‘The loss of a loved one is one of the most profound experiences of human existence.’ [John Bowlby]
The loss of someone greatly loved means the person to whom we thought we were firmly attached has ripped away and our relationship has been torn apart – and we are left with a gaping wound. Bereaved, we experience a cascade of shock, pain and disbelief. Such is the anguish that it takes away our breath. It is almost as if we lose a connection between mind and body. It has such a shattering physical and psychological impact it can feel as if our heart is truly broken. We can feel disorientated, all at sea, and we are no longer certain that we stand on firm ground. We are forever changed.
But when a relationship ends because of a loved one’s betrayal and infidelity, there is an additional level of bewilderment, confusion, lack of comprehension. It doesn’t make sense. The world has shifted on its axis and what we thought was a truth has been shown to be a lie.
Ellyn Bader, the American couple therapist, says:
‘It is not just about the sex.
It’s not only about the deception.
It’s about a unilateral decision to blow up what was previously a mutual decision.
When one partner chooses to lie and hide, they are not just betraying trust – they are breaking the implicit agreement…
Infidelity breaks the container…
This is why it is called a betrayal trauma.’
Not only is your partner walking out of a life that has been shared together, the message seems to be that they did not value the relationship in the same way.
You are to be replaced and even though they may say, “It’s not you, it’s me”, the consequent feeling is of being unwanted and discarded.
The death of someone we love has the awfulness of being non-negotiable and feels an unbearable tragedy. But memories of the the love and the special nature of the relationship remain warm.
The ending of a relationship through betrayal and infidelity has the finality of death but with what feels like an additional cruelty. Not only is the person you loved lost to you, there is also an implied denigration of the life you shared together. Additionally, the secrets and lies challenge your own sense of the truth of the relationship. What memories can now be trusted?
It is as if we stand on the edge of an abyss looking into a void, not knowing which step to take. It is not just the loss of our companion in life and the relationship container we believed in, it is the loss of our identity. Who are we now? We can feel frozen and indecisive, with our self-esteem, self-worth and confidence in pieces.
The impact of this betrayal, followed by the abandonment and dissolution of the relationship, is profound and it can feel an impossible task to adjust to such a deliberate and unforeseen blow.
There is the extra dissonance of our world lying shattered while, in what feels like a parallel universe, our ex-partner’s life runs on smoothly.
Unamuno, the Spanish philosopher, describes it as:
‘While the world continues its relentless march forward, for us the universe has stopped.’
The other person can feel omnipresent in our thinking – yet remains achingly separate, out of reach and unavailable.
If there are children, as parents there is continued interaction, discussion and negotiation that can retain the old familiar dynamics but, at the same time, nothing is the same.
The life as we lived it is gone.
There are now different terms of contract and we face a future having lost the possibility of creating, thriving and sharing in a life as a couple together.
The plans, assumptions, expectations, hopes and dreams have been rubbed out.
We mourn for what should be now, as well as what once was and what we thought was to come.
Alongside, come the uncertainties that result from sacred bonds severed, interconnections withdrawn, and trusted interdependencies cut loose. What we thought were secure boundaries have been violated.
‘How can I ever trust again?’
Peter Levine, the American psychologist, in his book, ‘Healing Trauma’, says that we are also faced with another huge task.
At a time when we feel we are all at sea, in unfamiliar waters, negotiating turbulent rapids, filled with confusion and despair, we also need to somehow consciously seek out what makes life liveable and worth living.
Trauma has stopped us in our tracks and yet we need to find a way to continue in a new way of being.
Of course, dealing with loss is a universal part of the human condition but betrayal creates a particular loneliness.
It was a unilateral decision and not of our choosing, and yet we are now required to now deal with life alone – and with the familiar directions and signposts for moving forward missing.
The start of every day sees us feeling unmoored and unprepared as we try to grasp for what gives us meaning – all the while dealing with emotions that are powerful and that can be raw and ugly.
The author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie describes grief as: ‘A cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger.’
While C. S. Lewis wrote: ‘No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.’ (C. S. Lewis)
And yet, we are called to believe that, as Carl Jung said:
‘I am not what happened to me. I am what I chose to become.’
Learning about what is within your control, however small, and what it is not possible to control, is critical for building a sense of self-efficacy – and this may be the time to reach out for therapy.
A therapist can walk alongside as you try to find a path.
A therapist can help with sorting through and make sense of the chaos.
They can help with the recognition of what needs focus and what can be let go.
They can offer a calm space to help contain a rollercoaster of emotions threatening to flood.
They can help investigate and identify unmanageable triggers and help reinforce our inner resources to prevent overwhelm.
We can uncover our strengths and rediscover our resilience and utilise our own stored bank of coping mechanisms.
What strategies do we already know help to alter a trajectory of runaway feelings?
How would we have usually responded to the pull of rumination to avoid a spiral of despair?
The writer Sharon Creech reminds us that: ‘You can’t keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.’
Ethan Kross has written ‘Shift’, the book that addresses the need to mindfully manage our responses.
He say that:
‘It is a myth that we must always confront painful emotions’. Sometimes finding a safe place for containment is necessary in order to survive the day.
He goes on:
‘Neither chronic confrontation, nor chronic avoidance, is healthy.’
He suggests methods of effectively manipulating our emotional ‘volume controls’ and taking charge to regulate our emotions.
We may even manage to compartmentalise at times!
Of course, there will be times when we are exhausted and overtaken by events – so we need to take extra care of moments of calm and relief.
We may even be able to utilise some of the energy of a powerful feeling as functional tool to serve a purpose.
Righteous anger might help you fight for your future
A sense of injustice can be a spur to speaking up to claim your rights.
Giving yourself permission to howl in the shower can be a release of sadness.
Listening to music you have carefully selected can have a powerful effect on your mental state and mindset.
Taking a walk mindfully and really feeling the weather; walking with the purpose of noticing the variety of trees, or the clouds, or the dogs; stretching and breathing exercises can soothe and calm an agitation.
Sometimes deciding on a deliberate short-term ‘avoidance’ activity with a friend can allow you the relief of empathy, connection and even laughter.
Sometimes we can appreciate moments of pleasure, awe, warmth and even joy because of life’s challenges – not in spite of them.
‘Listen, I wish I could tell you it gets better. It doesn’t get better. You get better.’
(Joan Rivers)
‘You lose yourself, you reappear.’
(Bob Dylan)
And reappear truly, madly, deeply, better and stronger than ever…
Kathy Rees