I didn’t find out I’d been cheated on until years after the relationship ended.

My girlfriend at the time had missed her flight to come visit me. That night, she’d been out late with a close friend of mine who was studying abroad at the same time. I knew what this friend was like; I knew how difficult long distance had been for me and my girlfriend. It was easy to suspect.

I asked my girlfriend if anything had happened, while, at the same time, apologizing for asking. I felt shitty even suspecting. I felt shitty that I continued suspecting after she assured me nothing had happened. If I loved her as much as I said I did, shouldn’t I trust her? I decided to trust her. At least, for the duration of the relationship.

Months later, post-break up, I asked my friend if anything had happened. He, too, assured me nothing had. He even laughed at the thought. Was it a laugh? Or a nervous smirk? Deep down I didn’t believe him, but I decided to anyway.

Over the years, I still thought it was possible they’d hooked up — and certainly possible my ex had cheated on me with other people — but that possibility wasn’t the wound that lasted. It wasn’t the cheating; it was the months of long distance where her communication gradually worsened and I was made to feel crazy. It was the feeling of foolishness for getting back together a week into her study abroad when I’d wisely ended the relationship before she left. It was our failure to maintain a friendship even though we’d once been so close.

Half a decade later, nearing the end of another relationship and eager for chaos, I tested my friend. I casually said I knew he and my ex had hooked up. He sheepishly apologized, and I burst into gleeful laughter that my trick had worked. I assured him it was so long ago that I didn’t care. And this wasn’t a lie. But what the revelation allowed me to accept was that he’d been a shitty friend to me during that time in other, deeper ways. With both my friend and my girlfriend, the cheating was a symptom rather than the disease.

This is the reality: Cheating is rarely about sex. And even when it is about sex, it’s really about differing desires or failed communication. If a person wants to have sex outside of their primary partnership, that’s possible — it just depends on the partnership they choose to build.

Cheating discourse is back on the gay internet this week due to the breakup of influencers Anjali Chakra and Sufi Malik. In duel Instagram posts, they announced the end of their engagement, with Sufi apologizing for her infidelity and Anjali wishing no negativity to be granted to Sufi because of said infidelity.

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That request has gone largely ignored.

Of course, the lives of public figures — movie stars, musicians, and even influencers — become fodder for gossip. Of course, people are going to project their own experiences onto these individuals and experience strong reactions. But the response has still been outsized, people acting as if Sufi Malik cheated on them instead of on another person they don’t know.

We all get to decide what actions are unforgivable in the people we celebrate and care about. And yet, I find it unsettling how many people group cheating with domestic and sexual abuse. During the past Oscar season, I saw more tweets reminding people that Greta Gerwig had sex with Noah Baumbach while he was married than I did about Alexander Payne’s actual rape allegations. I’m not going to diagnose a culture based on anecdotal evidence, but I do think it’s important to not overstate the severity of an affair.

Getting cheated on sucks. I think cheating is wrong and often a cowardly alternative to just ending a relationship or asking for the kind of relationship you’d like. I’ve never cheated and never plan to. But consensual sex between adults should never be treated as a crime. It might be a horrible betrayal; it’s still not abuse.

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The act of cheating itself isn’t usually the biggest problem. For me, it was the lying. It was being made to feel crazy and to distrust myself. I’ve seen people equate this with abuse. And to that, I’d ask: What are we accomplishing by calling it that? Is it to bring comfort to the wronged party and to reflect the severity of their hurt? Or is it to condemn the person who cheated and label them bad, forever? Of course, someone can cheat and be abusive. But if all we know is someone cheated, I don’t think that’s enough for automatic condemnation.

Every relationship is different. Many people cheat simply because they made a mistake. Or because they felt trapped. Or because they felt a lack. I can see now that my ex wanted to end our relationship and didn’t know how. Not an admirable moment, but certainly a human one. A decade later, I don’t think that action says anything about her other than, like all of us, she’s made mistakes.

If Anjali Shakra wants to be mad at Sufi Malik, that’s certainly her right. But I don’t think cheating is a serious enough offense to anger people outside their immediate sphere. As a culture, we haven’t even figured out how to respond to actual abuse — we don’t need to include infidelity in that paradigm.

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You don’t know Sufi Malik or Noah Baumbach or Ashlyn Harris. You don’t know what their relationships were like or what led them to cheat. Go ahead and gossip about famous people, but keep that last word in mind. They are people. We’re all people. And people make mistakes.