12 Characteristics of Self-Betrayal
“To begin with, think about this: When did Nancy seem worse to me, before I betrayed myself or afterward?”
“Afterward, for sure,” I said, his question pulling me back to his story.
“Yes,” said Bud, “and when do you suppose sleep seemed more important to me, before I betrayed myself or after?”
“Oh, I guess after.”
“And when do you suppose other interests — like my work responsibilities the next morning, for example — seemed more pressing to me, before I betrayed myself or after?”
“Again, after.”
Bud paused for a moment.
“Now here’s another question: Take a look again at how I started to see Nancy. Do you suppose that in reality she’s as bad as she seemed to me after I betrayed myself?”
“No, probably not,” I said.
“I can vouch for Nancy,” said Kate. “The woman described up there bears no resemblance.”
“That’s true,” Bud agreed.
“Yeah, but what if she did?” I interjected. “I mean, what if she really was a lazy and inconsiderate person, and even a bad wife, for that matter? Wouldn’t that make a difference?”
“That’s a good question, Tom,” Bud said, rising again from his chair. “Let’s think about that for a minute.”
He started to pace the length of the table. “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that Nancy is lazy. And let’s assume that she’s generally inconsiderate too. Some people are, after all. Here’s the question: If she was lazy and inconsiderate after I betrayed myself, then she must’ve been lazy and inconsiderate before, right?”
“Yes,” I answered. “If she’s lazy and inconsiderate, she’s lazy and inconsiderate. Before, after, it wouldn’t matter.”
“Okay, good,” said Bud. “But if that’s the case, then notice — I felt I should get up and help her even though she was lazy and inconsiderate. Before I betrayed myself, I didn’t see her faults as reasons not to help her. I felt that way only after I betrayed myself, when I used her faults as justifications for my own misbehavior. Does that make sense?”
I wasn’t sure. It seemed like it probably made sense, but the discussion made me uncomfortable because I had an example of this situation in my own house. Laura was inconsiderate, although perhaps not lazy. And it sure seemed to me that she was a pretty lousy wife. At least she had been recently. And it seemed like that was relevant to whether or not she deserved help from me. It was hard to want to help someone who showed no feelings for me. “I guess that makes sense,” I said, still troubled and unsure about how and whether to express my concerns.
“Here’s another way to think of it,” Bud said, sensing my uncertainty. “Remember what we were just talking about. Even if Nancy really is lazy and inconsiderate, when do you suppose she would’ve seemed more lazy and inconsiderate to me — before I betrayed myself or after?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, remembering the earlier point. “After.”
“That’s right. So even if she is lazy and inconsiderate, the truth is that in self-betrayal, I’m making her out to be more lazy and inconsiderate than she really is. And that’s something I’m doing, not something she’s doing.”
“Okay, I get that,” I said, nodding.
“So think about it,” Bud continued. “Here I am in self-betrayal, and I think that I’m not getting up to help Nancy because of what she’s doing to me — because she’s lazy, inconsiderate, and so on. But is that the truth?”
I looked at the diagram. “No,” I said, beginning to see the picture. “You think that’s the truth, but it’s not.”
“That’s right. The truth is, her faults seemed relevant to whether I should help her only after I failed to help her. I focused on and inflated her faults when I needed to feel justified for mine. After I betrayed myself, the truth was just the opposite of what I thought it was.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” I said, nodding my head slowly. This was getting pretty interesting. But I was still wondering how Laura fit into it.
“That’s how Bud’s view of Nancy was distorted,” Kate added, “but consider how his view even of himself became distorted. Do you suppose that he’s really as hardworking, important, fair, and sensitive as he was claiming himself to be? He was experiencing himself as a good dad and husband, for example, but in that moment, was he in actual fact being a good dad and husband?”
“No. That’s right, he wasn’t,” I said. “At the same time that he was inflating Nancy’s faults, he was also minimizing his own. He was inflating his own virtue.”
“Yes,” said Kate.
“So think about it,” Bud said, jumping back into the conversation. “Was I seeing myself clearly after I betrayed myself?”
“No.”
“How about Nancy? Was I seeing her clearly after I betrayed myself?”
“No. You weren’t seeing anything very clearly,” I said.
“So once I betrayed myself, my view of reality became distorted,” Bud said in summary, turning toward the board. He added a third line to the description of self-betrayal:
“Self-betrayal”
1. An act contrary to what I feel I should do for another is called an act of “self-betrayal.”
2. When I betray myself, I begin to see the world in a way that justifies my self-betrayal.
3. When I see the world in a self-justifying way, my view of reality becomes distorted.
“So, Tom,” Bud said, after we’d paused to read what he’d written, “where was I after I betrayed myself?”
“Where were you?” I asked, trying to figure out the question.
“Think about it,” he replied. “Before I betrayed myself, I simply saw something I could do to help Nancy. She was a person with a need that I felt I should fill. I saw the situation straightforwardly. But after I betrayed myself, my view both of her and of myself became distorted. I saw the world in a way that justified my failure. My perception became distorted systematically in my favor. When I betrayed myself, I became self-deceived.”
“Oh, I see it,” I said, enthusiastically. “So when you betrayed yourself, you entered the box. That’s what you mean. That’s the answer to your question of where you were — isn’t it?”
“Exactly,” he said, turning again and writing on the board. “Self-betrayal is how we enter the box.”
1. An act contrary to what I feel I should do for another is called an act of “self-betrayal.”
2. When I betray myself, I begin to see the world in a way that justifies my self-betrayal.
3. When I see the world in a self-justifying way, my view of reality becomes distorted.
4. So — when I betray myself, I enter the box.
“Based on this discussion, I think we should add a few summary elements to your diagram, Bud,” Kate said, as she got up and walked toward the board.
“Sure, go ahead,” he said, taking his seat.
First she drew a box around the description of Bud’s experience after he betrayed himself. Then, to the side she wrote, “When I betray myself, I enter the box — I become self-deceived.”
“Now,” she said, turning to me, “I want to pull together and summarize from Bud’s story four key characteristics of self-betrayal. And as I do it, I’m going to list them right here on this diagram.
“First of all,” she said, “remember how after Bud betrayed himself, he made Nancy worse than she was?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “He inflated her faults.”
“Exactly.”
Kate added “Inflate others’ faults” to the diagram.
“And what about Bud’s own faults?” she said. “Did he see them straightforwardly after he betrayed himself?”
“No,” I answered. “He sort of ignored his own faults and just focused on Nancy’s.”
“That’s right.” She added “Inflate own virtue” to the diagram.
“And do you remember what happened to the perceived importance of things such as sleep and fairness after Bud betrayed himself?” she asked.
“Yes. They seemed more important after he betrayed himself than they did before.”
“That’s right. After Bud betrayed himself, the perceived importance of anything in the situation that could provide justification for his self-betrayal became inflated — like, for example, the importance of sleep, fairness, and his responsibilities the next day.”
Kate added “Inflate the value of things that justify my self-betrayal” to the diagram.
“Okay,” she said. “One more, and then I’ll sit down. When in this story did Bud start to blame Nancy?”
I looked at the diagram. “When he betrayed himself,” I answered.
“That’s right. He wasn’t blaming her when he just felt he should help her. Only after he failed to help her.”
She added “Blame” to the diagram.
“And after I betrayed myself, consider how blame-filled my experience was,” Bud said. “Those things on the diagram are all thoughts I had about Nancy, but consider what happened to my feelings toward her after I got in the box. For example, do you suppose I might have felt irritated?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” I said.
“But notice,” Bud said, drawing my attention to the diagram. “Did I feel irritated toward her when I just felt I should help?”
“And how about anger? Do you suppose I felt angry after I got in the box?”
“Oh yeah. Just look at the way you were seeing her. If my wife seemed that way, I’d be pretty mad at her.” I was jolted by my own comment, because as I looked at the diagram, my wife did seem that way to me.
“You’re right,” agreed Bud. “I think I was plenty upset at what I viewed to be my wife’s insensitivity to my situation. So my blaming didn’t stop with my thoughts. In the box, my feelings were blaming, too. They said, ‘I’m irritated because you’re irritating, and I’m angry because you’ve done things to make me angry.’ In the box, my whole way was blaming — both my thoughts and my feelings told me Nancy was at fault.
“And just to be clear here,” he continued, “was Nancy to blame? Was I irritated and angry because of Nancy, like my irritation and anger were telling me? Were my thoughts and feelings telling me the truth?”
I thought for a moment. I wasn’t sure. It seemed strange that feelings could lie, if that was what Bud was suggesting.
“Think about it this way,” Bud went on, pointing to the board. “What’s the only thing that happened in this story between the time that I wasn’t irritated and angry and the time I was?”
I looked at the diagram.
“Your choice not to do what you felt you should do,” I said. “Your self-betrayal.”
“That’s right. That’s all that happened. So what caused my irritation and anger at Nancy?”
“Your self-betrayal,” I said, my voice trailing off as I became lost in the implications of this thought. Really? Is that right?
I looked again at the diagram. Before he betrayed himself, Bud saw Nancy, whatever her faults, simply as a person who could use his help. I understood that. But after he betrayed himself, she seemed very different to him. She didn’t seem to deserve help anymore, and Bud thought he felt that way because of how she was being. But that wasn’t true. The only thing that happened between the time that Bud felt irritated and angry and the time that he didn’t was something that Bud did — his own self-betrayal — not something that Nancy did. So Bud’s feelings were lying to him!
But that can’t be my case! I screamed in my mind. Laura really is a problem. I’m not just imagining it — and heaven knows I’m not making it up. I mean, there’s no tenderness or caring in her at all. She’s like a cool steel blade. And I know the pain of that blade. She uses it with skill. And Bud’s telling me that’s my fault? What about Laura? Why isn’t it her fault?
That thought caught me. That’s right, I told myself. Maybe it is her fault. She’s the one who’s betraying herself. I started to feel better.
But wait, I argued with myself. I’m blaming. That thought itself is a blaming. And blaming is something that Bud started doing after he betrayed himself, not before.
Yeah, but so what? I fired back at myself. If Laura’s the one wielding the blade, I’m justified in blaming.
But why do I need to feel justified?
Oh, blast it! Why am I questioning myself? I thought. Laura’s the one with the problem.
But that’s what Bud thought, too, I recalled.
I felt trapped between what I thought I knew and what I was learning. Either this stuff was all wet or I was. I was a mass of confusion.
Then I saw a way out.