If you've ever tried to explain your non-vanilla relationship to your colleagues or even your cousin over a holiday get-together, you know how taxing it can feel. I remember being at a convention and complimenting a fellow cosplayer on their costume construction, when the conversation drifted to how nerdy spaces like this make 'difference' feel 'normal.'
As we talked about acceptance, I made a mental note the moment their shoulders dropped. I noticed that nonverbal sign as a physical release. It stuck with me. There was something deeply relieving about sharing parts of oneself without overt explanation, a kind of queering of the ordinary that softened the body before the words caught up. That aforementioned relief is the very feeling I aim to rebuild in therapy, often through unexpected, playful pathways.
Speaking of recreating the new normal, you might think therapy for polycules is all about boundaries (and yes, that's part of it). But sometimes the real breakthroughs come from something much simpler: play. In my practice, I use tabletop games to help folks communicate, connect, and explore each other in new ways.
Naming the Pattern
A polycule is a living system in which communication, power, attachment, and repair ripple across multiple dyads simultaneously. What keeps coming up is that folks want harmony but avoid directness. We hope our relationships will 'know' what we need.
So what happens?
We speak in code; we drop hints and feel frustrated when others don't pick them up. Often this isn't because people don't care, but because our developmental histories never taught us how to do it appropriately, especially when complex constructs like queerness, neurodivergence, or non-normative relationships are involved.
Reframing Therapy Expectations
I assumed talk therapy would resonate with everyone. In practice, this hasn't been the case. It's mainly about improving communication, addressing intimacy concerns, and finding a better way to navigate expectations, boundaries, and patterns. But what usually surprises them is something relatively more straightforward: play.
Early on, I thought everyone would resonate with talk therapy. Often, we see more female-bodied folks access therapeutic services more than male-bodied, and sometimes talk therapy and didactic exercises would be different, especially when emotional identification is thwarted by defensiveness. I didn't always expect this either. But in nerd and geek circles, where play is normalized, I found that whether it was through playing Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn online or Animal Crossing, people were more likely to be expressive. So, could play allow us to lower the walls and our defenses and be more present?
This is especially true in polycules, where communication isn't just about two people learning to speak clearly, but about multiple people navigating overlapping needs, unspoken hierarchies, and the fear of being "too much" or "the problem." In many polycules, folks hesitate to be direct for fear of destabilizing the system or being seen as the one who disrupts harmony. Ironically, avoidance often creates more tension, not less. What tabletop games offer polycules is a shared structure that externalizes roles, turns, and rules. No one must hold the entire emotional map in their head. The game does the work.
Introducing Play
That's part of why I started using tabletop games in adult play therapy sessions. Not as a trick or icebreaker, but because folks play avatars, which let the humans playing the games communicate, connect, and explore one another in new ways (of course, without the risk or overtness of being attacked or of heightened risk).
When folks are playing, I notice their bodies turning toward one another, less of a hunger for words to express what their characters are experiencing—the stakes drop. The room feels constructive. We do our best work when we're thinking collaboratively versus feeling attacked.
One game I use is Decorum. On the outside, it's about passive-aggressive cohabitation and accommodates up to 4 players. The first time I watched a pair walk through a simple vignette in the game, I thought they were actively shutting down in talk therapy. Though the objectives may appear to pit one against the other, they're still grappling with them and talking them through.
After the round, I'll often ask questions like, "How did you make meaning of when your partner said XYZ passive-aggressive message?" What usually follows is a strategic 'wise mind' response, which highlights creative solutioning and alignment. It stops being about the conflict itself. For polycules, Decorum mirrors the experience of living inside a shared household where needs conflict, communication is indirect, and everyone is trying not to be the villain.
Another one is Revelations. This game works differently. The questions in this one range from "We've been planning for a holiday get-together at our house, and your brother cancels 1 hour before" to "you catch your partner in the bedroom administering self-pleasure." Somewhere in the middle of the game, something shifts. Such prompts open real conversation, maybe even for the first time. It's a structure that feels safe enough to invite honesty. It isn't me coming up with this question; it's the game. These questions often surface differences in attachment, jealousy, or reassurance needs that haven't had a safe container before. It lessens the nervous system's automatic process of scanning for risk.
When people feel seen, they soften. When they soften, curiosity replaces defensiveness.
Why This Matters
For queer and poly communities, we've often been at the forefront of challenging conventional norms. Whether it be new inclusive terms or ways we challenge the scope of intimacy. It gives us micro-moments to practice emotional intelligence and self-regulation, where we process frustration, respect boundaries, and laugh through awkwardness.
In polycule work, play becomes a way to practice being honest without being catastrophic, visible without being blamed, and curious without needing immediate resolution. Games give us shared language, safe world-based constructs, and foundational rules. They let us practice emotional regulation, complex communication, and safe ways to process tension in small, survivable moments. Whether you're monogamous, polyamorous, or still figuring it out, this truth holds: relationships thrive when curiosity replaces control. Play reminds us that connection isn't a performance, it's a practice.
Dr. Josh Littleton, LMHC, ABS, CST is a clinical sexologist and Florida-based counselor. His work focuses on LGBTQIA+ affirming care, intimacy exploration, and emotional processing, and he's especially interested in adult play therapy.
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