Forgiving My First Heartbreak

I remember when I first met Mary. Her hair was a deep golden brown with a hint of ginger. Her skin had the hue of pale copper. Her eyes were a bit wild and always piercing. Sure, she was cute. But what I really loved about her was her genuine kindness, and how she inspired me to think. I had known her for over 2 years before we started interacting more regularly. She was the first person who caused me to think about veganism/vegetarianism, and the ethics of exploiting sentient beings. She showed me how science is a way to model the world, describe it, and even predict events to a remarkable extent; all the while not really answering the question, “why?” We understand the behavior of things like gravity and inertia. We can list their properties and behaviors, and make predictive models; but nobody understands why inertia is a property of matter. We just observe that it is. “Why” is often a meaningless question in this context.

Mary was quite possibly the first person who engaged my mind in a stimulating way. She understood and related to how I thought about things, and she gave me unique insights based on her life experiences. She taught me so much about how to approach difficult problems in life, and how to overcome them.

I remember our first kiss, in the storage room connected to the science lab at school. I was so nervous, but it was an incredible feeling. It was a closeness and an intimacy like I had never experienced before. At that moment, it seemed like we were so intertwined; to be cliché, it was like one soul dwelling in two bodies. I had never felt emotions so strong or profound before then. That was my first hint of what it was like to be in love.

She understood my religious views, and respectfully disagreed with them. She didn’t insult or criticize me, but she made it clear she thought it was a result of indoctrination. I wasn’t sure what to make of that assessment, but in retrospect she was absolutely correct. But I didn’t feel judged or pitied. She didn’t argue with me about religion, but she did encourage me to question things that didn’t seem intuitive to me (which was a lot). I remember the next time we kissed. It was in the same storage area, and we both had trouble trying to control ourselves. We locked the door and had the light out, just to make sure no students or staff would barge in; and if they did, we would hear them using the key and have time to separate.

This was my first experience where another human caused me to orgasm, and it wasn’t even skin on skin contact. She massaged me from outside my clothes, and I fumbled around beneath hers until I felt wetness. Her breathing in my ear gave me cues as to what I was doing that felt good to her, and what didn’t. I remember feeling her throbbing around my fingers, and it excited me so much that I ejaculated before she got her hand on the inside of my pants. I remember looking into her eyes in that moment. I had never felt so close to, connected with, or understood by a person in my life. I was only 13 years old, but it was a profoundly emotional and connecting experience.

Over the course of the next couple months, things escalated a bit. We had performed oral sex on each other. We had exchanged more hand-jobs. But even more stimulating, we engaged in so many deep and intelligent conversations; I was not used to that. Being raised in a fundamentalist home where critical thought was discouraged, it was difficult to find the mental stimulation I craved. I have always been prone to critical thinking. I usually was significantly ahead of my peers academically. That has been true since 1st grade until university. I learn quickly, get bored, and find more advanced or deeper things to learn. Mary was so smart, she kept me on my toes. Whenever I thought I understood something, she would help me view it from a new angle and realize how much I didnt actually know. It was great, at 13, to find someone who could have conversations about epistemology, religion, physics, and mathematics. Mary showed me the importance of not accepting things just because society or authority pushed them on me; she helped me develop the tools required to evaluate things and reach thought-out conclusions based on my own reasoning. The physical and emotional connection only served to augment the intellectual connection.

I would sneak out of my house regularly in the middle of the night. I would either walk to Mary’s house or borrow (steal) my mom’s car and meet her at the Denny’s. Either way, we usually ended up at her place. We slept in her bed together, cuddled, and conversed about more things than I can remember. We did physical things, but never penetrative sex. I experienced so many firsts with Mary. My first time giving and receiving hand jobs and oral sex, the first feel of bare breasts against my skin, and the inexplicable satisfaction of just being wrapped in each other’s arms until we fell asleep. This was all new to me. It was an interesting challenge, learning to read how body language indicates pleasure, pain, or indifference in sexual situations. I was sure I would lose my virginity to Mary. She never asked, or encouraged it. I was sure she wouldn’t make the first move. But I wanted it. After all we had done, actual sex seemed like a natural next step. I made the decision that I was ready, and Mary was the person I wanted to experience that with. But then my world was crushed.

One morning when i saw her at school, she pulled me aside in private. It was the same lab closet that had become our usual spot. She started crying, and I knew something was wrong. She said how extremely and profusely sorry she was for doing this to me. She told me how incredibly important I had been to her, and expressed deep guilt over hurting me. I was hurt and confused. She seemed so upset about ending things, so I didnt understand why she would do it. She said she couldn’t let herself talk to me anymore, and other than when our schedules required us to be in the same classroom, I never interacted with her again.

The suddenness and overwhelming pain was severe for me. The breakup was the most traumatic emotional experience I had ever had at that point in my life. I couldn’t think about anything else for months. My whole world had crashed down, and I lacked the cognitive bandwidth to actually understand the significance of what had just happened.

Now I’m 40 years old. I’ve loved, and been loved. I’ve broken hearts, and experienced even more broken hearts. To this day, I have nothing but fond memories of my experiences with Mary. Immediately after the breakup, I couldn’t think about anything but heartbreak. But I eventually reflected on what had happened. By the time my freshman year of high school commenced, I had worked it out. I had “known” at the time that it was wrong, because authority and society told me that. But, ironically, over the summer I used the tools Mary had helped me develop to realize for myself exactly how messed up the situation was. And now that I’m forty years old, I understand even more about the situation and the breakup than I could at the time that it happened.

Mary was my 8th grade science teacher. Every time I see a news story about a teacher sexually abusing a student, I think of Mary. I didn’t feel abused at the time, and if I’m honest, I still don’t. I know that legally I couldn’t consent. I understand now about power dynamics and the significant ethical violation Mary committed. I still vividly remember the hurt, devastation, and extreme guilt on her face when she ended things. I actually have a lot of respect for her being able to stop it when I know we were both very caught up in our emotions. She made a huge mistake, but in the end she did the responsible thing and put a clear and immediate stop to it. Even as I write this now, I have trouble reconciling this in my brain. I recognize that I'm saying that I respect my abuser for stopping the abuse, and that sounds absurd. But it's really how I feel.

I can't help but to empathize with her. I genuinely loved her, and I felt (and still feel like I was) genuinely loved by her. Yet at the same time, it feels absolutely insane that I'm feeling sorry for my abuser.

My feelings on the situation are complicated and nuanced. On the one hand, I know it was absolutely inappropriate, unethical, and illegal. There is no excuse for what she did. My intent in writing this is absolutely not an attempt to justify what happened, or minimize anybody’s trauma. But I’ve reflected a lot on the situation over the decades since, and I have only fond memories. Mary provided me with an outside source of mental engagement, when I was otherwise trapped in the echo-chamber of fundamentalism. She fostered critical thinking skills and rational skepticism that have served me well my whole life. She taught me, maybe ironically, how to question authority and social norms to reach my own conclusions. The physical part of our relationship was the smallest piece. I never felt forced, pressured, or coerced. I only ever enjoyed it. The cognitive dissonance created by the entirely positive effects that relationship had on my life, and the fact that it was blatant sexual abuse of a minor, feels like a contradiction.

In my view, Mary was a sincere and loving human who made an incredible and terrible mistake. She had the courage to acknowledge her abuse, and immediately stop it. Fortunately, her mistake didn’t result in a broken person or long term trauma. I was fine then. I’m fine now.

I think often about Mary and how, at almost 65 years old, she might have carried significant guilt along with her for these past decades. I feel bad because, in her position, who could she talk to about what happened? Therapists would have had a legal obligation to report her. This is not the kind of thing one can usually admit even to a closest friend. I wish I knew how to contact her. I want to tell her that even though I understand it was literal abuse, that I have not experienced trauma because of her. The worst part was the break up… which was absolutely the ethical way to end things. I hope she doesn’t beat herself up over it.

Mary, if I could say anything to you right now, it would be:

The lasting effect caused by ALL of your actions with me has been entirely positive. I learned how to think, how to love, that humans aren’t perfect, and that it’s never too late to do the right thing. I forgive you.