ought not be so, however. Other people should be sources of companionship, friendship, support, consolation, understanding, acceptance, judgment, criticism, even physical contact — not just the one partner.

Needy relationships, except for parent-child ones, burn out. My husband and I are lucky to have multiple sources of connection. Cesar happens to be good at making and keeping friendships. I have my five sisters, who are my best friends.

What about romance and desire? Psychotherapist Esther Perel has studied just what might keep them alive in long-term relationships.

As Perel explains in her TED talk, The secret to desire in a long-term relationship, individuals are most drawn to their partners when they’ve been apart for a good while, when they witness their partner in their element (engaged in an activity they’re passionate about, for example), and when they discover novelty in the partner.

Couples must build in opportunities and give each other space to make these three elements possible. As Perel puts it, “Committed sex is premeditated sex. It’s willful. It’s intentional. It’s focus and presence.”

I can attest to the power of time apart to fan desire. Cesar and I have had plenty of it, sometimes out of necessity, other times by choice. Once, when Cesar unexpectedly walked in the door a day early from a pretty long trip, I tackled him to the floor, so overcome by desire that, were it not for my sons being home, we’d have had sex right then and there. This never would’ve happened if he’d just gotten home from work one hour earlier than usual.

Neediness is a close cousin of tiresome and boring and sure to stifle desire. It also robs partners of the time and energy to engage in independent passionate pursuits and in offering novelty. It produces resentment and eliminates the very qualities that spark romance and desire.

Our roles and responsibilities, as well as the components of our relationship, including sex, have evolved. After 29 years, Cesar and I now engage more in what Perel calls “premeditated sex”. I imagine this would be the case in any long-lasting relationship, whether or not it’s monogamous.

We change, and so does the world around us. Because of this, every long-lasting relationship is necessarily a work in progress. Perhaps this is what keeps them interesting and worthwhile.

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This post was previously published on Hello, Love and is republished here with permission from the author.
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