When Honesty Feels Dangerous: Reclaiming Self-Trust After a Subtle Betrayal

Sometimes, when something keeps rising up in my psyche — again and again — I know it’s asking to be integrated. Not fixed, not rewritten, just seen. Held. Understood.

There’s been a dynamic sitting with me for months now — something that happened in my counselling course with one of the tutors. I’ve tried to move on, to let it pass, but it keeps knocking at the door of my awareness. Not because I want to stay stuck in the past, but because I need to reclaim what that moment took from me: my trust in my own clarity.

It started when I expressed confusion about not receiving feedback on several assignments. I had no idea where I stood — I was in the dark. When I brought this up, calmly and honestly, the tutor became defensive. She insisted she had marked them all. But she hadn’t. I later realised that while one assignment hadn’t been submitted (my mistake), the others had been, and had not been returned.

What I felt in that moment wasn’t just frustration — it was confusion. A sense of being emotionally displaced. I didn’t know why such a reasonable question had caused such a disproportionate reaction. I began to question myself. Did I come across as aggressive? Was I being too much?

Months later — six months later — the same tutor brought it up again. Out of the blue. In a group setting. She accused me of being in the wrong, of having made a mistake. The issue wasn’t just the claim itself — it was the power dynamic, the way it blindsided me, the tone. It was like I was being reprimanded for something that had long been closed. Except… I never agreed to close it. I had just been holding it alone.

I tried to set a boundary. I said I didn’t want to talk about it here. That this wasn’t the space. She ignored that and kept pushing.

What I see now — with the clarity of time and distance — is that I triggered something in her. Not intentionally. I don’t go looking for confrontation. But I think my honesty unsettled something in her, something unresolved, something insecure. And instead of holding that like a therapist might — with humility and reflection — she turned it on me. Tried to regain control by undermining my experience.

And maybe… maybe there was another layer too. Maybe, because I’ve had experiences with psychosis, because I’ve been to hospital, there’s an unconscious belief that I’m less capable. That I don’t have the authority to hold my ground or challenge authority — especially calmly. I know that belief exists in the world. And maybe it showed up here too.

What I know is this: I was not cruel. I was not loud. I was honest. And she crossed a line. That matters.

It matters because in these small, subtle betrayals of trust — when someone turns their defensiveness into a weapon — something inside us can begin to erode. Self-trust. Self-belief. Especially when they’re in a position of power.

But I don’t want to carry her unresolved shame. I don’t want to keep this energy frozen in time, circling around me.

So I’m writing this now — to reclaim it. To honour the part of me that saw clearly. That asked a fair question. That didn’t deserve to be shamed or silenced.

And to honour the man I’m becoming — the one who no longer needs others to validate what he already knows is true.