Was I groomed?
I’m a woman in my early 30s, currently in therapy and receiving treatment for C-PTSD related to a lifetime of poverty, generational trauma, and abuse. I’m finally in a healthy relationship and in a safe place in my life. While processing some of my more obvious trauma in therapy, I recently realized that my first “serious” relationship may have been traumatic in ways I never fully acknowledged before. I think I may have been groomed, but I honestly don’t know.
When I was 18–19, I partied a lot. I would sneak out, drink heavily, smoke weed, and spend most of my time trying to escape what was happening at home. At the time, I was struggling with serious mental health issues that I didn’t yet have the language or tools to understand.
My mother was a single parent, very controlling and physically abusive. Around this time, she lost her job, and I became the primary breadwinner for our household while still basically being treated like a child. She would beat me for coming home late, which only made me more resentful because I felt like I was financially supporting the family while being denied any freedom.
On my 19th birthday, my friends threw me a huge party. I told my mom I wasn’t going to miss it. She was furious. When I came home two days later, all of my belongings — including my furniture — were sitting outside on the porch. She refused to let me inside and told me I was no longer her daughter. She said she didn’t recognize “the whore” I had become (all I was doing was partying. I hadn’t even lost my “virginity” at this point yet).
I was devastated. I come from an immigrant family and had no nearby relatives. My mom and siblings were my entire support system, and suddenly I was homeless.
At the time, I worked multiple jobs, including waitressing at a restaurant. Most of my coworkers there were around 17–19 years old, except for one man named Eric, who was 33. He hung out with all of us regularly. Since he was the only one with his own apartment, we often gathered there to drink and smoke. While ir was strange that a man in his 30s was so involved in a teenage friend group, it was nice to have a place we could go to for parties.
Eric and I connected over music since we were both musicians. He also seemed genuinely concerned about me. One day he took me out to eat and told me he could tell I was using partying and substances to cope with deeper problems. He said he cared about me and didn’t want me to ruin my life. At the time, that felt incredibly meaningful. I felt seen.
I want to emphasize that I was never attracted to him. Not romantically or sexually. In fact, I was obsessed with another guy at the time and talked about him constantly. I genuinely viewed Eric as a close friend and safe person. He helped me get a better-paying job, checked in on me emotionally, and seemed kind and supportive.
The night my mom kicked me out, I texted my best friend. She happened to be with Eric, so they came to pick me up. We all went back to Eric’s apartment, and he immediately offered me his spare room. He said we could be roommates because he didn’t use it anyway.
I was uncomfortable with the idea of living with a much older man, especially in a small conservative town where I knew people would talk, but I felt trapped. I didn’t feel like I could ask my friend’s strict parents to take me in, so I accepted Eric’s offer.
For about a month, we lived together platonically. During that time, we still partied frequently with friends. I was enjoying my new freedom and no longer having to fear my mother’s reactions.
Then one night, during a party, I got blackout drunk.
I regained consciousness to Eric making out with me and fingering me.
At that point, I had never had penetrative sex and had very limited sexual experience. Waking up to that was deeply confusing. I remember feeling shocked, but also frozen. Part of me was uncomfortable and disgusted because it was Eric, but another part of me didn’t want to push him away because he had become one of my only safe people. So I just let it happen.
Afterward, he confessed that he really liked me and wanted a serious relationship with me.
Looking back, I honestly don’t know why I agreed. I think part of me was afraid to say no. I had already experienced sexual assault before this and generally distrusted men, but Eric had become tied to my sense of safety and survival. He had given me a place to live when I was homeless. I think I understood, even subconsciously, that as long as I kept him happy, I would continue to have stability and support.
The truth is, I still was not attracted to him. But I convinced myself that being with him would help me “grow up.” I thought having an older, stable partner would force me to become more mature and stop spiraling. I was carrying so much shame over being the out-of-control daughter my mother had rejected.
So I said yes, even though what I felt for him was appreciation, dependency, and platonic love — not romantic desire.
About six months later, my mother eventually allowed me back into her life. She knew about the relationship and seemed relieved that I had “matured.” That made me feel even more pressure to make the relationship work.
The relationship lasted seven and a half years. There was additional sexual abuse throughout it, and overall it was not healthy. But he also supported me emotionally in many ways. During that time, I completed my undergraduate degree, something I’m not sure I could have accomplished otherwise. He encouraged my education and career goals, and because of that, I felt deeply indebted to him.
For years, I blamed myself for the unhealthy dynamics in the relationship because I focused so heavily on the ways he had helped me. I never stopped to ask whether the relationship itself may have begun through grooming or coercion.
Now that I’m older and in therapy, I keep coming back to the beginning: a vulnerable, homeless 19-year-old with significant trauma, dependent on a 33-year-old man who provided housing, emotional support, and eventually initiated sexual contact while I was blackout drunk.
Does that sound like grooming?