Blind to Betrayal: Why We Fool Ourselves We Aren't Being Fooled (3 page)

We were struggling to understand. We asked Julie, “Do you remember suspecting and discounting it, even though you were being vigilant?”

“When my other friend said, ‘Remember the woman who looked after the dogs?' I was not surprised. I felt like, right, okay, and a long time later, confronted the guy.”

How could Julie fail to detect betrayal in a new relationship after living through her husband's betrayal? “The second time is puzzling,” we said. “You described yourself being observant, and we still don't understand what went through your mind when you met the dog-sitting woman.”

“Well, I remember thinking, ‘We have this problem: we have these dogs, and we need someone to look after them in this house.' Also, the dogs were very important to my boyfriend. The person who was looking after the dogs had to be someone he could really trust. He said, ‘Well, I know this woman, and she is going to do it,' and I thought, ‘Who is this woman?' You know, it crossed my mind. I was puzzled because it seemed that you would have to know someone quite well if you were going to leave your beloved pets under her care. And then I remember her being very attractive and very quiet. She was exactly the way you might be if you were meeting the woman whose boyfriend you were having an affair with. She was uncomfortable and reserved. I was quite friendly to her, and she didn't reciprocate. But it didn't occur to me then that he was having an affair with her.”

Julie reflected on her own process of remembering and figuring out the betrayal. “Where does the information go? To me, it is interesting that when I was remembering the event—going out to surprise my husband . . . Then just replaying the event, I remembered the woman, and then in light of later events and my understanding of who he was, I realized what I had missed, and it just stunned me. So the information was all coded in memory but not interpreted as evidence of his having an affair.”

Perhaps some people don't suspect infidelity because they don't think it is possible. Yet by the time Julie saw her husband kiss the woman in the bar, she had already learned of two of his prior infidelities. Perhaps before the very first fight she had with her husband, she didn't suspect infidelity because she didn't really believe it was possible. After the fight, though, after she had learned of his first and then his second infidelity, she must have known it was at least possible that he could be unfaithful. And yet she had accepted his explanation of the kiss, and she didn't think about the matter again for years. How could this be?

“I had the idea, but in terms of information, I think it was just unprocessed, somehow—it's there, but it's just totally not processed. Yet it's available if you recall the incident for some other reason.”

We wondered how much of it was motivated by a desire not to know. Julie answered, “I wanted to believe that we had a happy marriage, that it was going to work.”

The need to trust is a powerful agent, a blinding agent.

Were Julie's experiences unusual? From our research and interviews with many other individuals, we know that Julie's experiences of remaining blind to infidelity are fairly common for both women and men.
^1.
Furthermore, betrayal occurs in many domains besides infidelity. People can be betrayed at work, in the family, and in society. Betrayal can occur at the individual and at the societal level. Betrayal can be the act of a terrorist or the act of a friend. Parents can betray by abandoning or abusing their children. Treason is betrayal. Social injustice and oppression often entail betrayal and betrayal blindness, as will be illustrated in the next chapter by the case of Kevin, who remained blind to being a victim of racial discrimination for so many years.

Although not all betrayal involves blindness, ongoing or repeated betrayal is intrinsically linked with unawareness.
^2.
Ongoing betrayal can occur only when there is some deception that is not fully detected. Sometimes this lack of knowledge is the result of insufficient information, but other times the obliviousness is in part the result of
betrayal blindness
—unawareness of information that is present but is somehow “whooshed” away. Moreover, the discovery of betrayal always seems to prompt a profoundly new awareness: the world is not the same. Someone who was trusted is now considered unsafe. On discovery of betrayal, a key response is to reorganize one's perceptions of what has happened—to rewrite history. Betrayal therefore has a fundamental impact on one's perceptions of reality. As one woman who had been betrayed by an unfaithful husband said to us, “Betrayal is so contrary to what one expects that it throws you off balance. It tips you over. It's like, where have I been? Everything that I know to be true is not true. It's insidious, it's got tentacles that reach in and make you question everything.”

And yet, although betrayal is so common and insidious, very little has been written about it in the psychological literature. Psychology as a discipline may suffer from betrayal blindness. Part of the problem stems from a tendency in clinical psychology and psychiatry to focus on individuals and individual symptoms. As a result, the relations between people—betrayal and its blindness—are not seen. Betrayal, depending as it does on interpersonal and institutional relationships, never quite makes it onto center stage. Perhaps beginning to look at betrayal in scientific ways can also make the discipline of psychology question everything it thinks it knows.

Notes

1.
J. J. Freyd, “Blind to Betrayal: New Perspectives on Memory for Trauma,”
Harvard Mental Health Letter, 15
(12) (1999): 4–6.

2.
R. E. Goldsmith, M. R. Barlow, and J. J. Freyd, “Knowing and Not Knowing about Trauma: Implications for Therapy,”
Psychotherapy: Theory, Research, Practice, Training, 41
(2004): 448–463.

2

Children Betrayed

Consider the situation of a child who is betrayed by his or her parents. Most children are not strong enough within themselves to confront betrayal by a parent on whom they depend for their very existence. The relationship with their parents is far too important for them to risk losing it. Yet there are many ways that parents can betray a child in his or her vulnerability. One of the greatest fears for a child is the fear of abandonment; children must trust that their parents will not hurt or leave them. Abandonment can occur in purely physical ways, that is, through actually leaving children when they are helpless. It can also occur in emotional ways, through rejection and withdrawal of love. The free fall and disorientation for these children may result in the lack of a coherent sense of self. What is wrong? They can't know about the betrayal or name it that way. So children will dissociate into parts, develop strange fears, or experience a myriad of other reactions to hide from themselves and others the deep betrayal.

One way that children may manage betrayal at the hands of their parents or caregivers is to turn the blame inward. Similar to being blind to the betrayal or forgetting about it later, such shame could protect the relationship by allowing the child to maintain an attachment to the abusive caregiver by blaming him- or herself instead of the true perpetrator. Although this seems unlikely and perhaps unbelievable to our adult minds, it is a real strategy to maintain family ties in the face of ongoing betrayal.

With repeated betrayal, the shame becomes chronic. Debbie, a psychotherapy client, had been constantly criticized and blamed by her stepmother for her failure to live up to adult standards. In other words, Debbie's “sin” was being a child. As a result, she developed a chronic sense of failure and an almost total lack of self-esteem. As an adult, when things started to go wrong, either at work or in the family, she suffered a sense of internal collapse, blaming herself. Although the shame allowed Debbie to stay in a relationship with her abusive stepmother, it exacted a tremendous cost on Debbie's well-being as an adult. In current research in our laboratory with Melissa Platt, we are investigating the relationship between betrayal trauma and shame. Our preliminary findings indicate that shame is indeed associated with exposure to traumas that have a high level of betrayal, but not to traumas with a low degree of betrayal. This preliminary finding is consistent with our hypothesis that shame, similar to unawareness and other aspects of betrayal blindness, helps preserve necessary relationships.

Children need secure and trusting relationships to grow and thrive. Their very sense of self and emotional stability depends on it. Betrayal damages that web of relationships on which we all depend. Imagine for a moment a free-fall feeling of betrayal with no comprehension of its source. The confusion and disorientation can't be understood by young children, so they go into a kind of internal whirling and feeling of craziness. As adults, we can give a name to the events that caused our free fall. Children only whirl—attempting to hold onto
anything
stable in their world. If there are no other trusting relationships, and the betrayal is widespread, children can find stability only by locating within themselves the badness that happened.

Judy's mother died in an automobile accident when Judy was four years old. Shortly afterward, Judy's father abandoned her to distant cousins who did not particularly want her. It's easy to imagine four-year-old Judy's internal falling and whirling. She had to have something to hold onto, so Judy did what almost all young children do in that situation. Her foundation in this internal maelstrom became the very firm belief that she had caused her mother's death because she somehow hadn't been a good enough little girl. She also settled on a deep conviction that she was a bother and that her emotions were too much for other people. She put them away, even from herself.

As an adult, Judy was haunted by self-doubts about her competence and basic goodness. She was highly anxious in relationships, often panicking when difficulties arose. She was constantly fearful that she would be left, and that it would be her own fault. So when relationships failed (as happens with all of us), Judy was quick to blame herself and become depressed.
^1.

As Judy began to understand the roots of her anxiety and depression, her internal world started whirling once more. When the anchor of her belief in her own badness and culpability began to erode, Judy initially grew more anxious and depressed, as is often the case. Yet this time she found herself in a therapeutic relationship that she could begin to trust, and the depression and anxiety that she had always felt now had meaning and could be rooted in her early experiences of betrayal and loss. Her anxiety, instead of being a “symptom” of a mental “disorder,” became an impetus to find another foundation for her life—one rooted in her innate goodness and trust in people around her. Her depression became a mourning for her years of isolation and for her mother, for whom she had never been able to grieve.

Kayla, another psychotherapy client, suffered betrayal of a different sort. One night when she was six, her caring and loving father came into her room and molested her. Kayla's world was shattered. She, like all of us, depended on that interweaving of supportive relationships to understand herself and the world. Her father's betrayal of their relationship and the family's subsequent denial of that betrayal left Kayla no choice. The knowledge of the incident and others that followed was too dangerous for her to keep in her awareness. To maintain the only family she had ever had and the only reality she had ever known, Kayla put the knowledge of the molestation away deep inside, where it remained for years.

As Kayla grew older, she had continuing problems with relationships. She could not become intimate with anyone, men especially, without feeling a sense of panic. Even friendships were problematic for her, because closeness to others meant closeness to herself and her secret—something Kayla could not risk. Kayla became isolated and depressed. She attempted suicide on numerous occasions.

After a nightmare when she was thirty, Kayla began to know and understand the depths of the betrayal that had been perpetrated on her. As she gradually began to trust more and reveal more of herself in a therapeutic relationship, she began to know more about what had happened and how it had affected her. Her depression turned to rage, and her rage woke her to a new life and a new reality—one in which unconscious fears of another betrayal gave way to a conscious ability to relate to others and herself in a truly intimate manner.

Rebecca's Story

Judy and Kayla couldn't know their betrayals, although they had both suffered severe and clear betrayals. Their stories illustrate the importance of human connection and the damage that can be caused by the disruption of those bonds. They also illustrate how early betrayals can make us appear as if, and think we are, crazy. Let's examine a true story in more detail, as Rebecca Brewerman told it to us in her own words. Rebecca is an intelligent and sensitive woman in her early sixties. She was molested by her father during her childhood. We interviewed her at her home on the Oregon coast. Rebecca lives alone and is highly artistic. Her home was warm and welcoming, and the rare Oregon sunshine came in through ruffled curtains. Her big dog slept on the floor at her feet. Rebecca seemed at peace, but here's what she said about her earlier life: “For the first forty years of my adult life, I was in the depths of confusion, anxiety, guilt, and depression. In the last few years, I have finally achieved mental/emotional peace and respect for myself, and I really work very hard not to descend again into my previous horrifying state of mind.

“I just couldn't cope with the world around me. I was always in financial trouble, I was losing jobs. I had originally—when I was in teenager—expected to have a PhD and teach at the college level, and I certainly have the smarts for that, but I never could do it because of what I call ‘scrambled brains.' I was just barely surviving, and it was getting worse.”

Rebecca remembered vividly the terrors of her childhood—the early deaths of her brother and sister and her father's nightly visitations: “Yeah, I would wake up, he was on the evening shift, and I would wake up with his penis in my mouth in the middle of the night, choking. And then when we were picking strawberries, he would stick a great big strawberry in my mouth and just laugh 'cause he thought that was just so funny. So . . . I don't know how long, I think by the time I was in high school, he wasn't doing it anymore. 'Cause I was probably getting too big and strong for him. And as a bereft child, actually society let me down after my sister died because there was no help for children in the '50s. My mother was physically but never emotionally there for me. I had a wonderful second-grade teacher, and I was in second grade then, and she gave me a book of common prayer because she knew I was Episcopalian. She kinda took good care of me, but after that, by the time I was in fourth grade, my fourth-grade teacher asked me why I was acting out, and I told him my sister died. He asked, ‘When was that?' and I said, ‘Two years ago,' and he said, ‘You should be over that by now.' Betrayal.”

Scrambled brains, as Rebecca called them, made life more and more difficult to cope with. She lost a teaching job at a small college because she couldn't manage anymore: “I experienced this black chasm, I thought I was going to fall into it. I was just so overwhelmed, and there was no support for me, being the head resident. I lived in a dorm. So I simply quit that job, which I really wish I hadn't because it was an outstanding college, and I wish I was still there. But that was more than forty years ago.”

In her forties, Rebecca began to figure out what was happening to her after she went into therapy for the first time: “I went to her for a year until I felt like she had abandoned me. During that time, she didn't make any suggestions at all. She just listened. But I started having flashbacks, major flashbacks, and that was about twenty years ago. It was horrible. . . .

“Mostly at night. But while I was awake, it wasn't dreams 'cause I didn't dream for decades. I didn't think I dreamed. I didn't remember them. It would be kinda like I might be half awake, but I actually had to get out of this house I was living in because it was just so terrifying to wake up and have these visions. And it was a horrible, horrible house, too, it had holes in the wall because I was so poor by then.”

Rebecca's story is ultimately hopeful, though, and you'll read her inspiring words in the last part of the book. In the meantime, we'll leave her cozy warm house and look at a bigger picture of betrayal.

Kevin's Story

Child abuse is an intimate and personal betrayal. Other betrayals can occur at societal levels. Racial discrimination involves numerous people and organizations. Although it has a shared existence, it nonetheless affects individuals intimately and profoundly. Similar to the child abuse described earlier, discrimination can result in betrayal blindness, as illustrated by the case of Kevin.

The year was 1973. Kevin Nakamura was a boy in school in the Midwest. His parents were born in Japan and immigrated to the United States before he was born. Kevin considered himself American. He spoke excellent English without any accent. He did what most American boys do—he played basketball, traded baseball cards, ate hot dogs with ketchup and mustard. Despite his ethnic heritage, Kevin did not know about Japanese culture, nor did he consider himself Japanese, not even Japanese American. Kevin was a smart boy, a good son, and a loyal friend.

What Kevin did not see—at first—was the way he was the victim of racial discrimination. On the phone, Kevin could pass for a “regular” American, his flawless English conjuring an image in the listener's mind of “a white kid.” Yet in person, Kevin looked different. This difference in appearance was behind all sorts of subtle and not-so-subtle slights he experienced. Kevin was not selected for a role in his school musical performance of
Oklahoma!
despite the fact that he was a talented singer and actor, and few boys had auditioned for the school play. Kevin's homework assignments that he turned in for English and American history were superb, yet he got B+ marks. Kevin got invited to fewer birthday parties than average, although he was friendly and cooperative with the other kids in class. In high school, when it was time to select a date for the school dance, Kevin was rejected by all of the girls he asked, despite his being an attractive, considerate young man.

It was only when Kevin went to college (his standardized test results helped him get into a very good school) that Kevin's eyes were opened wide. In college, Kevin learned about the history of Asians in America. He learned about the depth and the pervasiveness of discrimination, and he realized that some of his childhood suffering may have been due to prejudice and discrimination. He also realized that he might have known all along on some level, while being unwilling to see the discrimination and thus remaining ignorant of it on another level. Kevin's hunch about his own state of mind was insightful. As we explore in later chapters, the human mind is adept at knowing and not knowing at the same time—compartmentalizing knowledge so that it is not available for conscious reflection but is there for other purposes. In college classes, Kevin was no longer primarily surrounded by a culture that accepted only one main culture and skin color. Although discrimination still existed, there was more tolerance and certainly more diversity in his immediate world. Why would Kevin the child have remained unaware of discrimination perpetrated against him that Kevin the young adult was able to acknowledge?