The Self-Help Circus
Let me set a scene. You know the inflight will be terrible, and you didn’t reload any entertainment for yourself… so you decide to buy a book. What can I say… it was very enlightening. Somewhere out there, a coach decided that betrayal isn’t real. According to the book “Понять себя, его, других. Система счастливых отношений” (Neganova), “Nobody offends us — we choose to take offense. Betrayal is perception, not fact.”
Read that again. So if your husband is screwing someone else, or your business partner emptied the joint account, it’s not betrayal. It’s just… your interpretation. A vibe. Maybe even your fault for “perceiving it wrong.” Try telling that to someone who just found unfamiliar perfume on their bedsheets or an empty safe where last week’s rent used to be.
Gaslighting With a Hardcover
This is where self-help turns into straight-up gaslighting. Facts are facts. Cheating, stealing, lying — those are actions. You don’t get to wave them away with “change your perception.” What you can choose is your reaction: leave, forgive, set fire to his sneakers. But pretending the act itself is imaginary? That’s not wisdom. That’s intellectual fraud. It’s the equivalent of someone standing in your kitchen, crumbs on their mouth, denying they ate your cake — while the plate is still warm.
Why People Buy It
Because it’s easier. It’s easier to believe you’re “in control” of everything than admit some people are just assholes. It feels empowering to say, “I won’t let betrayal hurt me,” even if the reality is someone just gutted your trust. Books like this sell because they package denial as enlightenment. You walk away not wiser, just better at gaslighting yourself. It’s like spiritual junk food: sweet slogans that rot the teeth of reality.
I’ll Take Ruthlessness Over Fairy Dust
If being a “normal human” means nodding along while someone tells me betrayal isn’t real, then fine — I’ll happily stay highly functioning ruthless. At least ruthless people deal in reality, not affirmations. Trust is binary: you keep it or you break it. And when you break it, don’t expect me to call it a perception issue. Call it what it is: a fact. And if you don’t like the sound of that, maybe you belong in the aisle where self-help books sit — smelling faintly of incense and denial.
By the time the plane landed, the book was right where it belonged: shoved into the seat pocket, wedged between the safety card and the sick bags. Fitting company.
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