Read the full transcript of author Holli Kenley’s talk titled “Betrayal: The Loss No One Is Talking About” at TEDxMountRubidoux 2022 conference.
Listen to the audio version here:
TRANSCRIPT:
The Universality of Betrayal
HOLLI KENLEY: Have you ever felt betrayed? If so, would you raise your hand? Look around. You’re in good company.
Thank you. And when you felt betrayed, have you been told to give it time to trust again or to forgive and move on? And if you’ve tried any of those things, have you felt better or bitter? If you have felt stuck in the pain of betrayal, I want you to know that there is a reason.
What if I told you that how we’ve been thinking about healing from betrayal may fall short of addressing the most important loss, the loss of self. I am Holli Kinley. I work in the field of psychology as a marriage and family therapist, and I’m the author of four books on betrayal. Many therapy clients feel stuck in betrayal and don’t understand why.
They’re feeling confused, worthless, and powerless, and it’s not their fault. Just as I once did, many therapists treat betrayal like grief, and as a result, my clients did not feel better. Of course, I too am no stranger to betrayal in my life.
A Life-Changing Experience
One of my life-changing experiences from college was in the fall of my sophomore year at the University of California at Santa Barbara. I needed to take a physical education requirement for a class, so I signed up for beginning sailing. Also, my dad was a sailor, and I thought this might make him proud.
On the fourth weekend of class, the instructor informed us that we were going to be practicing outside the safety of the harbor. Away we went out into the vast ocean, six guests, twelve sailors following behind our captain who motored out in front of us.
Within a few minutes, a gust of wind all of a sudden came up and tossed our sailboat on our side. My partner and I were really struggling when suddenly another gust capsized it completely, emptying us both into the freezing ocean. When I came up, I looked around. The skiff was a few feet from me.
My partner, the betrayer, was swimming away to another boat. I recalled the captain’s words, “If you get into trouble, don’t leave your partner, don’t leave your boat.” Off in the distance, I saw the captain motoring towards me. Good, he’s coming to save me.
As he got closer, he picked up his bullhorn and commanded, “Holli, follow my orders, the winds are picking up, right that boat.” Was he nuts? I couldn’t do this and not by myself, and this is not what I signed up for. I trusted in the rules of the game, I trusted my partner.
With a tinge of anger in his voice, he again commanded, “Holli, get going, right that boat.” Over the next several minutes, I did everything I was told and mustered up every bit of strength that I had. I thrust myself over the back side of the boat like a seal sprawled across a rock. I reached down under, pulled in the small mainsail, and then slowly, using my body weight, made my way back across the boat from port to starboard side, when suddenly the boat slipped upright, tossing me back into the water.
I thrust myself one more time inside the hull of the boat. I lay there catching my breath. Off in the distance, applause from 11 classmates, including the betrayer. Warm tears rolled down my face.
I was proud of myself. A poised flute player who loved playing in concert band stepped into the burly role of a sailor and saved herself. My father would be proud. For anyone unfamiliar with sailing, to right yourself means to bring yourself upright, just like with a sailboat.
Over the next several decades, I would face many betrayals in my life, but that experience of learning how to right myself would serve me well in the years to come.
A Personal Tragedy
On Wednesday, April 8, 2015, at 10 a.m., I called my 86-year-old father. It was our custom to chat several times a week. After a couple of rings, he picked up. “Good morning, Dad. How you doing?”
“Ah, fair to middling,” he chuckled. “Not so bad.” Over the next several minutes, we talked about the weather and shared a few of our favorite TV shows. Although I knew he was struggling with some health issues, he never complained. We closed our conversation in the usual way. “I’ll call you Friday. I love you, Dad.” “I love you too, sweet.”
Over the next several minutes, I thought about and reflected upon how our relationship had healed over the past 30 years, from a daughter who was so angry with him to one who adored him. Two days later, on Friday, April 10, I called again at my usual time. No one answered. I tried several more times.
Living over 800 miles away from my parents, I called one of my sisters who lived close by. The next several hours were filled with chaos, confusion, and catastrophe. After entering my parents’ home, paramedics found their bodies barely alive. They were transported to a local hospital.
My father in intensive care, my mother in serious but stable condition. Later that day, I would learn that on Wednesday afternoon, the day of my prior call, my parents planned out, carried out, but did not fully complete a dual suicide. A couple of days after the suicide attempts, I asked one of the nurses if she would place the phone next to my father’s ear. She informed me he was dozing in and out of consciousness.
I said, “It doesn’t matter. I need to speak to him.” She kindly agreed to do so. “Hi, Dad. It’s me, Holli.” I could hear his labored breathing. “I love you, Dad. I love you so much.” He mumbled something.
In my mind, I could hear him say, “I love you too, sweet.”
The next day, my father was moved home where he wanted to die. He passed away three days later under hospice care.
My mother recovered and was moved to a nursing home. I’d like to acknowledge that talking about suicide is hard. It elicits a range of emotions, judgment, anger, compassion. Whatever might be coming up for you, I invite you to honor your feelings.
Immediately after the suicide attempts, my feelings were like fireworks shooting off inside. In sporadic moments of clarity, I asked myself, how am I going to get through this pain? It was not the pain of grief. It was the pain of betrayal.
I knew what to do. I quieted my being and I turned inward as I began the hard work of righting my capsized mind and body.
The Journey of Understanding Betrayal
In the late 90s, my interest into betrayal and recovery from it emerged in my work as a licensed marriage and family therapist. With well over 10,000 hours in session working with clients healing from abuse and trauma, I heard the words over and over again, “I feel so betrayed.”
I knew how to address the trauma, but there was something that I was missing. And then in the mid-2000s, when the economy shifted downward, all kinds of betrayal were coming into the room, relationally, financially, professionally. I was so frustrated. I was implementing grief approaches to deal with their losses because that was the protocol used at the time, but I wasn’t seeing recovery from betrayal.
And so I began reading everything I could find on recovery, specifically from betrayal. Two obstacles arose back then that are still present today. First, most of the resources focused on infidelity. Well, the problem with that is, of course, is that betrayal isn’t only about infidelity.
Secondly, when we think of betrayal, we view it primarily as a loss-of-trust issue, and because it is a loss, it’s treated like grief. But what if moving through the stages of grief, denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and acceptance aren’t effectively addressing betrayal? Although in recent years there has been a widening of the lens of how to address betrayal, many resources still support conventional thinking. Back then, I, too, was dealing with my own betrayal.
I started paying close attention to what I was feeling, and then I’ll never forget the night that I finished working with a client who had been betrayed by his employer. I immediately connected with his feelings, and in that moment, I realized what I was missing—that grief work may fall short of addressing the most important loss of betrayal—the loss of self. And what’s tricky about the loss of self is that it’s buried in shame. For example, it includes the loss of innocence and identity, the loss of role and reputation, the loss of being seen and of being heard.
From that point forward, every time a client said to me, “Holli, I feel so betrayed,” I asked, “What are you feeling?” And I paid attention. After three years of observation and research, I believe that grief approaches weren’t wrong, but in cases of addressing betrayal, ineffective. And then I had an idea.
What would happen if we considered a different approach, that betrayal was more than a loss-of-trust issue, and there might be a better path to recovery? Based on my research and experience, when we’re going through a betrayal or unearthing a past one, we navigate through three states of being. I call them states of being because this is who we are for a period of time.
The Three States of Being in Betrayal
State of Confusion
The first state of being is the state of confusion. When we’re betrayed, we want answers to questions. Are any of these familiar? Why? Why would they allow this to happen? Can you help me understand? In my confusion, after the attempted suicides, my mind was spinning with questions. Why? Why would they do this to our family? How do I make sense of this?
In the state of confusion, betrayal pulls us outward. We are consumed with trying to understand someone else, consumed with trying to make sense of their choices.
In order to begin healing from betrayal, we must turn inward. It is our work to understand ourselves, our work to make sense of our choices.
State of Worthlessness
The second state of being is the state of worthlessness. Are any of these feelings familiar? I thought I mattered. I gave everything to that job and they just cut me off. Everything’s been stolen from me. I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s so hard. I wake up every morning and realize someone else is more important than me.
In my worthlessness, every belief I held about my loving relationship with my father was shattered. I asked myself, who was I as a daughter? Did I matter? What was my worth now? In this state of worthlessness, betrayal pulls us outward. We are desperately searching for our worth, desperately searching for who we are.
In order to continue healing from betrayal, we must turn inward. It is our work to reclaim our, excuse me, rediscover our value, our work to redefine who we are.
State of Powerlessness
The third state of being is the state of powerlessness. Can you relate to any of these feelings? I can’t stand it any longer. I have to do something. It’s not fair, it’s not right, and no one’s doing anything. My life has been completely destroyed and they just move on like nothing happened.
In my powerlessness, in one moment I was energized, trying to change my reality. The next, I felt defeated. One minute I was trying to control everything. The next, I felt controlled. One minute my voice was loud. The next, it was silenced.
In the state of powerlessness, betrayal pulls us outward. We are trying to change what happened to us, trying to control everything. In order to continue healing from betrayal, we must turn inward. It is our work to recover our power, our work to reclaim our voice.
A New Approach to Healing from Betrayal
Since 2008, I’ve worked with hundreds of individuals implementing techniques for righting themselves, and I’ve witnessed the recovering journeys. Based on my work, this is important. Grief is the loss of someone or something else. Betrayal is the loss of self.
Grief requires that we turn our focus outward as we move through the stages of grief. We accept our losses. Betrayal work requires that we turn our focus inward as we move through the states of being. We recover our losses.
Two months after my father’s passing, my family sailed out to Angel Island in the San Francisco Bay. We honored him with a celebration of life. One year later, I returned to the same site from ashore, and I reflected on my journey righting myself as I looked at the beautiful shining ocean.
First, working on the state of confusion, I ceased trying to make sense of something that did not make sense. I only needed to make sense of my life, and as I did before, I continued making intentional choices on how I wanted to live.
Secondly, working on the state of worthlessness, I no longer question my worth as a daughter. I grounded myself in my truth. I knew I was a loving daughter. I knew I was loved, and in moving forward, I invested selectively into people and things that validated my worth.
Thirdly, working on the state of powerlessness, I let go of what I could not change or control, and instead, I leaned into my work as a therapist, author, and teacher where I could create change, and I could use my voice to help others right themselves.
After 12 months of healing work, my capsized mind and body were upright again, only much stronger and more steadfast than before. If you have felt the pain of betrayal, or perhaps you’re going through one now, will you choose to recover yourself?
Will you choose to right yourself? Because with betrayal, time does not heal, but what you choose to do with your time makes healing possible. Thank you.
