“Trust is critical to progress on a spiritual path,” wrote Sue Ferguson, “but it doesn’t come easily for some of us.” I wonder how many readers can relate to Ferguson’s hesitance to trust.
 
We humans are relational beings, who cannot survive and thrive without caring, cooperative relationships with others. Yet to extend trust, we must expose our soft, vulnerable underbelly. No wonder that when trust is betrayed, the relational wound can go deep.

Instincts
 
For much of my life, I have been someone who instinctively trusted others. I grew up with loving, reliable caregivers, so my foundation of trust was strong as I entered adulthood. Later, though, there was one significant period when trust did not come so easily to me. I was in my 30s by this time, and life had eroded my trusting nature. It showed in my romantic life.
 
I started dating someone I met online – the way so many romances start anymore. Going slow makes sense when a relationship starts from zero, as strangers, and I did go slowly. My nervous system knew pretty quickly, though, that this guy was trustworthy. On our second date, I drove up to his city, and when he greeted me, he gave me an unhurried hug that just felt so safe and grounding. (If you know me, you know I’m a hugger.) I think on some level this is when I knew this was someone I could get serious about. He gave hugs like my trustworthy father.
 
But as our relationship unfolded over weeks, and then months, approaching a year, I continued to take my time. My boyfriend was ready to pick up the pace. He was ready to make long-term plans, to really commit. Neither of us was young – I was 34, he was 43. If parenting was going to be part of our lives there wasn’t much time to waste. He wanted to know where I stood in this relationship. And I was a bit frozen in uncertainty. I continued to move slowly in our couplehood. At one point my partner became impatient with my dawdling. And I thought, is he going to walk away?
 
Maybe you’ve been the person who could trust, and who felt impatient with or hurt by another’s apparent lack of commitment. Or maybe you’ve been the person who found it hard to trust in someone else, or in your own powers of discernment.
 
It takes courage to trust. Because trust means vulnerability. It means risking being let down by those you trust. For someone who has been hurt or betrayed before, it is not only the specific relationship involved which was harmed; that person’s underlying capacity to trust may also be affected.
 
As for me and my younger self’s dating relationship? It’s only in the last couple of years that I have come to understand more deeply what it was that had diminished my capacity to trust.
 
Backstory
 
Here’s the backstory. (There’s always a backstory.)  In my late 20s, I got involved in a community that gave me many reasons to feel safe there – warm people that seemed to genuinely care about me. Spiritual practices that added comfort, grounding, meaning and personal insight to my daily life. Fun times together, talking and laughing over meals or during recreation together.
 
I moved gradually closer to that meditation community over a period of years, in my participation and my identity. It influenced major choices I made in my personal life, including work and relationships. Eventually I moved into the heart of that spiritual community, transplanting myself from the Midwest to the West Coast to work for the meditation center.

But when I got close, my sense of stability within that group quickly began to erode. In fact, I began to feel distinctly unsafe. Things were not as sunny as they had seemed from a distance. Once I was in the thick of things, my experience was that direct communication seemed to be taboo or threatening. And it took so long, mysteriously, to get something done within the structure of the organization. And members of that spiritual community did not in real life consistently exhibit the qualities that they ostensibly taught to others, like an unhurried mind or self-acceptance.
 
I didn’t understand why the community behaved the way it did. But I could feel the toll it was taking on my body, emotions and spirit. People who I thought I was close to displayed a deficit of trust, not only in others around them, but specifically in me. There was a disconnect between what was actually happening around them and how they responded.
 
Eventually the secretive, distrusting, stultifying climate of that meditation community got to me. To the point I realized that for my own well-being, I needed to get out of there.
 
All the signals that community had given me that it was a place of safety, connection, and growth – a place in which I might flourish and make positive contributions – it turned out those signals had been deeply misleading. And so, when I left that California community and returned to the Midwest, one of the lasting effects I brought with me was confusion about whether I could believe what my experience told me about others.
 
Sure, I felt instinctively safe with my new boyfriend – but was this really going to work out? I had been wrong about people before… how could I be sure I was right about this guy?
 
In Community
 
Perhaps you’ve been close to a person or community whose behavior turned out to be inconsistent, confusing, even downright harmful. Rupturing of trust happens in families. It happens in friendships. It happens in communities. It’s happened, sadly, in the body politic of the United States.
 
Betrayal of trust can be devastating in any context. Because trust is the foundation of all human relationships. Without it, those relationships are hampered in their ability to create and sustain authentic connection.
 
Such a betrayal goes especially deep in a place that was supposed to be safe – as when a parent or guardian harms a child in their care, or when a spiritual or religious community fails to protect anyone in it from abuses of power.
 
Relational traumas like these impact not only the person directly affected – the child abused or neglected, the partner assaulted or cheated on, the group member deceived or manipulated. Betrayals of trust can also affect whole communities.
 
What I have come to understand about my old meditation community, twenty years later, is that its capacity for trust, for true reciprocity and straightforward communication, had been damaged long before I arrived on the scene. Just as the trust barrier between me and my boyfriend wasn’t really about him, the meditation community’s slowness to trust me and all the young people of my generation that they drew out there was never about us; it was about the fabric of trust in that community that had been ripped apart decades before, which had never healed.
 
Broken
 
You see, I’ve learned just in the past couple of years that the founder of my old meditation group misused his power. He betrayed the trust that vulnerable people placed in him, using them to gratify himself and bolster his ego. And he was never held accountable for the harm he did. Instead, it was pretended away​ by people who could not face what it meant about their beloved teacher. This was what poisoned the well of trust in that community – betrayals that had been buried.

As can happen in any community disrupted by such relational trauma, not everyone stayed. Before my time, some people who came to terms with the truth left the group, because most people were either unable or unwilling to grapple with what had happened.
 
By the time I got involved with the community, the teacher had died, and there were newer people involved who had never been there for the original breaches of trust. Like me, they had no idea what had happened. New people learned by osmosis – through the social conditioning of others – how to fit in and survive there, in a community built on a shaky foundation of trust.
 
It takes courage to mend old relationships – or to build new ones – when trust has been damaged. It takes courage to face the hurt in the first place.
 
Grief
 
About two months ago, while I was in California, I made the decision to visit the ashram where I had had those confusing experiences that shook my capacity to trust. I felt that it could be healing for me to see the community through the eyes of my new understanding of what had happened long before my time there.
 
I gathered my courage before I reached out about visiting the meditation center. I knew that I could not control how others related to me. I wasn’t trying to mend my relationship with them; experience had suggested that they are unable or unwilling to deal with unsavory truths about their beloved teacher, much less acknowledge how later generations might be harmed by coercive dynamics there.
 
No, my goal was to honor the grief and pain of my younger self. Like so many who had gone there over half a century, I had been used and disillusioned by that community. Anyone whose trust has been betrayed – in whatever kind of relationship – deserves to have that pain recognized and cared for.
 
As I drove onto the ashram grounds for the first time in almost twenty years, I felt grounded in my own values and truth. The strength of other friends who had come and gone from the ashram, like me, was with me. And I needed it. Because returning to the site of ruptured relationships can make a person feel vulnerable all over again.
 
For me, going back was cathartic of my pain and grief. And it was affirming of how much I have healed over the past couple of decades, since I left there. Because after visiting the grounds, and visiting with a leader there, I left feeling in my whole self my own soundness of being.
 
I drove away, knowing in my bones that their distrust of me – and their failure to be worthy of the trust I offered them – those were never really about me. Rather, their failure to trust and failure to be trustworthy reflects that community’s unhealed relational trauma.
 
I am trustworthy, and there are many others who are worthy of my trust as well. Whatever you have been through, I suspect that you are trustworthy too. And I am certain that there are people out there who will live up to your trust.
 
I invite you to take a deep breath if that feels right to you.

Anywhere
 
I’m still a curious person, spiritually. I don’t know, though, if I’ll ever again be moved to check out another meditation group, or go on personal development retreats, or explore anything in the unregulated marketplace of spirituality that exists in our country. I have all I need within the tradition I serve.
 
Not that it has been entirely immune to the sort of dynamics I’ve been talking about. It hasn’t. No tradition is, as these are pitfalls of being human that can show up anywhere. But I do feel good about my chosen faith in this regard. Unitarian Universalists have been doing intentional work at a national level to nurture health in our communities, to delineate clear standards for behavior, to prevent breaches of trust, and when trust is betrayed, to hold people accountable and repair the harm. Healing takes a long time in communities. My sense is that my chosen people are on a constructive course.
 
My own experience of trust betrayed was in an alternative spiritual group. I recognize, though, that many people have been hurt in mainstream religious communities, like congregations. I have tremendous empathy for anyone who has experienced betrayal in a place that was especially supposed to be safe for them – or by a person who was especially supposed to be trustworthy, like a religious leader. And I witness how much courage it takes for such a person, after being hurt, individually or as part of a community, to set foot in a church again. Or to step into leadership in a community with this type of history.
 
So. We humans are relational beings. Trust is the foundation of our relationships. Sometimes our trust is betrayed, in individual relationships or in community. And when that happens, it can re-pattern our relationships away from trust, with far-reaching ripple effects in our lives, be it in how we respond to a helpful stranger on a train station, or to a new significant other, or to a new spiritual community or new religious leader.
 
Healing
 
The big question then is, how do we heal from damaged trust?  How do we re-weave this webbing that makes all relationships possible?
 
We can develop the conditions for recovery by finding or creating pockets of safety and care. That’s one step.
 
When I left the meditation community in 2006 and returned to the Midwest, I mostly returned to existing relationships that felt safe for me. Being with my UU church community, and with my old friends, in my familiar city – that provided the conditions for healing for me. And when I was stable again, I summoned the courage to try to find someone who could be my life partner.
 
Working with a professional can be very helpful in restoring our capacity to trust. The relationship between a patient and therapist can become the crucible in which the ability to trust is rebuilt. Perhaps this is why the quality of the relationship between a patient and therapist – the trust – is more important for the patient’s progress than the specific therapy philosophies and practices used by the therapist.
 
The hard slow work of rebuilding trust happens in daily life, too. Just as each strand of a braid is woven one cross-over at a time, to form something strong, in our day to day relationships, including those with new people, there is no substitute for repeatedly proving reliable and honest and operating in good faith.

And when a community has suffered tears to the warp and weft of trust that upholds it? What creates healing on a communal level? In the tradition I belong to, one of the central ways of nurturing relational health is by creating covenants of right relations. A covenant conveys what behaviors are appropriate, and what are not.
 
Living into those covenants together is an ongoing practice. We will inevitably make mistakes sometimes. Being in right relationship means continuing to come back into covenant, in good faith, when that happens. Putting those blocks back on when one has fallen. Otherwise, like a little tower of Jenga blocks, the whole thing can become shaky.
 
For a community that was harmed specifically by a leader, broken trust can also be repaired by carefully building a trusting relationship with a new leader. If the new leader proves to be reliable, to have healthy boundaries, to be collaborative and not misuse their power, a community may begin to mend the fabric of trust.
 
As happened in my relationship with my boyfriend, trust grew gradually, through the accumulation of shared experiences. It takes however long it takes. Some communities that are healing, like individuals, find support from people who are trained and skilled in healing relational trauma to be helpful.
 
Some communities are never going to heal because they will not face what happened. Sadly, my old meditation group is one of those. I wonder if, in the history of high control groups, a full-on cult has ever gone from traumatizing to healthy. Seems unlikely to me.
 
Weaving
 
On a personal level, what happened for me, after I left the meditation center, returned to my old friends and community, and started dating?  Well that boyfriend, he of the comforting hugs, was patient. He was sure about me. And, lucky for me, he let me take the time I needed to realize that I could, in fact, trust my instincts about him.
 
He let me take the time I needed to regain confidence in my own powers of judgment. William and I got married in 2009. We did start a family, too – our daughter is almost sixteen and our great joy.
 
I try to remember this personal experience, when I find myself in any kind of relationship with a person or community that finds it hard to trust. There’s always a reason for it. It may not really be about me. But it doesn’t come out of nowhere. And the only way to heal that disconnect, and rebuild confidence for healthy, mutually supportive relationships, is with patience and care.

​Dear reader, I wish you relationships of care and reciprocity that prove worthy of your trust. Day in and day out, may each of us be mindful to weave the strands of trust in our families and friendships, in our communities, and in the wider world. May we act in good faith one to another. And may we be rewarded with relationships that support us, that help us to grow and flourish. So may it be.
 
Contemplation
 
I invite you to recall a time in your life when you have been party to a loss of trust. Perhaps trust was broken in a big, life-changing way. Perhaps it was some small neglect or thoughtless choice that frayed the fabric of trust. You might have been in error, or perhaps someone else hurt you. Trust might have been diminished in a family relationship, a friendship, a workplace, or a community of care like a congregation. Take few moments to pause and reflect on your own experience of trust betrayed – and perhaps any courageous steps that were taken to restore trust.

 
Rebuilding depleted trust takes patience, care and intentionality. Like a braid that has come undone, unraveled trust is re-woven one action at a time, one strand-over-strand weaving at time.

Ritual
 
If you'd like to do a bit of ritual on these themes, gather together three pipe cleaners, three strands of yarn or something similar. For yarn, my suggestion is to gather three strands together, at one end, and tie the ends to each other, or to a paperclip. For pipe cleaners you can simply crimp them together on one end. Then you can braid from there, crossing the left yarn or pipe over the middle one, then the right one over the new middle one, then left again, and continuing like that to complete a braid.
 
When you are finished, you can wear the braid as a bracelet on your wrist. Or loop your braid through the hole in a zipper pull on any bag. The braid can serve as a reminder of the slow process of healing trust – and the progress you are already making.

Video Message
 
This piece is adapted from a sermon I delivered to the congregation I serve as ordained clergy. If you are interested in hearing this piece rather than simply reading, you can watch/listen below, or on YouTube here. The contemplation begins about 23:30 minutes in, the reading at 30:30, and the sermon around 33:25.

As background, I serve in the Unitarian Universalist tradition, a liberal religious denomination which is theologically diverse, small-d democratic, and centered in Love. It is about as far from high demand religion as you can get. Still, trigger warning for those who have experienced harm in churchy settings — the sanctuary does *look* very churchy, in an austere New England sort of way (minus the crosses).
 
I am not trying to convert you, to my tradition or to any form of organized religion. Unitarian Universalism is the right place for me — and I am delighted when others find themselves at home there too — but I do not believe there is one right way or one correct community for everyone. For people who have had high demand experiences, it is especially important to discern for yourself what meets you where you are, and what helps you grow. You do you!

Etcetera

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Meanwhile, here are some other articles that may interest you.
Seeking Safely … The Accidental Buddhist ... The Structure of a High Control Group 

Please read this disclaimer carefully before relying on any of the content in my articles online for your own life.

In my last post, I considered why the conflicted experience of participating in a high control group leaves one in the dark about what is really going on. How is it that astute people miss what is happening right before their eyes? Hidden levers of influence are used, softly, gradually, to manipulate people. Cognitive dissonance arises and is resolved — most often through unconscious compliance with the group’s worldview.
​
Let’s examine a few more reasons the inner workings — and the nature — of a culty group may remain veiled.

Surprise Inside

High control groups promise to make a difference in the lives of their participants, and/or in the wider world. This is why they especially attract caring, idealistic people who are hungry for meaning and purpose.

Like most of us, such people tend to assume that others are like them (most people are). We assume people mean what they say (most often, people do). We give people the benefit of the doubt if something doesn’t add up. (Wouldn’t I want the other to do that for me?)

A sensitive, empathetic person will imagine others’ inner motives to be similar to our own, or to other people we know. It’s hard to perceive other possibilities, foreign to our own experience. Especially if everyone in the group lauds the person as special, enlightened, wise, the embodiment of love — whatever the persona of a particular cult’s leader happens to be.
​
Enter a leader from the Cookie-Cutter Messiah School. That’s what cult survivors sometimes call it tongue-in-cheek, upon discovering striking similarities among their different leaders (Take Back Your Time by Janja Lalich).
​

​The formal position of the leader varies — spiritual teacher, political leader, therapist, lover, esteemed pastor, college professor, workshop trainer, etc. — but he (or she) usually possesses these qualities:

• “a dramatic and convincing talent for self-expression”
• “an intuitive ability to sense their followers’ needs and draw them closer with seductive promises”
• an ideology with untestable claims that the leader indoctrinates his followers into (using the same, seemingly innocuous levers of influence noted in the previous post)
• “inescapable magnetism, winning style, and the self-assurance” to persuasively promote their chosen cause or worldview

Many (though not all) cult leaders are believed to have personality disorders — not that regular folks would be likely to discern that. On the contrary, “initially many persons with personality disorders appear quite normal. They present themselves to us as charming, interesting, even humble… their contact with reality appears solid” (neuropsychiatrist Richard Restak, quoted in TBYL).

​Trauma therapist Beth Matenaer describes narcissism, common in cult leaders, as characterized by “high need for control, admiration, and lack of maintainable empathy” (in TBYL). The narcissist tends toward paranoia, exploitation of others, grandiosity, lack of genuine concern for others’ needs, and charismatic allure.The narcissist wants attention and will weaponize it when they get it, along with using other forms of manipulation and coercion. They zero in on empathetic people and exploit them to meet their own needs.

Some cult leaders may further have antisocial personality disorder, which is viewed as a subgroup of narcissistic personality. (TBYL) The M.O. of a sociopath, as Robert Jay Lifton coined it, is manipulation from above, idealism from below.

​Other common characteristics of a sociopath include being captivating storytellers, appearing helpful and even ingratiating (while covertly domineering), presenting themselves as enlightened (but also the most humble), pathological lying, having shallow emotions, inability to give or receive love, engaging in thrill-seeking behaviors (publicly or privately) to stave off boredom, lacking personal boundaries or a sense of responsibility, and often scapegoating others.

Multiple marriages, sexual misconduct, and sexual control of followers are common for such a person. Their personal history is often erratic, involving many changes in location or occupation, and a parasitic lifestyle. They may have significant health problems and attribute them to “their so-called compassion in taking on their disciples’ karma” or their role in leading the group. (TBYL) (If “cash karma” is real — consequences rebound on one instantly, or within one’s lifetime — one might deduce, instead, that the leech’s own hurtful misbehavior is the actual root of their illness.)

If a cult leader doesn’t start out as a narcissist — and perhaps a sociopath — living in the authoritarian power seat for a while may well turn them into one. Cathleen Mann, cult expert and educator, commented in one interview on how this can happen:

“Something could be said for compensatory narcissism, which is narcissism that comes out of being put in a powerful position, for a long period of time. It causes you to become narcissistic… you learn the behavior and part of it is a function in order to survive in the system, but a lot of it is because they enjoy it.”
                                       ~ Cathleen Mann

Whatever the stated mission of a cult, its real purpose “is to serve the emotional, financial, sexual, and/or power needs of the leader.” (TBYL)
​

​I wager that most people are not going to recognize a narcissist, sociopath, or other charming con artist upon encountering them. Especially not if that person is already surrounded by admirers, who sing their praises and interpret all their behaviors in the most positive possible way. Once such a “trust bandit” has assembled his first cluster of followers, he can prey all the more easily on other kind souls. He will seem like a remarkable, intriguing figure.

Indeed, as Margaret Singer and Janja Lalich put it, “What you first see is not what’s inside” the cultic group. Instead, cults — and their enthralling leaders — are “reminiscent of a jack-in-the-box — a pretty, innocuous-looking container that, when opened, surprises you with a pop-out-figure,.. Similarly, surprising and frightening things pop out over the course of membership in a cult.” (Cults In Our Midst: The Continuing Fight Against Their Hidden Menace)

Given all of the above, it must be a rare person indeed who can meet a cult leader in their element — and recognize the emptiness beneath the luminous exterior of these emotional vampires.

Need Trumps Logic

Humans are quite capable of deceiving ourselves when it helps to meet important needs. Psychologist Robert Cialdini tells the story of going to an intro lecture on Transcendental Meditation (TM), as part of his observational research into professional persuaders (Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion, 2021 edition). He brought along a curious colleague who specialized in statistics and logic.

During the Q&A, the logic professor “pointed out precisely where and why the lecturers’ complex argument [for the uniqueness and boatload of diverse benefits] of TM was contradictory, illogical and unsupportable.” The facilitators sat in stunned silence before acknowledging that the points merited closer examination.

But what fascinated Cialdini was how the other attendees responded. “After what appeared to have been an embarrassingly clear collapse of [the] presentation, the meeting had somehow turned into a success,” with audience members making down payments on TM training at dramatically high rates.

​Cialdini and his colleague spoke with several such individuals, curious to understand their rationale. People had come with a variety of aims: to develop discipline to succeed in one’s profession, to overcome insomnia, to sleep less so one could study more and do better in school. (Yes, those last two are opposites.)

All had their hopes pinned on the solution that the presenters had offered them in TM. The logician’s counter-arguments were so compelling, one attendee admitted, that he did not want to give himself time to go home and mull on that before acting. If he didn’t commit now, he knew, logic would win over. Then he’d be stuck still lacking a way to resolve his problem.

Once people had invested in TM as the solution, it was easier to banish that pesky logic from memory and stay focused on their goals. Humans are more secure in our self-image when we perceive ourselves as sticking to our commitments and behaving in ways consistent with our own past action. Hence, eliciting a commitment, and inviting follow-through later, is an oft-used tactic by influencers.

High Stakes and Big Blinders

If a person can so easily delude themselves simply for an as-yet-unrealized hope, one might surmise that blindness to the truth is even more common when the stakes are high. And for social creatures like humans, who need one another to develop and to survive, the stakes are never higher than in our most important relationships.
​
Consider betrayal blindness. Psychologists and researchers Jennifer Freyd and Pamela Birrell write about this subject, with examples as wide-ranging as children abused by parents or other adults on whom they are dependent, cheated-upon spouses who are the last to see it, date rape victims, and sexual abuse in the Catholic Church (Blind to Betrayal: Why We Fool Ourselves We Aren’t Being Fooled). Betrayal blindness is the term they coined to describe the “observable, ubiquitous psychological phenomenon” of “systematically not seeing important instances of treachery and injustice.”
​

​Betrayal blindness is most likely to come into play when someone must rely on others for their survival or well-being. This dependence may be emotional and/or financial. For children, it involves their most essential attachment bonds to caregivers. In the case of a high control group, it may involve the entire worldview on which the person has built their life.
​
Always, there is broken trust. That is the root of the betrayal — someone who was supposed to care about me and support me instead used me.
“Betrayal blindness is almost always a survival strategy,” explain Freyd and Birrell.

Betrayal blindness allows the victim to maintain the status quo, and continue to meet the needs that this relationship is meeting. A housewife caring for small children, lacking her own income, is dependent on the husband to provide for them all — incentive to “forgive and forget” his belitting behaviors (or worse), or not see the signs of infidelity. And what choice does a child have if a parent is the abuser — or doesn’t believe them about another’s abuse? Even bystanders may favor unawareness, so they don’t have to take action or risk their own status and comfort.
​
A variety of cognitive, emotional, and social processes can play a role in keeping a person blind to betrayal by one they trusted — someone they should have been able to trust. The information is there the whole time, and bits and pieces may be accessible in memory in isolation, minus accurate interpretation. Sometimes awareness may come and go in flashes, especially with a family member or other close relation — this is called rotating betrayal blindness. But the person will not connect the dots, look directly at the whole picture, and remain consistently aware of the truth.

The repertoire of ways people remain in the dark includes:

• forgetting events or details (the hippocampus, which is key to the formation of memories, has been found to be shrunken in many trauma survivors)
• compartmentalizing or isolation of knowledge, which occurs more frequently when betrayal is by someone we are close to
• suppressing “odd” or “weird” feelings that arise when confronted with evidence of betrayal

• cognitive dissociation that helps keep threatening information out of awareness
• use of distraction or divided attention to keep dangerous knowledge from seeping into consciousness (hmmm… spiritual practices could be used this way — focus the mind somewhere else)
• development of alexithymia; that’s the “inability to know or state one’s own emotional feelings and experiences,” which is correlated with childhood abuse
• pressures from other people to remain ignorant and quiet
• avoiding putting one’s experiences into words — which makes them more concrete and inescapable — whereas unverbalized knowledge is more amorphous
• groupthink and self-censorship

That’s a long and sophisticated list of ways to obscure the truth from oneself.

Facing the Truth

Aside from practical concerns of emotional, financial, and spiritual dependence upon those who have betrayed one — and the need to secure other ways to meet those needs if not through the betrayer — facing a betrayal requires enormous personal strength.

For the knowledge of betrayal brings with it many other challenges:

• a sense of free fall as one’s overall sense of the solidity and safety of the world dissolves

• a loss of trust not only in the particular individual who betrayed one, but in any bystanders or institutions who looked the other way (sadly, institutional collusion in betrayal is both common and particularly toxic)
• the risk of being disbelieved or blamed upon disclosure — which constitutes an additional betrayal, often experienced as even more painful than the original betrayal
• an intensification of mental and physical health symptoms, if a supportive response is not forthcoming

Is it any wonder that victims do not always recognize or confront ill treatment? Freyd and Birrell report, “Numerous studies have discovered that nondisclosure, recanting, and delayed disclosure are common reactions to sexual assault.” The sad fact is that disclosure can make things worse for the victim.

(The researchers also speculate that differences in mental health symptoms between men and women — women suffer disproportionately from depression, anxiety, and PTSD — may trace, at least in part, to women’s higher rate of exposure to betrayal traumas like incest, domestic violence and rape. Betrayal trauma is also associated with chronic health problems and physical illness symptoms.)

As I consider my old meditation group — having recently read/heard disclosures of sexual and spiritual abuse by the founder that I absolutely believe to be true — I feel deep anger and enormous sadness at the scale of betrayal. Most of all, for the teens and young women who were used by the founder — and if they had the strength to confront it, were subsequently disbelieved by members of the community. Even their own family members.
​

​At my best, I can also muster compassion for others in the community, who froze because they were unable (or unwilling, but let’s say unable) to metabolize the life-shattering new knowledge of their beloved teacher, to whom they had devoted their lives.
​
As long as victims/survivors are still alive, there is still the possibility of offering the healing balm of witness, belief, apology, reconciliation. Indeed, disclosure followed by “respectful reception is so healing” (BtB). If the remaining adherents are going to continue the organization’s work, there are new people who deserve the whole truth, too.

It’s not too late for former bystanders, for the institution, to make different choices. Those who continue to affiliate with the ashram still have open to them a positive pathway forward: seeking support, grappling with these harsh truths, reconciling with victims and all those deceived, and in the process healing themselves as well.

As Desmond Tutu said, writing on the Truth and Reconciliation process in South Africa (quoted in BtB, as all in this section):

“If we do not deal with the past it will haunt and may indeed jeopardise the future.” ~ Desmond Tutu

I mention support because, to face difficult truths, the leaders and members of my old group must be willing to go through their own free fall experience. Do they have it in them? Will they choose to try?

Perhaps this advice from psychologist Belle Liang could help, on learning “to notice when I’m having a long argument with someone else in my head. That’s a data point … I know that I need to pay attention to how I’m silencing myself in the relationship and move toward unsilencing” (emphasis mine).

​It is my hope that those in the ashram community who may have long been silencing themselves will pay attention to that — and start having those crucial dialogues with each other, out loud.

Outright Deception

A few words about outright deception, which can also play a role in high control groups — as I now believe it has in my former group.

The leader(s) of such a group may carefully manage their own image, or they may have consummate professionals who manage it for them — from clothes, sets, photos and videos, smiling followers, articles and books that tell the story of the leader(s) just so… to omitting inconvenient truths about the founder or group (how many marriages did he have? under what circumstances did he leave X institution? what happened in those years you glossed over?)… to outright lies (did he really complete that prestigious program?).

These facts, too, could be sought and freely acknowledged. It’s never too late to set the record straight.

Embracing Truth

Truth is a universal moral and spiritual value. I conclude here with some quotes that speak to me of the guiding light of Truth.
​
Make me always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes,
So when life fades as the fading sunset,
my spirit may come to you without shame…
Let me remember always that you give the gift of a new day.
Never let me be burdened with sorrow by not starting over.
~ Native American tradition

The Self desires only what is real, thinks nothing
but what is true. Here people do what they are told,
becoming dependent on their country, or their piece of land,
or the desires of another, so their desires are not fulfilled
and their works come to nothing, both in this world and in the next.
~ The City of Brahman

What is meant by wholehearted devotion to God alone?
It means that in every act, public and private,
the aim and purpose should be purely work for God’s sake,
to please him only, without winning the approval
of other people.
~ Rabbi Bahya ibn Pakuda

In your word, speak the truth.
In the world, seek peace.
In personal affairs, do what is right.
~ Tao te Ching

“And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.”
~ John 8:32 of the Christian Bible

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