October 2026: Betrayal of Silence
Three months since my last blog, and I was not expecting a social media meme to be this month’s inspiration. Nor was I expecting an interaction with a now former client to be the catalyst for releasing this betrayal of silence on so many fronts. That said, I have pondered what my October 2019 and 2026 selves would say to each other given the significant events of both. My current self would certainly assure my 2019 self (who had just bought and moved into a fixer-upper home all on her own) that she would get through a lot of stuff over the next 7 years – and come out stronger on the other side with hope for a brilliant future. My 2019 self would likely hardly believe whatever my current Self would choose to tell her about what is to come – including a pandemic and online dating. I know my 2019 Self would scoff at the idea of ever trying online dating! I am not sure how my 2019 Self would handle the news that in exactly 7 years my father would die.
It has been an emotional roller coaster ride since my dad suffered a supposedly minor stroke in September. The family drama that ensued is not the content of this blog; but it certainly played a role in what I am processing today about the betrayal of silence – and the silence of betrayal. Sit with that a moment to tease apart the subtle difference! What we don’t say can have as major an impact as what we do say. Empty apologies that hide rather than reveal. Questions dodged. Requests ignored. What occurred with the now former client triggered a trauma response rooted in family secrets and relationship dynamics – which could have been avoided if therapeutic protocols were given a chance to be followed. That is what feels like a betrayal. I wasn’t trusted to deal with the situation in a professional manner. I was excluded all together. Left in the dark. Kept outside. Much like I was my entire childhood.
Fast forward to the funeral that was held October 17th. It was a very difficult situation for me – not due to grief, but my autism. Fortunately, I had my emotional support dog, Abbie, with me who behaved beautifully and offered support to whomever needed it. Here comes the irony of evasion. Whenever I was asked why I had Abbie with me, I responded that it was for my anxiety, to keep me from spiralling. Which is absolutely true. What I wanted to say, but didn’t, was that I needed her support for my autism. I had this feeling that I would be viewed as if I had a horn growing out of my head if I admitted I was autistic – and be sucked into a conversation about justifying my autistic label. I was so blessed to have an old childhood friend there who absolutely could see my autistic traits then and now! How very validating! If only it had been given 50 years ago when my ‘symptom’ of pathological shyness was debilitatingly awkward and expected to ‘go away’ on its own. Granted, autism wasn’t a ‘thing’ in the 1970s. What pierced back then, was the silence.
I was never taught social skills – just shamed for being socially awkward. I was an embarrassment to my father whenever I ducked under his suit jacket to hide from people who came to talk with my dad in the foyer after church. I was very quiet and admonished to ‘speak up’ when I wanted to go unnoticed. I wanted an advocate, but was only met with disappointment. My childhood was complicated by the fact that my birth mother committed suicide the day after my 5th birthday – at this time of year. My mother was never spoken of after the funeral. And when I tried to learn more about her in my teen years, I was met with evasion. I didn’t know the truth of my mother’s death by suicide until I was 16 years old. That was 11 years of believing a story my brain had conjured up to fill in the gaps (which is a common phenomenon for childhood trauma). I sensed the shame surrounding my mother’s existence as well as her death – which stirred an existential crisis within me for many years. It was like my birth mother didn’t exist – which impacted how I perceived my own existence.
The secret of my birth mother was broken at my dad’s funeral when the slide show included two photos of my birth mother. She really did exist. There was an audible gasp in the sanctuary when the last photo was shown – and later, I was repeatedly told how much I look like her. Yes. My mother existed – and therefore now I can. The betrayal of silence because people didn’t know how to share necessary information in an age-appropriate way, adding information as I matured. The literal and figurative silence of that betrayal. And here is the tricky part. Sometimes we do hold back information because total honesty would be more harmful than the partial ‘truth.’ Social niceties dictate we do not comment on certain looks or behaviours. We amend what we say due to circumstances and cultural expectations. We hold our tongue. Knowing what to say and when to say it is tricky business – even trickier for those with neurodivergent traits, particularly missing social cues or tending toward accuracy over nuance.
Another overlap between recent and past betrayals – I wasn’t given a chance to handle the information. Someone else decided for me. It is one thing not to provide information because it simply isn’t someone else’s business, or to protect someone from your own mistakes. It is another to purposefully evade answering questions (both then and now). A betrayal of trust through silence. The echoing silence of unknowns underpinning the betrayal. Lies of omission come in many forms with very different repercussions – some beneficial, some harmful – especially the omissions with the intention of being beneficial that turn out harmful. The added salt to the open wound, or the twist of the knife, is the gaslighting that tries to back pedal or downplay the harm done. My OCD has a field day with that one – questioning everything, ruminating ad nauseum because there are no answers – just that echoing silence.
I now have the opportunity to release all those betrayals of silence – well intended or not – that kept me in the dark. The silences in my childhood, my marriage, friendships, and working relationships. The overthinking that fills the void but accomplishes nothing. My OCD makes a lot more sense viewed through this lens which enables me to shut it down faster. This adjusted perspective allows me to choose how to address the silence if so inclined, or let it rest as having served its purpose. I can let it go. I can move forward without it hanging over my head or weighing down my heart. I can stop the incessant rumination trying to figure things out, make sense of the senseless, spinning my wheels.
I anticipated writing about much different healing moments surrounding the death and funeral of my father. Evidently the Universe had other plans. 😉 Catalysts creep up when you least expect them, and come in unexpected forms. I guess I have my former client to thank for that (silver lining hidden in the silent betrayal). But if we allow the catalyst to do its thing, what emerges out the other side can be a pleasant surprise. I know I am embarking on a completely new chapter of my journey. I can feel it in my body as well as my psyche and spirit. I have no idea where this plot twist is headed; but one thing can be sure, it will be another page turner! And it’s probably a good thing that my 2033 self can’t give me any hints. 😊