If it hurts, that's not the way

Recently, someone shared this article with me. I had seen it before, but I refused to read it because I assumed the title had nothing to do with me. I thought, I know all the red flags of an abusive relationship—I don’t need to read them again because if they were there, I would have already noticed.

Still, I read it, and I came across this line:

“For years, I lived with almost constant anxiety, thinking it was normal to live like that because I was poly and being poly was supposed to be hard. When you’re part of a minority, you look for a community to support you. My community was the mainstream poly self-help space. It told me to keep trying, that difficult was normal, that poly was very hard work—you know, like a job.” – Inés Rolo

The article is called I Was in an Abusive Polyamorous Relationship for 7 Years… This Is What I Learned. That first part of the quote resonated so deeply with what I was living that it stopped me cold. I had been feeling anxious, stressed, and in constant conflict for months. But I thought that was normal. Right?

As someone who teaches polyamory and non-monogamous relationships, I’m basically a walking library of theory and tools to deal with these situations. Every crisis led me to research more, learn more, grow more. So what was going on?

Here’s what I’ve learned.

Before I continue, I need to clarify: none of my current relationships are with abusive people. And that’s exactly what kept me from seeing the real problem, because my partners are loving, compassionate, and ethical.

The problem was me.
The abuse was coming from me, toward myself.

From fairy tale to torture

I’ve struggled with anxiety and a certain level of paranoia my entire life. To manage it, I’ve been in psychotherapy, where I’ve learned how to live with it and move forward. I tend to work until I’m exhausted and keep my schedule packed every day. My partner jokes when I say I want to take a class: “You can schedule it during your free time—I think you’ve got a couple of hours between 1 and 3 a.m.”

When I started exploring polyamory, I did it with a partner I had been with for over five years. That relationship was built on communication, love, care, trust, and deep connection. I used to say it wasn’t a fairy tale—it was a textbook example of a healthy, nurturing relationship. People would see our social media and think it couldn’t be real. But it was. Always.

Polyamory, because of what it requires, exposes every crack and every fossilized belief. You have to redefine what a relationship is, what commitment means, what intimacy and fidelity look like. You have to face your insecurities and confront your deepest fears.

But I, psychologist and extraordinary man, was ready. Because when I decide I’m going to do something, I do it—no matter the cost.

That was my first mistake.
Being willing to pay any price.

Abusive behaviors

Of course, the transition involved many changes and a lot of effort from both my partner and me. Motivated, trusting, and still loving each other like we did at the beginning, we jumped in.

Being the academic nerd that I am, I committed myself to reading, learning, and researching everything I could to be better prepared.

I made sure to treat my partner with all the ethics I’m capable of. I took my rigid beliefs and forced myself to loosen them. Anything that didn’t “fit” within polyamory, according to theory, I removed from myself.

The process looked like this:
Find something in me that created conflict (like jealousy), deconstruct it to uncover the underlying insecurity (fear of abandonment), and figure out how to work through it.

When I started doing that, I reached a place of deep darkness and fear. There were days I cried in desperation, telling myself this was what had to be done—that I had to cross the forest to reach the clearing. I dragged myself forward while my body begged me to stop.

That’s not an option, I told myself. You’re going to do this because you have to.

Being an expert doesn’t make you invulnerable

In my life, I’ve survived situations of abuse and pain. I convinced myself that each one made me the strong, resilient, admirable, capable man I am today. So obviously, this was just another challenge. At some point, the parts of me I didn’t like would die off and make space for something new.

Then I read another line in the article:

“I didn’t know that pain is always a warning. Our bodies and feelings know what’s going on before we do—even if our minds convince us otherwise. Paying attention to what I feel was one of the biggest lessons I learned.” – Inés Rolo

As a Gestalt psychotherapist, I’m very aware of my emotions. I can identify them, observe them, embrace them, live them. In my professional work, I help others do the same.

I’ve learned there are no toxic people, only toxic relationships.

But as the author says, that knowledge gave me a false sense of security. I imagine it like a personal trainer at the gym thinking they can’t get injured because they know the equipment so well.

When I felt sad, lonely, afraid, abandoned, I told myself it was normal. It was all in my head, and I just had to stay there and live through it. Survive it. Once I got to the other side, everything would be better.

And you know what? It worked. After every crisis, I felt a little stronger.

So I concluded I was doing the right thing.
That I was just growing.

My abuser was me

And the red flags were there the whole time. Reading Inés’ article made me realize it.

Why didn’t I see it?
How could an expert like me miss such obvious signs of an abusive relationship?

Simple.
Because the person abusing me wasn’t my partner—it was me.

I never forgave myself for any mistake. Every time I slipped into a feeling or thought I considered unacceptable, I punished myself relentlessly.

When I faced situations that felt overwhelming, I forced myself through them. When my body screamed at me—tight muscles, high blood pressure, getting sick—I told myself I just needed to be stronger.

I isolated myself from my social circles because all my time had to be dedicated to working on what I struggled with. I protected everyone else from discomfort or pain, even if it meant sacrificing my own safety and emotional integrity.

What more signs of an abusive relationship did I need?

Worse, I used all the tools for healthy relationships against myself.

Instead of observing my emotions with compassion, I dissected them until I was exhausted and numb. I forced myself to deconstruct everything all at once, immediately—no matter the fatigue or pain.

Where was that compassion I speak about so easily when it comes to others?

If someone else treated me the way I’ve treated myself these past months, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to defend myself and leave.

If someone treated one of my partners the way I treat myself, it would break my heart.

What do you do with an abuser?

You leave them.

It’s hard, because an abuser makes you believe you need them to survive. And when they’re embedded in every part of your life, leaving them means changing everything you know.

Sometimes it feels easier to keep living in pain than to start over.

Don’t do it alone. Once you recognize what’s happening, surround yourself with people who nurture you, love you, and prioritize your well-being. They will help you regain strength and leave at the right moment.

See? I do know things.

The problem is… I can’t leave myself.
Or can I?

If it hurts, that’s not the way

When you exercise, there’s a certain discomfort that comes with muscle growth. It’s not comfortable, and it’s not always pleasant. Sometimes, when you work something new, you can barely move the next day.

But you know something is wrong when you get injured.

Pain and discomfort are different.

It’s hard to explain, but I think we naturally know the difference. If you bend a joint beyond what it’s designed for, it feels different. If you injure a muscle, it feels different than working it.

My body knows the difference.
My body tells me.

I’m the one who doesn’t listen.

Is the problem polyamory? No.

I’ve always abused myself. I can just see it more clearly now because relationships are my area of expertise.

Luckily, I know what to do. I know how to move forward. I have the privilege of having the knowledge, the awareness, and the support of incredible people who will help me.

If you find yourself in an abusive relationship—with someone else or with yourself—do you know where to look for help?

You can find people like you in our community. Check it out here.