It feels strange to write about betrayal trauma on the anniversary of September 11th. Like almost every New Yorker, I carry stories of that day’s devastation and its long aftermath. As a young man in my early twenties, I lost friends and acquaintances, while also rediscovering old connections that grew into lasting friendships. Light can emerge from darkness; it happens every day in the cosmos above us.

That day, and other events before and after it, shaped how I respond to the world. Trauma leaves traces: in thought patterns, in emotions, and in the body’s subtle alarms. Our brains create sensations to keep us alive, but those same signals can entrench habits that repeat long after the danger is gone.

Trauma as a Subjective Experience

We all endure trauma, though what counts as “trauma” is deeply subjective. I’ve met people who describe painful histories in detail yet insist they’ve “never experienced trauma.” In reality, trauma is not only about what happened to us, but how our mind and body carry those experiences forward.

Two parts of the brain play a central role in trauma responses:

– The “thinking brain” (neocortex): about 250,000 years old, it processes meaning, weighs risks, and writes our personal narrative. It tends toward pessimism, not because it wants us to fail, but because caution increases survival odds.
– The “feeling brain” (HPA axis): an ancient system, more than six million years old, that manages fight-or-flight responses. Wired for survival, it reacts with primal efficiency to perceived threats—even when those threats aren’t life-or-death.

These systems work together, but not always smoothly. Sometimes they harmonize; often, they clash. Trauma—especially betrayal trauma—throws them into conflict.

What Makes Betrayal Trauma Different

When I first heard the phrase betrayal trauma, I rolled my eyes. Not because it didn’t hit home, but because it seemed like yet another label for something I had already faced and, I believed, overcome. Betrayal trauma happens when someone you trust—someone with whom you’ve been deeply vulnerable—shatters that trust and fractures your sense of shared reality.

The cycle is deceptively simple: I would open myself up, place trust, discover betrayal, enter survival mode, compartmentalize, reassure myself change would come, and step back in—only to repeat the process.

The irony is that I had already done the work to dismantle these patterns. With the guidance of Dr. Norman Fried, I had unpacked childhood trauma, built firm boundaries, and found the strength to leave toxic relationships. Therapy empowered me to reclaim self-worth and stability.

And yet, betrayal trauma proved uniquely destabilizing. It cut through the skills I had practiced and reawakened behaviors I thought I had resolved. Despite years of progress, I found myself repeating old survival patterns—pulled back into cycles of trust, rupture, and reconciliation attempts. This is what makes betrayal trauma different: it can override even well-developed coping strategies, forcing us to confront vulnerabilities we believed were behind us.

It’s also important to recognize that the person on the other side of betrayal is not necessarily malicious. Often, they are carrying their own pain, unmet needs, and unhealed wounds. Acknowledging that reality doesn’t erase the harm or make the cycle healthy—it simply allows space for compassion alongside accountability. Both can exist at once: we can honor another’s struggles while also honoring our own need to step away and heal.

Cognitive Dissonance in the Healing Process

Betrayal trauma often creates cognitive dissonance—a painful clash between what we know intellectually and what we feel emotionally. Our brain values familiarity more than safety, which explains why people return to unhealthy relationships despite clear warning signs.

I learned to notice this disconnect in myself. My logical mind would rationalize away red flags, while my emotional brain—hypervigilant and unsettled—tried to sound the alarm. I often silenced that alarm by focusing on positive memories, promises of change, or my own determination to “fix” the situation.

A practical tool I’ve found is using “will statements” out loud:
– “I will engage.”
– “I will step back.”
– “I will do nothing.”

When spoken with conviction, these statements provoke different responses in the body. If a choice is safe, the HPA axis calms. If unsafe, the body resists, signaling discomfort. Therapy provides a structured space to process these contradictions, making it easier to distinguish true growth from self-deception.

Cognitive Distortions and Old Patterns

Betrayal trauma also activates cognitive distortions—shortcuts the brain uses to respond quickly, often at the expense of accuracy. The ones most present for me include:

– Black-and-white thinking: seeing a relationship as entirely safe or entirely unsafe, leaving no room for nuance.
– All-or-nothing thinking: believing only extremes—total love or total loss—exist.
– Magical thinking: convincing myself that promises, hope, or effort alone would create lasting change.

These distortions helped me survive moment to moment, but they also prolonged unhealthy cycles. Even with therapeutic tools, betrayal trauma reignited them. Healing requires not just reframing, but honest recognition of how deeply ingrained these patterns can be.

Dysregulation in Mind and Body

Trauma doesn’t just shape thoughts; it inhabits the body. After betrayal, I cycled between exhaustion and hyperarousal. Sleep was fragmented. Appetite disappeared. My body was dysregulated even when my mind insisted I was safe.

Research consistently shows that trauma healing requires both physical and psychological regulation:

– Exercise: Physical activity helps discharge fight-or-flight energy and restore balance.
– Mindfulness and breathing: Practices retrain the nervous system and anchor us in the present.
– Nature connection: Even brief exposure to green space lowers stress hormones.

These practices reconnect us to our primal selves. When dysregulated, touching grass, breathing deeply, or moving the body is more than symbolic—it’s essential.

Returning to Compassion

Betrayal trauma may not meet diagnostic criteria for PTSD, but its symptoms often mirror it. What matters is not whether it fits neatly into a category, but that the suffering is real.

I felt this dysregulation twenty-four years ago in the aftermath of 9/11. I feel it now, through personal betrayal. Different events, same nervous system response. Trauma echoes itself until we find new ways to break the cycle.

We live in a world heavy with trauma, often light on compassion. What I’ve come to accept is that the first and most reliable compassion must come from within. The only person who can consistently validate me is me.

So even as I navigate betrayal trauma, I choose to treat myself with kindness and extend it outward. That decision—imperfect, ongoing, but deliberate—is part of the long road to healing.

Finding a Therapist

Healing from betrayal trauma is not something anyone has to face alone. A skilled therapist can provide a safe, structured space to untangle old patterns, rebuild trust in yourself, and practice healthier boundaries. Whether through cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), mindfulness-based therapy, or relational approaches, therapy offers tools for resilience and long-term growth. If you find yourself caught in repeating cycles of hurt or struggling to make sense of the aftermath of betrayal, reaching out to a qualified professional is one of the most effective steps you can take toward recovery. Healing begins with connection, and therapy can help you find that path forward.