Reclaiming Myself. Was I groomed?

This is going to be a long one. Please bear with me.

When I first started working a specific retail store, I could never have imagined that one person would change the course of my life the way she did. I had freshly turned 23 when we first met. She was 31. She seemed like just another manager at first, but very quickly, she became an important figure in my life. Looking back now, I realize that the relationship we had was anything but normal—and it’s taken me a long time to fully understand the depth of her influence and the damage she caused.

I’ll admit, I was attracted to her from the moment we met. But it wasn’t just her appearance that drew me in—it was the way she treated me. She gave me an unusual amount of attention right from the start, making me feel special in a way that no one else at the store did. Her compliments were frequent and at first were professional and surface level but gradually felt and turned personal. At first, she gave me normal compliments related to work such as “You’re doing really well today,” “I like seeing you taking initiative,”“You have really neat handwriting,” but then she’d gradually start saying things like, “You smell really good today,” or “I love seeing your hair pulled back away from your face; I can see your pretty eyes” while simultaneously tucking stray hairs away from my face behind my ears, and she would tell me how cute I was with and without makeup on. These remarks made me feel noticed, but over time, they began to feel like something more—something that felt more personal than professional.

At first, I didn’t question it. I liked the attention. I liked that she seemed to see something in me that others didn’t. But as time went on, her behavior became more and more confusing. It wasn’t just the compliments; it was the way she looked at me, the way she’d touch me when she walked by, the way she’d smile and sometimes bite her lip at me in a way that felt odd. She would touch me frequently—on my arms, my back, my sides, and even the nape of my neck, and when she wanted me to follow her somewhere on the sales floor, she would always have to hold my hand. It wasn’t long before her behavior started feeling increasingly weird, but I didn’t know how to handle it. There were moments when she would “drive-by” touch me, running her hand across my back, nape of my neck, shoulders, arms, and sides as she walked by, sometimes caressing my knee when we were sitting close to each other in her office. Each interaction felt charged with something I couldn’t quite name, but I knew it wasn’t normal. I just didn’t have the words for it at the time. It felt like she was playing with me, constantly keeping me on edge, making me feel special one minute and then coldly distancing herself the next. Her touching me stopped for the most part when the pandemic protocols were put in place.

One day, I was handling baby clothes on the sales floor and asked her where they should go. She looked at me, and instead of answering, she just repeated, “So cute… So cute…” over and over again. At first, it seemed like she was talking about the clothes, but then I realized she was looking directly at me while saying it. Her tone shifted, and it felt like she was talking about me. It made me confused, but once again, I didn’t know how to respond.

Then there was the time during the chaotic Black Friday of 2019, she asked me where I lived. When I told her where I commuted from, her face lit up with excitement. She eagerly told me she knew where that was and that she also lived nearby and attended the college in the neighboring town. It felt like she was drawing a connection between us, something deeper than a casual work relationship. From that moment on, I noticed that we were often scheduled to work together. Whether it was intentional or not, I found myself working with her more often than not, and every shift with her felt like it had an undercurrent of tension.

Then there was one day in December 2019—a day that still haunts me. I was struggling with anxiety on the sales floor, so another manager moved me backstage to help me calm down. She found me there, clearly noticing my anxiety, and motioned for me to follow her into a nearby manager’s office. What happened in that room is something I’ve replayed in my mind over and over.

She sat on a filing cabinet, leaning forward, her blazer unbuttoned and her chest was accentuated, and her body language was just odd given the context of the conversation we were about to have about my anxiety. She smiled at me and asked, “So, what’s been eating you? What’s been making you so anxious?” Her voice was soft, almost teasing, and the way she looked at me made my face turn beet red. I was embarrassed, caught off guard, and unsure how to respond. I covered my face with my hands, and when I peeked out at her, she was grinning and giggling at me, and said with a sultry voice, “I love your nails.” Everything felt so out of place in that moment, but it was clear she enjoyed watching me squirm. It was as if she took pleasure in my discomfort.

This was just one of many interactions where her behavior crossed the line, but it was one of the moments that stood out the most. It felt like she was toying with me emotionally, pushing boundaries that I didn’t know how to navigate.

Another incident that has stuck with me happened when we initially returned to the store after being furloughed during the pandemic in July 2020. Normally, she would take her break and eat her meals in her office, but on this day, her office was blocked off by boxes, so she sat in the break room instead. I was sitting further away from her towards the back of the break room, and there were other coworkers closer to her, but instead of talking to them, she turned around and struck up a conversation with me. We ended up talking for the entirety of my break, and throughout the entire conversation, she stared at me intensely, following every move I made. When I got up to leave, she tracked my movements with her eyes and her entire head, not breaking eye contact. It was such an intense, visible gaze that other cast members could have noticed too. This interaction left me overwhelmed by her attention.

Earlier that same week, during training to reopen the store with new COVID protocols, I was in her training group. I must have made a reaction with my eyes that she noticed, because she looked at me, giggled, and said, “Oh…” When I responded, she said, “Your eyes…” The other people in the group looked at me, but I’m still not sure what I did that caused her to react like that.

Then there was the time I was verbally harassed by a group of customers at the store. One of the other managers, witnessed this and announced on the walkies that I needed to step off stage to collect myself. Hearing this, she ran down from her office on fourth floor to where I was on second floor. She told me, “I ran down here as soon as I heard… Would you like to talk?” I agreed, thinking she was going to comfort me about the situation that just happened. She brought me into a managers office, but instead of comforting me about what had just happened, she turned the conversation into something entirely different. She told me I needed to focus on things that made me happy and told me to leave her alone. I hadn’t even gone to her—she had come to me, yet the conversation became about her needing space. It was upsetting and made an already awful situation even worse.

One thing that really added to the emotional confusion was when she would say things like, “I adore you.” She said it to me multiple times, and in those moments, it felt like she genuinely cared for me in a way that was deeper than a professional relationship. It left me constantly questioning what was going on. Was she my friend, my mentor, or something else entirely? I could never pin it down, and every time I thought I had an answer, her behavior would shift.

One day, I was on the second floor, feeling nervous and anxious because she was nearby. I tried to avoid her, moving away whenever she got closer, almost as if I was trying to subtly “escape” or “run away” from her. But she noticed. I saw her from the corner of my eye getting closer, and the more I tried to subtly distance myself, the more determined she seemed to catch up to me. Eventually, she caught up to me, reached out, and placed her hand on my shoulder to stop me. With a serious tone, she turned me around, leaned in close, and looked me in the eyes and said, “You can’t run away from me.” Her words sent a chill through me, and I felt trapped, unsure of what to say or do next. I must’ve blacked out because I don’t remember what happened after that.

As these interactions piled up, I started to realize that something was very wrong. I was becoming more emotionally dependent on her, even though her behavior made me feel confused. She had moments of warmth and care, but they were often followed by coldness and distance. She’d check up on me, offer advice, and sometimes even show concern for my well-being—like when she noticed scars on my arms and told me she didn’t want me getting hurt. But then, she’d pull away or act dismissive, leaving me confused and hurt.

These moments were confusing, but they weren’t the only side to her. There were times when she seemed to genuinely care about me, and that’s what made it so difficult to understand what was really happening. When I got COVID in December 2020, I called the store that we were both working at during the pandemic to let them know I wouldn’t be able to come in for two weeks. She answered the phone, and her response was surprisingly comforting. She told me, “The first thing I want you to do is breathe. You are going to be okay, and I know you’re going to come out of this just fine. You are strong, and you will get through this.” Her words reassured me in that moment, and it seemed like she genuinely cared about my well-being.

But even in moments like these, the warmth she showed was always followed by coldness. After I returned to work from an unrelated hospital visit, she didn’t seem to care at all. In fact, her behavior towards me became even colder, more distant, and it left me feeling abandoned and confused.

Her behavior wasn’t just a string of isolated incidents. She would constantly draw me in with affection and attention, only to push me away when I got too close or became too dependent on her. This cycle of hot and cold left me constantly questioning myself—what had I done wrong to make her pull away? Why did she seem to care one moment and then act indifferent the next?

One of the most painful moments came on her last day at the store. I had built up the courage to express my feelings to her, to try and understand what was going on between us. But when I finally spoke up, her response was brutal. She told me, “I want nothing to do with you” and “we will never be friends.” Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. After everything that had happened, after all the attention, the compliments, the touching, the confusion—she completely shut me out. I felt abandoned, betrayed, and deeply hurt.

After she left, I spiraled into a deep depression. The emotional rollercoaster that she had put me through for nearly 3 years of my life had taken its toll. I self-harmed, and though at times she noticed my distress, her attempts to show care felt hollow. It was like she knew she had hurt me but didn’t want to take responsibility for it. I was left to pick up the pieces on my own, trying to understand how someone who had shown me so much attention could just walk away and act like none of it mattered.

The reactions of my colleagues and managers only added to the complexity. Another manager seemed to understand what was happening between her and me long before I did, but I can’t say for sure. They comforted me when I was crying in the dressing room, hugging me, telling me how proud they were, and even kissing me on the cheek. It was a moment of genuine care, and I’ll always remember how they looked out for me.

She, on the other hand, never took responsibility for the emotional harm she caused. She hurt me deeply and then walked away as if nothing had happened. I didn’t quit. I stayed at the store because I refused to let the space where I was hurt define me. I reclaimed that place as my own, and now, the store is mine—not hers. She can’t hurt me there anymore.

It’s been years since this all happened, and though I’ve made progress in healing, I know that the scars of what I went through will stay with me. She hurt me in ways I’m still trying to fully understand. She took something from me—my sense of safety, my trust, and part of my emotional well-being. But I’ve also grown stronger. I’ve learned how to protect myself, how to set boundaries, and how to reclaim my power.

She might be out there living her dream life now, but that doesn’t change the fact that she caused me immense pain. I don’t know if she’ll ever acknowledge the harm she did, and I’ve accepted that I may never get closure. But I’m determined not to let her define the rest of my life. I’m still here, still fighting, and I know that I’ll continue to heal. But until then, I’m still trying to find some answers. Please tell me for certain; was I groomed?

TL;DR: I think I was emotionally manipulated and groomed by a manager who blurred boundaries, made me dependent on her attention, and hurt me deeply.