Once a Cheater, Always a cheater

“Once a cheater, always a cheater,” my college boyfriend Grant said, parroting his mom—who had been cheated on by his dad.

Ouch. That stung more than I wanted to admit.

Was I doomed to live with that label forever? A cheater. Someone who hurts good people just because her libido runs high?

He needed to get a grip, I thought. Wasn’t he glad I told him the truth? Couldn’t he see that I was trying to be a good person? That it took guts to be honest when I didn’t have to be?

But here's the thing— I wasn’t honest for him. I was honest for me.

The first time I ever cheated

was in high school, on a boy named Matt Steale. We were dating. It was fun. He had a silver Mustang and drove recklessly fast with one hand on the wheel and the other on my thigh.

We did anal, but never "traditional" sex. I was still a virgin—whatever that meant.

Then I met Matt White. Love at first sight, for real. He ran his dad’s karate studio across the street from the tanning salon where I worked. Every day, he'd swing by for a lollipop and a peek at whatever new shape I was tanning on my hip. It was playful, electric—and weirdly deep. He had layers, and he wasn’t afraid to show them to me.

Compared to that, Matt Steale felt like a nice car with no engine. And for what it’s worth, Matt White had the same car—in red. I kissed Matt White at the prom I was attending with Matt Steale. When Matt Steale found out weeks later, we broke up. I wasn’t even mad. Now I could be with the guy I actually wanted.

Maybe I never had a grip on how to set boundaries. Honestly, I just didn’t want anyone to be mad at me (don’t even get me started on childhood trauma).

But after the sexual assaults, it got worse. Any ability I had to use my voice faded. But my libido didn’t. It increased.

Sex became a way to feel wanted.

It was the only kind of closeness that felt familiar. It gave me purpose. Because after the assaults, I didn’t believe I had one- other than to be a body that was used for others enjoyment.

Matt White and I lasted another year, through chaos and codependency. We broke each other’s hearts.

I had four more "serious" relationships before I met Grant. Each involved cheating—either mine, or theirs. And either way you cut it, it sucked.

Grant was the first person I dated after I’d started actively healing. We had so much fun together. He was wild, yet grounded, and obsessed with his guitar. Even more than he was obsessed with me. My ego did not like that...

He let me be free, he understood we were both discovering ourselves. We even had a threesome with his roommate. Grant got it and he got me. And I wanted to be treat him as well as I possibly could, aka no cheating.

So when something happened- something I regretted- I told him. Not to hurt him, but because I wanted to do the right thing, I wanted to show him that I cared about him so much that I wasn't willing to hide from him who I really was. And, if I was honest with myself, I knew that if I didn’t hold myself accountable, I’d never change.

Grant ended the relationship with those fated words, but I didn't blame him.

I’d cheat a few more times after that. Then I gave polyamory a shot (another story for another time.) But I’m grateful for those painful words, because it gave me a perspective of my future. It gave me something to wrestle with- A belief to question. A legacy to break.

So no, Grant. I’m not forever a cheater. I was a woman healing then, and a woman empowered now. A woman who used to use sex to feel alive— But now uses truth to do the same.