men

Polygamy in Modern-Day Marriages

by Julie Githiri

Interestingly, polygamy has not yet entered my consulting room in any significant way. What I am more likely to encounter are the consequences of relationships that exist outside of marriage, a topic I plan to explore in a future blog.

Historically, the acquisition of an additional wife was often viewed as a sign of affluence, status, and social standing. In many African communities, polygamy was culturally accepted and woven into the fabric of society long before the arrival of Christianity, which introduced a different set of values and expectations around marriage.

The recent Netflix series The Polygamist has reignited conversations around the subject, bringing a traditionally private arrangement into public discourse and inviting viewers to examine their own assumptions and beliefs.

There are, of course, many perspectives from which polygamy can be viewed. A feminist lens may raise questions around equality, autonomy, and power. A religious perspective may challenge or support the practice depending on the faith tradition. A cultural perspective may see it as part of heritage and identity, while a humanistic perspective may focus on individual choice, consent, and wellbeing.

As a psychotherapist, I am less interested in determining whether polygamy is right or wrong and more interested in understanding what human needs it seeks to meet.

Historically, economic necessity may have played a significant role. For some women, becoming part of a polygamous family may have offered security, stability, and access to resources that may otherwise have been unavailable. Today, however, the conversation appears more complex. As society evolves and women increasingly achieve educational and financial independence, the reasons individuals choose polygamous relationships may be less about survival and more about personal values, lifestyle, companionship, family structure, or belonging.

The desire for companionship, attachment, commitment, and family remains as relevant today as it has ever been. For some, the idea of sharing a partner may feel less threatening than the prospect of loneliness or the absence of meaningful connection. Others may find fulfilment in a family structure that offers support, shared responsibilities, and community. While modern relationships often place immense pressure on one partner to fulfil every emotional, practical, financial, and sexual need, polygamous families may distribute some of these demands across a wider network.

Of course, this does not mean the arrangement is without complexity. Questions around jealousy, fairness, power, emotional security, and hierarchy inevitably arise. Does it matter whether you are the first wife, second wife, or third? How are needs negotiated? How is emotional equity maintained? These are not insignificant considerations.

What strikes me is that many of the motivations people may attribute to polygamy are not entirely different from those that underpin monogamous relationships. Whether we choose one partner or several, we are often searching for the same things: to feel loved, to belong, to be chosen, to feel safe, and to know that we matter.

The difference may lie not in the need itself, but in the structure through which that need is expressed.

The modern-day man is also worthy of consideration. What motivates a man to pursue a polygamous relationship structure in a society where monogamy remains the dominant ideal? Is it about status, desire, companionship, legacy, family, or something else entirely? Is he seeking more connection, or is he avoiding the depth and vulnerability that one intimate relationship can demand?

There are no simple answers.

What is clear, however, is that conversations around polygamy often evoke strong emotional responses. Judgement, shame, curiosity, admiration, criticism, and even envy can emerge depending on our own experiences and beliefs about relationships. Perhaps this is why the topic remains so difficult to discuss openly. It asks us to examine not only the choices of others, but our own assumptions about love, commitment, fidelity, and what constitutes a successful relationship.

In the consulting room, I am reminded daily that regardless of how relationships are structured, people are often seeking the same things: love, security, belonging, acceptance, and connection. Whether those needs are pursued through monogamy or polygamy, the emotional questions remain remarkably similar.

Perhaps the conversation is not ultimately about polygamy at all, but about the many ways human beings attempt to meet their need for connection and create meaningful lives with one another.

Warmly

Jules

The Boy Behind the Man

by Julie Githiri

Reclaiming the Emotional Lives of Men

In the clinical space, I have the opportunity to work with both couples and individuals. Perhaps surprisingly, or maybe not, the individual work tends to be largely with men. Men do seek out therapy. They also crave a safe space to express their inner thoughts.

The presenting issues vary widely. They may arrive with questions around identity, imposter syndrome, self-worth, or sexual intimacy. The scope of engagement is rich. Yet across my work whether in the UK, Kenya, Japan, Sweden, or Sierra Leone, the underlying thread is strikingly consistent.

At the root of it all is a desire to be wanted, to be loved, to be emotionally held and understood.

When we think about the boy child and his introduction to the world, it is often marked by expectation. There is an assumption of strength, a quiet but firm narrative that he must grow into a man who provides, partners, procreates, and protects. Across cultures, the messaging is remarkably similar:

“You can do it.”
“You must do it.”

But what happens to the inner child in all of this?

What happens to the soft-spoken boy who longs to be reassured, to be held, to be told he is enough? What happens to the boy who cries when he is emotionally hurt, who struggles to articulate what he truly feels, who does not quite know how to share his inner world?

As he grows, that boy becomes a man navigating the demands of life the pressure to succeed, to provide, to ensure that his family does not lack. While we might assume that men can turn to their peers for emotional support, the reality is often more complex. Vulnerability within male spaces can feel risky. It can carry the threat of inadequacy, or even ridicule.

So much is left unsaid.

What is often communicated instead is a desire for respect and appreciation. On the surface, this can seem like a simple request. But within relationships, it can quickly become a point of tension.

“Why should I?”
“He hasn’t earned it.”

And yet, when we look more closely at what causes relationships to fracture, we often find something less visible, but deeply impactful.

Ego.

It is one of the most consistent contributors to the breakdown of connection the quiet force that chokes what was once held, openly and tenderly, by the heart.

To be in the clinical space with a man who has spent much of his life battling to feel heard, learning the language to express his fears, interrogating his familial relationships, and exploring both maternal and paternal bonds, is to witness something deeply human.

It is to sit with a man who is, often for the first time, grieving a version of himself the one who adapted, who shaped himself in order to be accepted by society.

You might ask, what is the point of all this? Why dismantle one’s emotional self, especially when these shifts so often occur in midlife?

And the question I would offer in return is: why wouldn’t you?

Why wouldn’t you choose to expand your emotional wellbeing? To reconnect with the little boy who simply wanted to be loved and reassured, who was whole and enough before the weight of expectation was placed upon him?

Why not allow yourself the possibility of deep, heartfelt relationships ones that ignite something within you? The capacity to feel, to connect, to experience desire, to be fully alive and responsive to life itself.

To integrate this version of yourself is to offer your relationships something real, an authentic presence, grounded in vulnerability rather than performance.

It is not an easy ask.

But you are the man who can ask himself, “Am I worth it?”

And the answer, whether you have heard it before or not, remains the same:

Yes. You are.
You always were.

Warmly Jules