Recovering From Betrayal

The other week my friend called me distressed. A week earlier she had gone through a second round of layoffs in her company where she had to deliver the bad news to employees on her team. And now she was being demoted, which there was no sound reasoning for the decision.

Her boss wanted to talk about the change in her role. When she told him that she was still processing her emotions and not ready to talk about it, he replied that he could handle her raw feelings.

So she shared what was weighing on her heart and mind with him. Unfiltered. Open. Truthful.

Less than twelve hours later, he sent an unprofessional email where he weaponized her vulnerability against her. He made threats and questioned her work ethic, while stoking her fears.

She was, understandably, shocked, hurt and angry. When I asked if she was going to try and talk with her boss about it to repair things, she said, "No," without hesitation.

This wasn't the first time he betrayed her trust. He made promises that he didn't fulfill on multiple occasions. And he had advised her to lie to colleagues rather than be truthful about changes in deliverables. This was his latest misstep, and he'd gone too far, too many times. Any trust that was there had eroded.

What Vulnerability Actually Means

Opening up and being vulnerable with someone is hard enough as it is. I look at vulnerability not as disclosure, but as revealing parts of yourself that are tender. Showing a piece of your truth where there's risk of rejection, judgment, exclusion or retaliation is being vulnerable. What might feel vulnerable for one person might not be for another.

A Wound I Know Personally

I recall a time when I was navigating a conflict with a neighbor. Tension had been building over a few weeks. Things she said and did kept triggering me. The first time we sat down to talk about it, I shared how certain things she said and did reminded me of past experiences that were traumatic. I revealed my fears and concerns, owning that I had reacted in a protective manner. I apologized for being hurtful and requested we both adjust how we interacted. I thought I could trust her with these hard truths and that my transparency would help repair our relationship.

In our next conversation she threw everything I shared back in my face and attacked me. She not only took everything I shared as evidence that I was wrong and she was right, but insisted that she was better than me and did nothing wrong. I felt like I was being sucker punched. The words she said and her delivery cut me deeply and I was so caught off guard by her ire that I couldn't help but cry (which says a lot because I don’t cry easily).

A Familiar, Painful Pattern

Unfortunately, this is how some people have learned to navigate conflict. Go on the attack.

Punch below the belt. Humiliate the other person. Use blame and shame to deflect any responsibility. And above all else, don't let up. Don't give an inch. Don't allow the other person to have any power, let alone agency.

Perhaps, you are seeing this pattern in your own life or playing out in the news.

It is extremely painful when someone uses your vulnerability against you. It's a betrayal of the bonds that make relationships safe, caring and supportive. It calls to question the stability of the very thing we need to survive, connection and belonging.

It makes sense that many people have learned protective patterns to hide parts of themselves from others. This type of relational rupture cuts deeply and our survival instincts insist we do not lose our place among our people.

When Repair Isn't Possible

At the same time, it's hard to find a productive path forward together through conflict if we aren't open and truthful with each other. What's more, we limit our own growth and potential when we stay hidden in the shadows out of fear.

There are times and people where the rupture shows us that repair is not possible. So we must hold boundaries to maintain our wellbeing. I did not try to repair the relationship with my neighbor because it was clear I could not trust her to hold my story with care. The same is true for my friend.

Knowing when to armour up versus open up is nuanced. The idealist in me wishes that repair was always possible. The realist in me knows that the uncomfortable conversations and relational practices needed to heal from rupture are not universally developed. Nor do we have infinite capacity to manage every single relationship in our lives with the care and attention needed to go through repair.

Boundaries Without Bitterness

So, we draw boundaries. We might armour up. But that doesn't mean we get vindictive, defensive, argumentative, or engage in power plays. We might not open up and be vulnerable with someone, but we still can be kind.

And perhaps, the hardest part, is that we don't give up on all relationships as a result of the emotional fractures we carry from a few. This can be easier said than done. It's human nature to develop protective patterns that keep us from experiencing pain again. Our nervous systems may learn to avoid closeness in order to reduce the risk of being harmed again.

And those protective patterns might need a safe space and support to be rewritten. I've seen this with clients who suffer from complex trauma. Intellectually, they want to trust again. Instinctively, they continue to keep people at arms length despite their good intentions. They're not broken. They're following the protocol their nervous system learned to stay safe. And rewriting it takes resourcing and capacity to create new neural pathways where vulnerability and safety in relationship coexist.

Extending Trust Before It's Earned

Recovering from betrayal like this, at work or personally, requires that we learn to extend trust again. Before it's earned. Maybe not to the same persons who harmed us before. But to others we seek to be in right relationship with.

When I support clients navigating conflict, extending trust makes the difference between finding a mutually agreeable pathway forward and unrepairable rupture. That's not to say you air your raw emotions or divulge every tender piece of yourself. Extending trust is a willingness to believe that the other person has good intentions and a desire to make things work.

As you give a little, you may start to rebuild the trust. And so you give a little more and a little more. Until eventually, the relationship reaches its potential. I have seen relationships turn from intense animosity to deep trust when conflict was navigated with care.

What We Can Trust

I wish there was a way to guarantee that we won't continue to be hurt by having our vulnerability betrayed. We won't. What we can do is trust ourselves to recover. To trust in our abilities to heal from the wounds inflicted by others without needing them to apologize or make amends. To trust that we can have reliable relationships where our needs are met. To trust that the process will be messy, imperfect, fallible and at times painful. And to trust that what we gain will ultimately outweigh the sacrifice.

A Courageous Goal

Earlier this month I led a workshop at CALCON (Colorado Association of Libraries annual conference). As we were wrapping up, I asked what people were taking away from the session. I was particularly moved when one participant shared that they went to a trusted colleague after a challenging situation who ended up betraying their trust by telling their boss.

Their goal from the workshop was to trust again so they could find someone to co-regulate with. That's a courageous goal.

Challenge Accepted

This week, get curious about where you're holding the line between opening up and armouring up.

Is there a relationship right now where you're protecting yourself because of harm someone else caused — even though this person hasn't done anything to earn that same caution?

Where might extending a little trust, before it's fully earned, create room for something new to grow?

And if you're the one who's been betrayed: what would it look like to trust your own capacity to recover, even without an apology or a repair that may never come?

None of this promises you won't get hurt again. It's a practice — deciding, again and again, who gets to see your tender places, and finding your way back to trust after someone who couldn't hold it well.