How Could You Just Leave Me Standing Alone in a World That's So Cold?

When I was a kid, roped into attending church services every Sunday morning and Wednesday night to hear sermons about sin and redemption and forgiveness, I never really understood why everyone got so jazzed up about Judas. Okay, yeah, he sold his buddy Jesus up the river. And that's not cool. But he wasn't the one who drove in the nails. What about the dudes with the hammers? Shouldn't we be focusing all of our wrath on those guys?

But now I know: betrayal changes everything.

I saw my ex-husband today for the first time in five years. If you told my 23-year-old self about the conversation we had - less than a minute of pleasantries between strangers - she would have used words like 'not us' and 'never' and 'impossible'. And yet there we stood, completely unknown to each other now, despite our promises to love and honour and cherish for a lifetime.

The events that transpired, the things that were said and done to bring us to today's strange and remote exchange can never be accurately described. But betrayal was the root of it.

The realization that you've been sold up the river by the person who's supposed to have your back is a transformative moment. It changes you, it brings you to your knees, it lays you bare. What you chose to do from that moment on, though - and what you chose to do every day after that - well, that is what defines you as the new person you have now become. Will you become smaller and meaner until you can taste the bitterness of betrayal in every conversation you have with every person you meet? Or will you conquer the world with your eyes wide open to the complexity of human nature and your Slightly Blackened Heart-of-Gold made resilient by virtues of the fires of adversity?

Internet, I think you gotta go with the latter. Am I wrong?