Her name was Leslie? I seldom mention names in these reflections, but it may have been fake. She sprung into my frat house the spring of my sophomore year at Emory. For weeks, we shared several socials together until I left for summer study in Vienna, Austria. Upon my return in the fall, I fell into two betrayals.
The first was a feared betrayal that wasn’t. The fraternal code was broken by a brother seeking to oversee Leslie’s availability — while I was unavailable overseas. Like Jacob to his brother Esau, he was afraid of how I might react to being betrayed. I told the three friends sent to “confess on his behalf” that I really had no claim on or plans for a relationship. I trusted women to make decisions about their lives.
The betrayal that didn’t matter resulted in the one that did. I was told that Leslie lied to me. He wanted to protect me with his discovery that she was in high school, not college; she lived at home, not an apartment, and on and on. I didn’t want to believe it. How could I have been so gullible? What kind of person would lie repeatedly? What was her motive? Experiencing someone who knows the truth while repeatedly lying dispelled my naïveté.
Some of her statements that had seemed a little off, now began to make sense. My ego-protecting denial eroded, as my pride crumbled. Everyone knew I had been conned; they saw the usurper as the better investigator. I wonder how that experience influenced my future visceral reactions to religious and political leaders who confidently con followers with deception. I hope my embarrassment helped my compassion for other people — I wouldn’t want to waste the pain.
When have you realized someone had been lying to you? How did you react? What actions ended or restored your trust? How long did it take to move forward?
