The Fragile Architecture of Trust

a relational perspective on polyamory

A client in my psychotherapy practice recently forwarded me a public announcement from Aubrey Marcus, in which he describes entering a polyamorous relationship he refers to as “radical monogamy.” I don’t usually follow Marcus, but the framing, and the emotional reactions it stirred in his audience and beyond, prompted me to reflect more deeply on this cultural moment and the relational structures we’re experimenting with. What follows is my response. It is not necessarily meant as a critique of any individual’s choices, but an invitation to look at what these choices ask of us, especially through the lens of relational development, gender dynamics, and embodied integrity.

In a culture increasingly unmoored from shared meaning and long-term commitment, it’s no surprise that polyamory has gained traction as a compelling alternative to traditional monogamy. Many of its proponents speak of freedom, honesty, and evolved forms of love, values I also hold dear. Yet from the lens of relational intelligence, especially when viewed through the embodied and often gendered dynamics of trust and attunement, I believe polyamory, as it currently exists, asks more of us than most are developmentally equipped to offer.

Let me explain.

At the heart of any deep relationship is trust, not just the kind that says, I believe you won’t hurt me, but the kind that says, I can show you who I am, even the parts I haven’t yet fully met in myself. That kind of trust takes time. It requires presence. And it is a profoundly vulnerable undertaking.

Learning to stay open, honest, and receptive in a one-on-one relationship is already an enormous task. Most of us carry unhealed relational wounds - stories shaped by early attachment patterns, cultural messaging, and histories of rupture. To trust one person with the full truth of our becoming is already a heroic act. Adding more people into that system, especially without the scaffolding of mutual awareness, clear boundaries, and consistent emotional attunement, can quickly overwhelm the fragile architecture of intimacy.

In therapeutic settings, we call this dynamic triangulation: when a third element is brought in, consciously or unconsciously, to manage tension between two people. It happens subtly. A partner shares something vulnerable, and instead of being met with presence, they are redirected or compared to another. Attention fragments. Safety erodes. The relational field, once a container for deepening, becomes a web of divided loyalties and diluted care.

This is not to say that multiple partnerships are inherently unworkable. But it does mean they require a level of self-awareness, maturity, and relational skill that most of us, because we were raised in cultures that prioritize independence over interdependence, simply have not yet cultivated. Polyamory demands emotional bandwidth many don’t yet have, and then burdens them with complexity they aren’t prepared to hold.

For women, in particular, I urge caution.

Too often, I have seen women agree to polyamorous arrangements out of a desire to be “evolved,” to keep a partner, or to avoid being labeled as insecure. But in doing so, they override the very instincts that are meant to guide them, instincts toward depth, attunement, and relationality, not to mention, physical saftey as well. Many women are socialized to accommodate, to be flexible, and to prioritize connection with others over their own needs. In polyamory, that very conditioning can be exploited, not maliciously, but structurally, especially when more women than men are involved in the arrangement and the man has power, charisma, and influence.

I’ve spoken with women who, in theory, support polyamory, but in practice, find themselves perpetually anxious, unsure of their standing, and subtly erasing their needs to remain “cool” with a partner's choices. This, to me, is not liberation. It’s a distortion of love under the guise of progress.

To be clear: I’m not here to judge or dictate anyone’s choices. We each must walk our own path and make decisions based on our values, boundaries, and stage of development. If someone finds that polyamory brings them alive and deepens their integrity, I honor that. However, I also want to offer a counterweight to the prevailing narrative in progressive circles that more partners automatically equals more love, more freedom, and more truth.

Relational maturity isn’t measured by how many people we can date and be physically intimate with. It’s measured by how deeply we can listen, how clearly we can communicate, and ultimately, how responsibly we can tend to our own inner landscape without making others carry what we won’t face in ourselves.

Trust is not about control or containment. But it is about coherence. Without that coherence, within ourselves and between each other, relational fields become fragile, and love, however well-intentioned, becomes scattered.

In a world already saturated with distraction, fragmentation, and abandonment, the most radical thing we can offer one another may not be multiplicity, but presence, the kind that says: I am here. I will stay. I will meet you again and again, even when it’s hard. That kind of love doesn’t limit freedom. It reveals what freedom is truly for. And that, just may the most radical form of love available to us now.