MESSAGE INNER BOTTLED
Recently, I wrote a letter — a letter seething with hurt, anger, and disappointment. It was addressed to someone who had betrayed me, lied to me, and acted without integrity. It began like this:
“Dishonest, disloyal, and untrustworthy. These are the traits you have demonstrated to me. Added to this list are unprofessionalism, opportunism, and selfishness. I never expected you to be capable of such behaviours—certainly not all within the span of a few weeks. While others warned me about this, I chose to believe otherwise. However, as you rightly said, ‘You don’t know the person I have become.’”
Writing that letter felt like reclaiming my power, but in hindsight, it was a way of staying loyal to my suffering. It was a letter of condemnation, full of judgments, as if by putting pen to paper, I could extract justice from the universe.
Reflecting now, I see how much energy was being spent ruminating, blaming, and trying to dissect their motivations. It was exhausting. And in that moment of exhaustion, I stumbled upon teachings that helped me let go — not of what happened, but of my attachment to the pain.
When I wrote, “Your sense of entitlement to act as you have is a harsh reminder that kindness is often mistaken for naivety,” I was speaking from the rawness of personal hurt. But betrayal is not new, nor is it unique. Betrayals happen all the time — Judas with his thirty pieces of silver, Brutus with his dagger in Caesar’s back, Neville Chamberlain waving a worthless piece of paper signed by Adolf Hitler and crowing ‘Peace in our time’. History is filled with stories where trust is shattered, often by those closest to us. These betrayals remind us that the pain of deceit is universal, but so too is the opportunity to rise above it. What matters most is how we choose to respond to it.
The letter was raw and honest, and in many ways, it served a purpose. It gave voice to my feelings and validated my experience. But it also kept me tethered to anger. Every word was like another chain tying me to the hurt, as though my words could rewrite what had happened . Spoiler: they couldn’t.
“You criticized me for ‘accusing you of playing games,’ responding with indignation and disbelief. Yet, the last three weeks have been nothing less than a series of games. The way you have treated me and others is unforgivable, unfathomable, and unjustified.”
As I read these words now, I see how deeply I felt the betrayal. But I also see how much it consumed me. Then, I encountered teachings that offered me a way out — not by erasing the betrayal or excusing the behaviour, but by transforming my response to it.
Sending Loving Kindness
At first, the idea of sending love and light to someone who betrayed me felt absurd. Why should I send them kindness? I’m currently in a programme learning to be a breath-work facilitator, and conscious loving is a key component of the programme, so I am susceptible to trying new things. Therefore Wanda Lasseter-Lundy’s practice of imagining the person enveloped in a glowing ball of white light intrigued me.
One day, I tried it. I pictured them surrounded by that healing light. I visualized them finding clarity, peace, and the ability to act with integrity moving forward. At first, it felt hollow. But with practice, the anger began to fade. It was as though the light I sent, softened the sharp edges of my pain.
This practice wasn’t about absolving them of responsibility — it was about releasing the grip their actions had on my heart.
Forgiveness
Jack Kornfield’s words hit me like a thunderclap: “It is not necessary to be loyal to your suffering.”
For weeks, I had been replaying the betrayal in my mind, loyal to the idea that if I held on to the hurt, I could somehow prevent it from happening again. But Kornfield’s teaching reminded me that forgiveness isn’t about the other person. It’s about me. Holding on to pain only perpetuates suffering, while forgiveness allows for freedom.
“If you succeed with the company, I hope you remember that success built on betrayal and dishonesty can never truly be fulfilling. The ends can never justify the means.”
I see now that those words, while true, reflected my own struggle to let go.
Acceptance
Finally, I embraced the simple truth: I am not a time magician. What happened yesterday is as untouchable as what happened a thousand years ago. No amount of revisiting, rewriting, or reanalyzing could change the past. But I could change how I responded to it.
“As we navigate life, we strive to grow and improve at every stage. You and I have spoken about this concept many times. Unfortunately, it seems we sometimes lose our way. In the end, we are all answerable to a higher power.”
The Catechism of the Catholic Church 1706 reminds us:
“By his reason, man recognizes the voice of God which urges him ‘to do what is good and avoid what is evil.’ Everyone is obliged to follow this law, which makes itself heard in conscience, and is fulfilled in the love of God and of neighbour.”
Judas, Brutus and Hitler faced their reckoning, and so will we all.
These teachings didn’t erase the betrayal, but they transformed my response to it. I went from being consumed by anger and disappointment, to embracing compassion, forgiveness, and acceptance.
I sent them loving kindness — not for their sake, but for mine.
I forgave — not to excuse their actions, but to free myself.
I let go of blame. and stopped trying to figure out their motivations.
I accepted what happened, happened, and moved forward.
The letter I wrote remains tucked away, a reminder of where I began, and how far I’ve come. It’s a testament to the power of perspective, and the freedom that comes from letting go.
