When I began therapy, I was seeking clarity and understanding. I needed help untangling the guilt I felt over my cheating. It had haunted me for years—this lingering sense that I was inherently flawed, incapable of loyalty, and doomed to hurt the people I loved. My psychologist seemed different from the start, though. He had a way of listening that made me feel safe, as though I could say anything without fear of judgment.

During one of our sessions, he offered a perspective I hadn’t expected. He said there was no harm in my actions, explaining that my cheating wasn’t a moral failure but a reflection of my deeply loving nature. According to him, I wasn’t someone who betrayed—I was someone who simply had more love to give than society was willing to accept. His words felt like a revelation, lifting the heavy burden of shame I had carried for so long.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked me out. I was stunned at first, but his tone was sincere, even tender. It was flattering, and I couldn’t deny the pull I felt toward him. Caught in the moment, I said yes. What happened next was a blur. One moment we were sitting across from each other, and the next, we were entwined, intimacy unfolding right there in his office.

In the aftermath, I felt a strange mix of elation and confusion. He made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t felt before, but as I sit with it now, I can’t help but wonder: was this genuine care, or did he cross a boundary to take advantage of my vulnerability?

I’m torn between two truths. Part of me wants to believe that what he said about me was real—that I am simply a deeply loving person misunderstood by others. But another part of me questions whether he manipulated me, using my trust and fragility for his own benefit.

Was this an expression of love, or a betrayal of trust? How do I even begin to make sense of something that feels both liberating and deeply unsettling?