Blind to Betrayal: Why We Fool Ourselves We Aren't Being Fooled (19 page)

“The article ‘How Could this Happen?' is subtitled ‘Coping with a False Accusation of Incest and Rape.' It tells the first-person story of a family facing a ‘false accusation of childhood sexual abuse and rape by a grown daughter against her father.' The article chronicles the story of middle-aged parents confronted with an allegation of incest by their thirty-three-year-old daughter. Jane Doe proclaims her husband entirely innocent of the accusations. In support of her claim that the accusations are false, Jane Doe presents numerous intimate details about the daughter's history that are meant to discredit her daughter. Jane Doe does not accept responsibility for herself or her husband. Rather, Jane Doe levels most of the blame against her daughter's therapist, one particular book, and the field of clinical psychology.

“As I continued to read the article in my colleague's office, a deafening noise filled my ears. ‘Oh, my God,' I thought, ‘this is about me!' It was about me and yet not, in that some crucial details had been changed—not only names but details that made me, or the person in the story—sound less credible. I must have looked up about then and murmured to Pam, ‘This is about me! I mean, really about me—my life!' Pam looked utterly confused. She must have wondered about my sanity at that moment.”

Pam Birrell remembered, “In 1991, I did not know Jennifer Freyd very well yet. We had met as colleagues in the Psychology Department and were in the beginning stages of what has turned out to be an enduring and enriching friendship. And I don't recall why she was sitting in my office that day in 1991.

“At the time, I was a practicing clinician, as well as director of the Psychology Clinic in the Psychology Department. I was slowly becoming aware of the debate over ‘false memories' that was beginning to grow. I was seeing people in my practice with a history of sexual abuse, but none with what were later to be called ‘repressed memories,' so I wondered one day when an unknown and unsolicited journal showed up in my mailbox in the Psychology Department, with no hint as to who had put it there or why. It puzzled me at the time, but all I did was to put it on my desk to read later. The title of the journal was
Issues in Child Abuse Accusations
, and it appeared to be about people who had made false claims of child abuse. It seemed to have little to do with my interests or work, so I just identified it as one of those mysteries of life.

“All the same, when I was talking to Jennifer, I decided to show it to her to see if she had any clue as to why it had arrived in my mailbox. I had no reason to think that she would, but it seemed an interesting phenomenon for acquaintances to discuss.

“I do remember vividly the expression that came across her face as she looked through the issue. It went from curiosity to bewilderment to incomprehension. She looked at me, stunned. ‘This is about me,' she said. I was now as stunned as she was.”

Jennifer went on with her remembering: “‘About you? What do you mean?' Pam Birrell asked me. Shaken, I explained that the article by Jane Doe, written by a supposedly falsely accused mother, contained numerous details that made it clearly about me. Although my identity was thinly disguised and some details fabricated, the match was undeniable. Incomprehension turned to horror and mortification, as I imagined that others might somehow read this article and recognize me. It was like having one's most personal diary put on display—only worse, because in this case the diary contained both true and fabricated highly personal details.

“In the days, weeks, and months that followed this surreal experience, I became aware of the substantial amount of correspondence that had been occurring between my parents and some of my colleagues. I learned that during the late summer and early fall of 1991, my mother had sent that article to some of my colleagues, including senior professors in my own department, during the very year in which my promotion to full professorship was being considered. Although the article was technically anonymous, in each of these cases in which my very own colleagues received the article, my mother's and my identity were made absolutely explicit, usually by the addition of a letter signed by my mother. I later learned that even before sending the Jane Doe article, my mother had begun phoning some of my department colleagues.

“In the fall of 1991, during the weeks that followed my discovering the ‘Jane Doe' article, I learned that my parents and their collaborators had already begun to form their professional advisory board for the False Memory Syndrome Foundation. In the spring of 1992, they even invited me to join the FMFS professional advisory board. When I did not accept the invitation, I received a second invitation from my mother in April 1992 that included the argument ‘the Advisory Board is shaping up to be prestigious enough so that you won't feel ashamed to belong.' Betrayal added onto betrayal—being asked to join an organization founded and designed to attack people like me, who had begun to remember betrayal.

“This period of intrusion from my parents into my professional life culminated in having numerous colleagues actually join the FMSF board. I was horrified, particularly when a colleague in my own department joined the board, and even more so when my prior undergraduate mentor joined the advisory board. I could not fathom why my colleagues would do this. Was I not credible? If not, why not? I had no prior scandal attached to my name, no history of fraud or dishonesty.

“I realize now that none of this would have happened if
I
had not first become aware of the earlier betrayals in my life. The False Memory Syndrome Foundation would not have been founded, and the subsequent betrayals by my colleagues would not have happened. And yet, I don't regret the remembering, for it led to much growth and knowledge. But more about that in chapter 13.”

It's Difficult to Know, and It's Difficult to Disclose

Yes, disclosure is risky, but it is necessary for healing to take place. We asked Rebecca Brewerman, “What finally helped?”

She had this to say: “Being able to tell my story and not having someone tell me what to do and how to do it, but just listening, just being there for me. And being believed, 'cause I felt like I haven't been believed most of my life. . . . That's the main thing. And I could take risks to make my life better.”

Disclosure—that is, the telling of trauma—and the impact of trauma are deeply interwoven issues. It makes sense that this inevitable intermingling of trauma and disclosure is all the more so true for interpersonal traumas with high degrees of betrayal, stigma, and secrecy. Indeed, we refer to such traumas in terms of disclosure—we refer to them as “unspeakable.”

Disclosure can help us get emotional, legal, or financial aid. Without disclosure, it is very hard to find resources, healing is difficult to promote, and future trauma is very difficult to prevent. We know that silence is part of the problem, at both the individual and the societal level, and that interpersonal violence breeds in secrecy. So it is really puzzling that nondisclosure of trauma is so common.

Although disclosure does facilitate the receipt of these good things, delayed disclosure or even nondisclosure is the norm.
^5.
In fact, trauma is not easily discussed. It can be forgotten, it is highly stigmatized, and it can be taboo to talk about. It can also be truly risky to discuss trauma, as we've seen.

Nondisclosure is particularly pronounced in the case of sexual trauma perpetrated by someone close to us, which has all of those elements of betrayal, stigma, and secrecy. Research suggests that fewer than one in four survivors disclose immediately following sexual abuse.
^6.
A typical time span of eight to fifteen years from abuse onset to disclosure has been found.
^7.
For survivors who participate in research on trauma, that research participation experience is often the very first time that they disclose to anyone.
^8.

Furthermore, most people who experience childhood sexual abuse do not disclose it until adulthood, and many never tell at all.
^9.
In addition, some studies have revealed a pattern of disclosure followed by recanting and redisclosure.
^10.
So when people do disclose, some take it back, and then some go on to disclose again. Nondisclosure, delayed disclosure, and retraction are particularly likely in cases in which the perpetrator is close to the victim.
^11.
We will come back to the context of this implicit risk of disclosure to crucial relationships.

Why Don't We Disclose?

People are aware of some of the reasons they do not disclose—the explicit reasons—but they are not fully aware of the implicit reasons. Explicit reasons relate to an awareness of risk in disclosure. People contemplating disclosure may reasonably fear a negative reaction. They fear not being believed, fear blame or reprisal, fear stigma, and fear that it will harm their loved ones.

There are also reasons for nondisclosure that may elude conscious awareness. Although these are also based on real risk, people may not be aware of the risk or the fact that they are being influenced by it. These
implicit reasons
are that crucial relationships may be lost in the disclosure of trauma. This brings us back to the core idea of betrayal blindness—that we need to protect necessary relationships and social systems. Disclosure can risk those necessary relationships.

Remember our earlier discussion of betrayal trauma? We talked about the idea that betrayal blindness may be a survival mechanism. According to betrayal trauma theory, betrayal blindness occurs when awareness of mistreatment would threaten necessary or apparently necessary relationships. This is because, by being aware, one is at risk of chasing away or scaring away the very people one depends on or causing those people to respond negatively. In that case, unawareness, forgetting, and nondisclosure may be seen as adaptive responses to this sort of betrayal trauma. In other words, by keeping silent the victim protects a relationship that is perceived to be necessary. To the extent that this is true, it creates a huge impediment to disclosure because disclosure may risk the necessary relationship.

Telling Can Help or Hurt, Depending on the Response

Other people's response when we tell about betrayal is crucial. It is not surprising that when people respond positively to trauma survivors' disclosure of their abuse, it can be helpful and healing. A positive response can lead to the survivors' growth of inner resources and feelings of being validated and cared for. However, research has revealed that when people respond negatively to disclosure, it has substantial potential to do harm to the survivor.
^12.
Negative responses include blaming the survivor, expressing disbelief, and showing lack of concern. Sarah Ullman, a professor in the Department of Criminology, Law, and Justice at the University of Illinois at Chicago, reported research with adult rape survivors that demonstrated that a negative response to disclosure can be profoundly destructive to survivors, at times apparently more harmful than the rape itself.
^13.

Brian Marx, a psychologist and researcher at the National Center for PTSD, VA Boston Healthcare System, captured some of this potential for harm: “In our society, the validity of reports of sexual violence is often questioned, and survivors are blamed for their sexual assaults. Furthermore, the consequences of these experiences are often trivialized or ignored by family, friends, police, legal officials, and sometimes even mental health professionals. Unfortunately, such social conditions further create stigma and shame for survivors, thereby compounding the destructiveness of their experiences.”
^14.
In other words, a negative response to a disclosure does much harm to the person who has already been harmed.

It is clear that no disclosure keeps us stuck, but negative response to disclosure can be even worse. It is a risk.

What about disclosure that receives neither a very good nor a very bad response? Is that sort of disclosure better or worse than no disclosure at all? Interestingly, research indicates that when survivors disclose their trauma and don't receive a response, this can be beneficial if it is clear all along to the person disclosing that no response will be provided.
^15.

What is an example of disclosure with no response? One example is writing to yourself in a journal that you do not show to anybody at all. Participating in research on trauma is another context in which disclosure without response can occur. In trauma research, we often ask people to disclose things, and we essentially give them no response to their particular disclosure. Crucially, we often set up the research procedure in such a way that there is no opportunity to give any response at all. The expectations here are critical. Giving somebody no response could actually be a negative response if the person disclosing expects a response of some sort. For instance, if somebody discloses a betrayal trauma and his or her disclosure is met with a stony face, that is a negative response. But if people disclose in a context where they do not expect a response, that can be very different. For instance, research participants might each write an essay about their trauma experience, put it in an envelope, and drop the envelope through a slot into a sealed box. If the participants in this situation have not put any identifying marks on their essays and if they are told that their responses are entirely anonymous, they have just disclosed in a way in which they could not get any response at all, and presumably they do not expect any response. The data indicate that this is generally a positive situation for people, relative to no disclosure at all. In fact, this essay-writing task has been extensively explored in recent years. Pioneered by Jamie Pennebaker of The University of Texas, the “writing task,” or “expressive writing,” has been shown in many studies to improve the physical and mental well-being of participants.
^16.
This is an interesting discovery for psychology and good news for trauma researchers.