When I was in high school, I had a close relationship with a male teacher. My parent was dying, and this teacher became an important figure in my life. I had known him since childhood, I confided in him, and he sometimes drove me to visit my parent in the hospital. For a long time, I experienced him as a steady, caring presence.
When I was 17, that relationship changed. He made a pass at me, and we ended up having a secret sexual relationship for several months. It was deeply confusing. He was in his 50s, was married and had children around my age. I knew it was wrong, but I wanted closeness and care, and I convinced myself that we were in love.
In retrospect, I understand it was an incredible abuse of power. I was young and vulnerable, and he had spent years building my trust and affection. He was the most important male figure in my life, and he used that power to manipulate me.
The relationship was traumatic, and I eventually told him I couldn’t see him anymore. I stopped responding to his calls. He resigned from teaching around this time, but he continued to contact me for years, leaving messages that ranged from pleading to threatening. Several times he showed up at my place of work, and I had to ask my manager to tell him to leave.
More than a decade has passed. It has been years since I’ve heard from him, and I have been to therapy to process the experience. I have told some friends and family members what happened, but I have never publicly named him or taken formal action.
Recently, I moved back to my hometown, where this man still lives with his family. (As far as I know, none of them know about what happened.) Recently, one of his daughters reached out to get coffee. She is in the same career as me, we have many mutual friends, and I’ve seen her socially at parties over the years. Because of my history with her father, I’ve tried to keep her at arm’s length, but she has now reached out several times about career matters and to spend time together.
I feel deeply awkward, especially because I genuinely like her. I would like to be friends with her and work with her, but it feels surreal to spend time with someone who has no idea what happened between me and her father. Part of me feels she should know what he did. Another part feels it isn’t my place to tell her. She adores him, and I think the truth would crush her, possibly damaging her family and her parents’ marriage. I have no interest in protecting him, but I also don’t want to hurt her.
What should I do? Is it possible to build a friendship with her while keeping this enormous secret? Should I tell her the truth? Should I keep my distance? Part of me feels it would be unwise to get close to her after what her father did to me. Another part resents being put in this position at all. I did nothing wrong, and I hate that his actions all those years ago continue to shape my life. — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
You’ve made a decision that is yours to make: not to name the man publicly or take formal action against him. But this leaves you with a choice that has two dimensions, psychological and moral.
Morally speaking, there’s a problem in building a relationship that has concealment at its core. And would it be fair to keep from her something that, if she found out about it later, she would have reason to think you should have told her? If you did tell her, you would be giving her information she may be entitled to. But as you’re aware, it would also be devastating, unrequested knowledge with consequences for her and her family you can’t predict or control. Disclosure of this sort should come from a clear sense that she needs to know, not from discomfort arising from this friendship.
Psychologically speaking, how easy would it be to sustain a truly close relationship with this man’s daughter without telling her the truth? Would you be thinking about the issue whenever you were with her? How would you handle being asked to a family gathering, where her father might show up? Or simply bearing the knowledge of what he did while she talks about him as her beloved father?
Given these difficulties, it may indeed be best not to let this casual connection develop into a friendship. If you went ahead and the relationship deepened, at some point you might be compelled, psychologically or morally, to tell her.
You’re right: It’s not your fault that you’re in this situation. Your former teacher created it by abusing his power over a vulnerable teenager and then by continuing to pursue and threaten you after you ended it. But it is the situation you are in. And you should hesitate before entering a friendship that could require you to keep living in the shadow of what he did. You have no reason to protect this man; you do have reason to protect yourself.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a reader who hoped her adult children would reconnect with their father before he dies. She wrote:
Their father and I divorced when they were both under 10, but we shared custody, and they were close to him until their teens, when they chose to live only with me. During college, they cut ties with him altogether. And not without reason: He is self-absorbed and has sometimes been verbally abusive. I believe he has undiagnosed personality disorders. Once brilliant, he now seems to hover somewhere between brilliance and madness. … He is also homebound, in precarious health and in his mid-60s. Over the years, I have encouraged my children to reconnect with him, as has their paternal grandmother, with whom they are close. … My children know he has health problems, but I’m not sure they fully grasp that death can come suddenly. At the same time, I know that seeing him could be deeply painful. … I wonder what my role should be. Should I encourage them to see their father, so that they do not later regret staying away? Or should I keep my fears about time running out to myself?
In his response, the Ethicist noted:
There are two distinct arguments for encouraging your children to visit their father. One is that it would be kind to him. Kindness is a virtue, of course, and it is especially apt when directed toward people to whom we have a debt of gratitude. Whatever else he did, their father did help bring them into the world, and it sounds as though they have good lives. … The second argument is the one you’re emphasizing: regret prevention. Were their father to die while they’ve severed ties, they may be sorry for what they weren’t able to say or hear. … So without pressing too hard, why not have another go? Tell your children plainly why you would like them to consider visiting their ailing father. … They may remain unmoved. Fair enough. You’ll still have done something a loving parent does: pointed out an option that you think your kids haven’t taken seriously enough.
(Reread the full question and answer here.)
⬥
Children with abusive parents do not need to carry any additional burden or guilt in choosing not to maintain a relationship with their abuser. One of the greatest gifts my mom gave me was acknowledging my own decision to go no-contact with my dad and respecting that choice. He died many years ago, and I imagine the grief would have been much worse if she had pushed me to feel guilty. I understand the letter writer wants to protect her children, but I suggest they reframe that protection as support for the decisions her adult children must make in a difficult situation. — Sheila
⬥
Be their mother. Love them. Advise them. Let them make their own decisions. Their father may pass, and it may be that they do not regret having set the necessary boundaries. Do not color their perspective by consistently forcing that idea. I have a mother who does that, and I absolutely hate it. It sows self-doubt. — Holland
⬥
In my own experience with my family, taking one of the NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) in-person courses gave me valuable insights into what my family member was going through. I was able to not only understand but also to reconnect in ways that strengthened our relationship rather than fracturing it further. — Kathryn
⬥
Why so much emphasis on “regret prevention?” The children are adults and they voluntarily set some boundaries for their own self care. Perhaps there are some children in these situations who might fantasize that somehow they might have gained some satisfaction from further attempts to engage a difficult, perhaps abusive parent. But I’d wager for most it will be more like: “Dad’s dead. Good.”— Gregg
⬥
As a retired rabbi, such situations came up often in my work. I would encourage the mother to suggest each child discuss the issue of possible regret with a therapist. That person can best help them clarify what is best for their mental health now and in the future. — Debra
The post My Abuser’s Daughter Wants to Be Friends. How Should I Navigate This? appeared first on New York Times.
