Hello Pleasure Activists,

 

Again and again, I see one particular misunderstanding in how people approach love. It is the belief that love is best protected by controlling actions. The logic goes something like this: if we can limit who our partner kisses, touches, sleeps with, or dreams about, then our relationship will be safe. This is a model our culture has taught for centuries, woven into marriage vows, romantic films, and casual conversations between friends.

 

From a psychological perspective, this framework places the foundation of safety outside the relationship’s emotional core. It makes security contingent on behavioral compliance, rules, and restrictions rather than on the felt sense of the connection itself. While these rules can offer momentary reassurance, they often keep the nervous system in a subtle state of hypervigilance, scanning for signs of boundary-crossing. This is what I call exclusivity of action, the attempt to preserve love through limitation.

 

But what if we brought in a new frame to the power of exclusivity, one that shifts the focus from controlling a partner’s actions to recognizing the singular, unrepeatable bond you share? This is what I call exclusivity of connection, the understanding that no matter how much someone else may also love, desire, or cherish your partner, they cannot replicate what exists between the two of you.

 

This is not just theory for me. It is lived experience.

 

For many years, I believed in exclusivity of action with my whole heart. I thought it was the scaffolding holding my relationships together. I held onto the rules as if they were my only protection from heartbreak, and I felt special because I was the only one allowed into certain parts of my partner’s world.

 

When I decided to give up those rules to practice non-monogamy, my brain had to relearn where to find security. I realized how much I had still been looking to exclusivity of action to keep me safe, even after choosing a different path. It was a process of retraining my sense of safety to rest in something deeper. That belief was tested quickly. When a partner kissed someone else or fell into late-night conversation with them, my stomach tightened and my thoughts raced toward the fear that the connection was slipping away.

 

Slowing down revealed something I had not expected. The bond between us did not dissolve in the presence of others. It remained steady, humming in the background like a melody that could not be silenced. Even when they were far away, the imprint of what we shared was still there, alive and intact.

 

It was like realizing that loving roses does not mean you cannot also love jasmine or wild lavender. The beauty of one does not diminish the other. Each exists in its own right.

 

One of the clearest examples of this shift came through my work in The Pleasure Practice. A client came to me in deep distress. Her partner was developing a new romantic relationship, and every photo of them together felt like a threat. “I feel like I am being replaced,” she told me, her voice tight with anxiety.

 

We began by slowing everything down. Instead of feeding the mental spiral, we turned toward her body. She described a cold, heavy sensation in her chest. We stayed with it, noticing its edges and exploring the story it carried. That story told her that love is scarce, that attention is finite, and that her partner’s joy with someone else could only mean less joy with her.

 

Over the weeks, we began gathering evidence that told a different story. There was the private language between them, a rhythm of words and pauses no one else would understand. The way their bodies leaned toward each other instinctively in a crowded room. The memory of a particular touch, known only to them, that carried years of history in its softness. Each example reminded her that these were not interchangeable gestures of affection. They were the unmistakable signature of their relationship.

 

One afternoon, she sat across from me with tears in her eyes and said, “After exploring my own connections, I finally get it. I enjoy each of my relationships in their own way, and my partner is just doing the same. The connection we share is unique, and nothing can change that.” I could see the shift in her posture. Her shoulders released downward, her breath moved more freely. The fear did not vanish completely, but it no longer held her captive.

 

This is the heart of exclusivity of connection: the understanding that your relationship’s magic does not exist in the absence of others. It exists because of the living, breathing bond you have built.

 

From a clinical standpoint, this shift is a move from externalized to internalized security. Externalized security says, “I am safe because you do not do these things with others.” Internalized security says, “I am safe because what we share cannot be replicated.” This reorientation changes how the nervous system engages with intimacy. Instead of scanning for threats, it rests in trust.

 

I know this can sound almost impossible if you are in the middle of jealousy or fear. The mind protests: What if they decide they prefer someone else? What if I get left behind? These are valid concerns because relationships sometimes do end. But here is the truth. Controlling your partner’s actions cannot prevent that outcome, and allowing their freedom does not cause it.

 

When we try to secure love through control, we often diminish the very intimacy we are trying to preserve. Control breeds resentment and can make love feel conditional. It shifts our view of our partner from a free, sovereign being to something we possess.

 

And, there is nothing more erotic or more deeply nourishing than being chosen freely.

 

I remember a night early in my non-monogamy journey when a partner came home after a date with someone else. A familiar tension stirred low in my stomach, but I met it with a slow breath and asked about their evening. As they spoke, their face softened and brightened with joy, the kind that comes from being fully alive in the world. Listening, I was reminded of the vastness of who they are, beyond their connection to me, beyond the moments we share.

 

That individuation actually deepened my longing and adoration, and I saw more clearly that our bond was never defined by what we kept from others. It was, and always will be, defined by what we create together. And in that moment, hearing about their connection with someone else and feeling my own love for them expand, I realized we were touching a kind of closeness most people never imagine is possible. It was the intimacy found in places many fear to go, the kind they believe would break a relationship, yet here it was bringing us even closer.

 

This is the invitation of exclusivity of connection: to anchor yourself in the truth that your love’s uniqueness is not fragile. It does not disappear when someone else enters the picture. If the connection is real, it cannot be replicated.

 

This shift takes time. It asks you to untangle decades of cultural conditioning. It asks you to sit in the rawness of vulnerability, to feel without immediately acting, and to trust something deeper than rules. In return, it offers a love that can breathe, expand, and evolve without breaking.

 

If you find yourself in this process, whether you are expanding your relationship agreements or simply questioning the old rules, notice where your sense of safety lives. Is it rooted in controlling actions, or in recognizing connection? If it is the first, what might it feel like to experiment with the second, even in the smallest way?

 

Pleasure Practice:

 

Journal Prompt: Think of a relationship in your life that feels utterly unique. What moments, qualities, or shared experiences make it unmistakably yours? How would it feel to trust in that uniqueness, even if your partner connected deeply with someone else?

 

Embodiment Practice: Bring this relationship to mind. Close your eyes and notice where in your body you feel the connection. Place a hand there and breathe slowly, imagining that sensation deepening with each inhale. Stay with it for at least five deep breaths, letting your nervous system register the felt safety of that bond.

 

Relational Tool: Share with your partner or a trusted friend the qualities that make your connection unique. Invite them to share the same with you. Notice how voicing these truths impacts your sense of security and deepens your appreciation for each other.

 

The magic of your bond will never be measured by what you keep from others. It lives in the living, breathing connection you choose to create again and again, everyday. When you trust that truth, love can breathe more deeply, move more freely, and grow long lasting roots in the soil of your life.

 

Sending All My Love,
Dr. Nicole

 

 

Dr. Nicole Thompson

Sex and Relationship Psychotherapist

Clinical Psychology