My Mom Began Dating My Childhood Crush—and Turned My Feelings Into a Punchline

My mom is fifty-three, and a few months ago she casually mentioned that she had started seeing someone named Ethan. The instant his name left her mouth, my stomach sank.

Not because it was a common name. But because I knew exactly who Ethan was.

He wasn’t a stranger or some random man she’d met online. Ethan lived down the street when I was growing up. Back then, he was the kind of older kid everyone admired—easygoing, kind, always helping neighbors carry groceries or repair bikes. When I was seven, he seemed impossibly grown-up and perfect. I followed him everywhere and once told my mom, completely serious, that I planned to marry him one day.

She laughed at the time. I remember that clearly.

So when she said, “I’ve been seeing someone… you remember Ethan, don’t you?” I laughed too, assuming she was joking. There was no way she would actually do that. Not after knowing what he represented to me as a child. Not after hearing my innocent confession all those years ago.

But she wasn’t kidding.

She smiled and said, “Isn’t it funny? You used to have such a big crush on him.”

Funny. That was the word she chose.

From that moment on, everything felt off. She kept inviting me over, insisting we should “spend time together as a family.” Even when it was just the two of us, she couldn’t stop talking about him—how “emotionally mature” he was, how he “understood her better than men her own age,” how refreshing it felt to be with someone younger and full of energy.

Every comment felt like salt rubbed into a wound I hadn’t realized was still tender.

What hurt the most wasn’t jealousy. It was the sense that something private, innocent, and personal from my childhood had been taken and turned into a running joke—one I was expected to tolerate politely.

Eventually, I agreed to have dinner with them. I told myself I was overreacting. I reminded myself that I was an adult and should be able to handle an awkward situation.

I was wrong.

The moment Ethan saw me, he laughed and said, “Your mom told me you used to have a crush on me. That’s pretty cute, right?” Then he winked.

My mom laughed along. “She was completely obsessed with you when she was little!”

My face burned with embarrassment. I wanted to sink through the floor. They weren’t just laughing—they were bonding over me. Over something deeply personal that I’d never agreed to share.

Seeing him casually touch her arm after that made my stomach twist.

After dinner, I pulled my mom aside and finally said what I’d been holding in. “You knew I had a crush on him. That wasn’t funny. It was uncomfortable.”

She brushed it off, rolling her eyes and telling me I was “too sensitive” and “just jealous.” That was the moment I realized she wasn’t listening—because she didn’t want to.

So I stopped trying. I put distance between us. I let her enjoy her glowing new relationship while I quietly stepped back from her life.

A few weeks ago, she called me crying. Ethan had ended things. She’d discovered he had been messaging women his own age throughout their relationship.

I do feel bad for her. Breakups hurt, no matter how old you are.

But if I’m being honest, there’s also relief. And maybe even a small, guilty feeling that this outcome was inevitable.

Is it wrong that part of me believes she crossed a boundary—and eventually had to face the consequences of that choice?