The story follows my evolving beliefs about sex, love, monogamy, and polyamory as a wife and mother. In my quest to redefine what’s possible for women, I continually experiment—sometimes bravely, sometimes destructively—within an unconventional marriage spanning from the mid-1980s to the mid-2010s.

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I didn’t want a conventional life. My desire for some form of security was undermined by another desire: I wanted to feel the freedom that Henk felt to do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Marriage wasn’t my objective, I reaffirmed to myself over unsugared coffee. I wanted a different kind of partnership, one focused on mutual support as two independent artists. I wanted an alternative path, one that didn’t depend on material success or monogamy. As far as making enough money to survive, I felt resourceful enough to figure it out myself. I clung to the notion that Henk would never amass the resources to control me, or my decisions, or, for that matter, the life of my future child. If I made more money than he did, it meant not handing control over to a man.I had grown to disdain that kind of ambition in men because it overshadowed everything, leaving me feeling powerless. I wanted to revolutionize my role as a mother, subvert and redefine what was possible. Which really meant I didn’t want to be like my own mother, who gave up a potential career as a jazz musician to have six kids, and to help my dad publish a magazine. I wanted to define motherhood for myself, while not giving up my artistic ambitions. As I considered Joe’s story, I affirmed that I needed a mate who would support me in that endeavor. Joe seemed game. 

We didn’t want to conform to the expectations of our parents or friends. We convinced ourselves having babies and getting married was so not punk that it was punk. 

The calm part of me dissolved into a quivering, terrorized child. What have I done? Jealousy and rage were brewing in the cauldron of my gut. I didn’t know what to say because I had no moral high ground.