135. You Were Betrayed: But Somehow You’re the One Afraid to Talk

You were the one who was lied to.

The one who was betrayed.

And yet somehow… you’re the one walking on eggshells.

Afraid to say too much.

Afraid to bring it up again.

Afraid of looking paranoid, insecure, or like you're the problem.

If you’ve ever told yourself, “I can’t say anything,” this episode is for you.

In today’s conversation, I explore the hidden fear many betrayed partners carry, the fear of speaking their truth. Whether you’re still in the relationship or not, if you’ve been silencing your voice to protect someone else’s comfort or to avoid the pain of confirmation, this episode will meet you right where you are.

Because silence might feel safer…

But it comes at the cost of your clarity, your peace, and your self-trust.

Key Takeaways:

• Why betrayed partners often feel silenced, before and after discovery

• How fear creates a story that keeps you stuck in shame and self-doubt

• What actually happens when you finally speak your truth

• Why your voice matters, no matter what they did

• The first small steps to reclaim your truth without letting fear take the lead

💬 Reflection Question:

Where have you been silencing yourself out of fear, and what might change if you let your truth be heard?

Connect with Luke:

• Website: www.lifecoachluke.com

• Instagram: @mylifecoachluke

• Email: luke@lifecoachluke.com

Join the After the Affair community at www.facebook.com/groups/aftertheaffaircommunity

Episode Transcript:

The After The Affair podcast with me, Luke Shillings is here to help you process, decide, and move forward on purpose following infidelity. Together we'll explore what's required to rebuild trust not only in yourself. But also with others. Whether you stay or leave, I can help. And no matter what your story, there will be something here for you.

Let's go.

Hello and welcome to the After the Affair podcast. I'm your host, Luke Shillings, and today you are listening to episode number 135. There's a phrase I've heard more times than I can count in my coaching sessions, and maybe just perhaps it's a phrase that you've said to yourself too. It's the words, I can't say anything.

Not I won't, or I shouldn't, but I can't. It shows up quietly at first, often beneath the surface. It usually exists in the long pauses, the swallowed thoughts, the, the hesitations, the moments where your body knows something's not right, but your voice, it stays silent. If you've been through betrayal or even just question the integrity of your relationship, you might know this feeling.

The moment you think, if I speak up, I'll look paranoid. If I ask questions, I might push them away. What if I'm wrong, then I'll have destroyed something over what? Nothing. So you stay quiet because of the fear of speaking your truth after a breakup. You tell yourself that you are being the mature one. You tell yourself you're keeping the peace. You tell yourself that if something really mattered, well, they'd be honest with you, wouldn't they?

But what's happening beneath the surface is that you're just abandoning your own truth. So let's name it for what it is. This isn't about being incapable of speaking. You're articulate. You have thoughts, feelings. Insights, I see you probably more than most. This isn't about lacking the words. This is about fear.

Fear of confirming what you already suspect. Fear that the discomfort you've been managing is about to become an undeniable pain. Fear that by speaking something out loud, you'll set off a chain reaction that you can't stop. It's fear of being misunderstood, of being dismissed, of being blamed. It's fear that someone might turn to you and say, this is your fault, or worse, they don't even care that you're hurting.

And maybe deepest of all, is the fear that if you took on this one thread, the whole thing might unravel the relationship, the version of your life that you've been trying to hold together. The fragile sense of stability you've managed to construct in the wake of chaos. I get it. I really do get it.

Because this isn't just about emotional hesitation, it's a survival response. Your nervous system's just trying to keep you safe so it whispers. Don't rock the boat. Don't make a scene. Don't be the one who breaks what's already broken, and for a while it works, or at least it feels like it does. You hold your breath, you smile.

When you don't feel like smiling, you edit your words mid-sentence. You tell yourself it is not the right time, that you are the one being the grownup, that you are choosing peace. But here is what most of us miss in the moment. Not speaking doesn't protect the relationship. It protects the illusion of the relationship and that illusion.

It might feel safe for a while, but eventually it starts costing you. It costs your sleep, your clarity, your ability to trust your own gut, the connection that you have with your own truth, because the longer you go unheard, the harder it becomes to even hear yourself anymore. So that silence that you're holding.

It's not neutral and it's definitely not gentle. It's slowly turning into self abandonment and you, yes, you are far too valuable to disappear in your own story. During a recent coaching session, I was working with someone who had been sitting on months of unspoken emotion. He'd sensed that something just wasn't quite right in the relationship.

There were changes in tone, subtle distance, small details that just didn't line up. But every time he considered saying something, there was a voice inside his head that would stop him. And not because he didn't have the words necessarily, but because he didn't believe that he was allowed to use them. He internalised this idea due to some of his own past choices that his concerns weren't valid.

He told himself that he'd lost the right to even raise uncomfortable topics. That questioning anything now would just seem insecure, paranoid, or worse, push the relationship over the edge. So he stayed quiet and over and over again. Of course that silence, it didn't bring the peace he thought it would. No.

Guess what? It brought anxiety, a growing sense of pressure, a quiet question that just kept returning, am I even allowed to feel this way? Is what he was asking himself. And here's the thing, he wasn't trying to avoid responsibility. He was doing the exact opposite. He was trying to avoid losing what was left.

The fear was. If I speak up, I might ruin everything. But what he eventually saw, what we all have to see is that saying nothing doesn't stop the unravelling. It just moves it inside. Instead, it'll show up as insomnia as irritability, disconnection, numbness, doubt. So I asked him a question, if the roles were reversed and your partner sensed something wasn't right.

But said, nothing outta the fear of being wrong. Would you want to know? And without hesitation, he said yes. Because truth isn't the enemy. Avoiding it is. And silence. It doesn't keep the relationship safe, it just keeps it small. When you silence yourself long enough, something inside you starts to shift, and it's often not in a good way.

You begin to question your own reality. You start second guessing the things that you felt, the moments you knew something wasn't quite right. You revisit memories looking for flaw in your own logic, not theirs. You doubt your own gut. You begin to filter your own truth, not just with other people, but with yourself.

You rewrite your thoughts. Ongoing, like mid-sentence, you feel something, but then you immediately justify why you shouldn't be doing. You water down your own needs, you hold back your questions and you walk on eggshells. Not because anyone told you to by the way, but because fear built the narrative. And over time you start believing that story because the belief is just a story that you've told yourself over and over and over again until it becomes your truth.

But it isn't true. It becomes a story that whispers, maybe I'm overreacting. I don't wanna make things worse. Perhaps I brought this on myself. It's because I'm too much. I pushed them away. I must have missed something, or maybe I caused something. And slowly the story gets more and more damaging. It leads onto, I have no right to speak up.

I'm the reason they disconnected. Perhaps this whole thing is actually my fault. But let me just say this as clearly and as, as gently as I can. None of that is true. Let that settle in. None of that is true. No decision that another person made, including betrayal, deception, or emotional withdrawal can be pinned on your fear, your vulnerability, or your silence.

You did not cause someone else's betrayal by being anxious. You did not drive them to secrecy by asking questions. You're not responsible for what they chose to do in the dark. And your pain is not a punishment. It's a signal. A signal that something mattered to you, a signal that you deserve clarity, that your boundaries are important, that your voice is valid, and you don't have to keep telling yourself a story that makes you smaller just to make somebody else's choices easier to accept.

And then something shifts, you finally speak. Maybe it's a whisper at first. Maybe it's a bit messy, unrefined, you know, full of tears and trembling. Maybe it is not even what you'd plan to say, but it comes out anyway. The thing that's been stuck in your throat, the thing that's been looping through your mind over and over at night, the thing you've been afraid would ruin everything.

And for the first time. In a long time, you hear yourself not the edited version, not the safe version, not the version filtered through fear, but you raw, honest human, and whether the response from the other person is validating or not, something inside you becomes clearer. I didn't abandon myself this time.

And that matters way more than you realise, because the first time you honour your truth, even in the smallest of ways, you begin to rebuild something that's really important. Self-trust, self-respect, self connection. That voice you thought you'd lost. It wasn't gone. It was waiting. It was waiting for you to come and find it.

And what's often most surprising is the outcome isn't nearly as painful or horse dramatic as the fear had promised it would be. Maybe the other person doesn't love hearing it fine. Maybe it leads to difficult conversations. Okay, maybe there's discomfort. Let's embrace it. But there's also relief. Relief that the unspoken is now out in the open relief that you no longer have to carry it alone.

Relief that no matter what happens next, you showed up as you, you stopped protecting them from your truth, and instead started protecting your truth from silence. And in that moment, you don't just feel strong, you feel real. If you've been telling yourself, I can't say anything, pause and ask, why not? What do I believe will happen if I speak?

What story have I created about my own voice? Am I trying to avoid being wrong? Am I trying to protect their comfort at the expense of my own? Or am I simply afraid that if I bring this up, the truth might be too painful to hear? It is like sitting in a house that smells of smoke. You don't see the flames yet, but something's off, something's shifting in the air, and yet you don't say anything because if you're wrong, you don't wanna seem dramatic.

But if you're right, the fire might actually destroy everything that's left. But either way, you're sitting in it, breathing it in, and convincing yourself that it's fine. That silence, it isn't peace, it's self abandonment. In disguise, you have the right to your voice, to your observations, to your discomfort.

And that doesn't mean throwing accusations. It doesn't mean demanding answers. When you're not ready for them, it means this. I trust myself enough to say something feels off even if I don't have proof, even if I'm scared, even if I might be wrong. Because courage isn't about certainty. It's about showing up with integrity it when your voice shakes.

So let me ask you, where in your life are you staying silent? Not out of respect, but outta fear. Where have you told yourself? I can't say anything, but deep down, you know, you need to. And what would shift if you decided to speak from your experience, not to control the outcome, not to assign blame, but to simply be honest with yourself, with them, with your partner, with this moment.

You don't have to shout. You don't have to fight. You don't even have to speak everything all at once. But please don't stay silent in your own story. You're the main character because the pain of betrayal is heavy enough. Without carrying the weight of your unspoken truth on top of it, you're allowed to speak.

You're allowed to feel, and you're allowed to want more from the people who claim to love you. So start there with one sentence, one breath, one truth. That's where the healing begins. If today's episode stirs something within you, don't let that disappear. Take a moment to check in with yourself, what needs to be heard, what needs to be said, and if you want support as you figure that out, if you're ready to reconnect with your truth, even if it scares you, then I'm here for that.

You can find out more at lifecoachluke.com or join this conversation inside the Facebook group. You can visit facebook.com/groups/aftertheaffaircommunity. You don't have to say everything today, but maybe today is the day that you stop saying nothing. I'll speak to you all next week. Take care.