Lessons in Betrayal from a Scorpion

Apr 30, 2025

Years ago, my husband and I were having one of our many philosophical conversations about emotional truths. He brought up the topic of betrayal, and I sat with it for a bit before realizing something that surprised even me: I don’t actually believe in betrayal. At least — not in the way most people mean it.

He was certainly surprised by this perspective, and likely you are too. His first thought was that clearly I hadn’t experienced betrayal, and therefore was naive on the subject. *chuckles* Ooooh, no. I’ve definitely been in situations that could easily be interpreted that way — on both ends of the spectrum. Afterall, I’m not without sin, and I don’t pretend to be. But I do try to learn from my mistakes so I don’t repeat them (often).

Eventually, I was able to explain that I don’t believe people really betray other people. Most of the time, people are just acting in their own best interest as they see it in the moment… or in accordance with their nature. It’s up to me to actually see those things.

The Frog & the Scorpion

There’s an allegory — you probably know it — about a scorpion and a frog.

The scorpion wants to cross a river but can’t swim. He asks the frog to carry him across. The frog hesitates. “But if you sting me, I’ll die.”

The scorpion replies, “Why would I do that? If I sting you, we’ll both drown.”

The logic seems sound, so the frog agrees. He lets the scorpion climb onto his back and begins to swim. Halfway across the river, the scorpion stings him. As the poison spreads and they both begin to sink, the frog gasps, “Why?”

The scorpion’s reply is simple: “It’s in my nature.”

Most people interpret that as a warning about trust — that the scorpion betrayed the frog. That he lied, then turned on the frog.

But I see a different story. I don’t think the scorpion didn’t betray the frog. The frog betrayed himself.

Stay with me.

The frog named the risk! He actually said “You’ll sting me.” He knew the scorpion’s nature.

And then — he disregarded that knowing. He let the scorpion’s logic override his own instinct. He believed the scorpion’s story instead of the patterns of behavior the scorpion has demonstrated repeatedly. The frog projected his own capacity for self-restraint onto a creature that had never shown that capacity.

That isn’t just a poor decision. That’s self-betrayal.

A betrayal of one’s own knowing, wrapped in the disguise of “trust.” But life is not a story, and in life there is real pain, hurt, and heartache resulting from situations where trust extended appears to be betrayed.

Betrayal is a Mirror

I’ve previously introduced a tool that I call the Hall of Mirrors. It’s the distorted reality that I inhabit when my wounded ego is running the show. It’s not just that I see others unclearly — it’s that I mistake the reflections for reality. Every person, every dynamic becomes a mirror, not of who they are, but of the unhealed stories I still carry. And we are all carrying unhealed stories!

Until those wounds are acknowledged and integrated, we live inside our own private Hall of Mirrors — reacting to projections, defending against illusions, and missing the truth that’s standing right in front of us.

That’s why betrayal hits so hard. It doesn’t just hurt because of what someone did — it hurts because of what we thought the actions meant. The story we were unconsciously telling ourselves about them; about us; about what this connection says about our worth, our safety, or our identity.

And when that story breaks… it feels like we break.

But what’s actually happening is this: A mirror is cracking. And something truer is asking to come into view. That’s the real pain. That’s what we call betrayal — the heartbreak of waking up from our own illusion.

In the allegory, the frog projected his own capacity for self-restraint given the situation onto the scorpion. He believed the scorpion could act outside his nature — because he believes would have. But when the scorpion proved him wrong, the mirror shattered. And in the moment of clarity, the frog felt betrayed — by the very thing he refused to acknowledge: the truth about the scorpion that he already knew.

If this concept of a Hall of Mirrors resonates with you — that’s a massive step forward. Because here’s the thing: until we know we’re in a Hall of Mirrors, we’ll keep acting and reacting as if what we see is the whole truth. Once you begin to think “maybe… this is a reflection”, that is when the entire game changes.

That flicker of awareness cracks the mirror just enough to glimpse what’s underneath — and what’s creating the projection in the first place.

Remember: triggers are invitations to heal.

And as healing and integration begin, it becomes easier — and safer — to see the actual person, the actual situation… instead of the story reflected back to us that we once needed them to be.

Projection Collapse

I think one of the hardest aspects of betrayal, of having illusions shattered, is that I’m forced to see myself more clearly than I really wanted to. Sometimes that truth can be hard to hold.

I once had a friend whose nature I saw clearly. I knew who she was, what she was capable of.

My mistake wasn’t that I trusted her too much. My mistake was overestimating myself.

I thought I could stay close and not be affected. I thought I was strong enough. Detached enough. I believed I could manage the fire — without getting burned.

I was wrong. Terribly, horribly, wrong.

She didn’t betray me. She acted exactly as her nature dictated. Nothing came as a surprise.

What broke was my projection — of myself. That was the moment when the mirror collapsed — when the fantasy of who I thought I was got stripped away. And that part hurt, just like all shattered mirrors hurt.

But here’s the gift that comes with the pain: projection collapse isn’t a failure. It’s a truth-telling, a releasing of that which is false so that truth can be embraced.

Betrayal strips away the illusions held of others, and it exposes who I thought I was in their presence.

When that illusion crumbles, what I am left with is… me.

Can a Scorpion Forget What It Is?

Babylon 5 — that treasure trove of a series — once had an episode about a murderer who was convicted and then mind-wiped before being “rehabilitated” into society. We learn that his nature was dark — and that wiping his mind didn’t erase that nature. He couldn’t remember what he had done… but he still was who he was. And that unaddressed essence eventually led him, as you might expect, back into harm’s way — dragging innocent people with him.

That episode got me to thinking about our poor little scorpion.

In the allegory, I assumed the scorpion is manipulative — that he lied to the frog in order to get what he wanted. But what if he wasn’t lying to the frog? What if he truly believed he wouldn’t sting the frog? What if he wanted to be trustworthy — even intended to be — but simply couldn’t override his nature?

In that case, the betrayal wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t deception. It was delusion. Because the scorpion didn’t lie to the frog. He lied to himself.

That changes everything. The frog betrayed himself by denying what he knew to be true. The scorpion betrayed himself by pretending to be what he wasn’t — or by refusing to admit what he was.

Both are versions of self-abandonment. One through projection. One through denial. Both are mirrors — and both shattered in that moment, leaving each to see the situation, and themselves, clearly… painfully.

Not a Bypass — and Not a Blame Game

In the aftermath of situations where I realized that I knew — that I saw the signs, felt the gut tension, ignored the whisper, denied a knowing — it is so easy to spiral into a shame/blame loop:

“I knew better. Why didn’t I act? What’s wrong with me?”

This is where I hope your Observer Self can step in — to say: “Treat yourself with compassion.” Because that voice berating you for making a mistake? That’s not healing. That’s just another version of self-abandonment pretending to be self-awareness.

Now I’m not just hurting — I’m punishing myself for having been vulnerable. I’m abandoning the part of myself that hoped. The part that longed for love, or loyalty, or possibility, or whatever the situation was. And instead of honoring that beautiful aspect of self willing to be vulnerable in some regard, I shamed it.

That’s not accountability. That’s trauma in a different costume.

But here’s the truth underneath that spiral – the part we often forget to name: Most of us were never taught to trust our knowing in the first place. We were trained to distrust our instincts. Taught that politeness was more important than perception. That being accommodating was safer than being clear. We learned to defer to authority — to trust the external voice over the internal one.

Like the frog, we’ve been conditioned to believe that the promise of safety is more trustworthy than the warning in our own gut. So no — I didn’t fail at something. I followed the programming, and have now learned a painful lesson. The only real question is: Will I take it in? Or will I shame myself into hardening my heart and wounding myself even more deeply?

Self-blame feels powerful — like I’m taking control, or ‘taking my power back’. But that’s not true – it’s a trap.

It keeps me spinning in judgment instead of moving toward integration. It told me the mirror of projection or denial shattered because I failed to keep it intact — not because it was never showing me the whole truth to begin with.

And here’s what I want you to know:

Recognizing our part in a situation is not the same as blaming ourself.

This isn’t about taking the fall for someone else’s behavior. It’s about refusing to abandon ourselves in the aftermath.

Betrayal hurts because it shatters a mirror — a projection or a denial. But healing begins when we stop trying to reassemble the illusion… and instead, start holding the truth gently in our hands. “Treat yourself with compassion.”

Coming Home

When I told my husband all those years ago that I don’t believe betrayal is what most people think it is, it’s because in my experience, the only real betrayal is self-betrayal. And in its highest truth, self-betrayal is self-abandonment.

When I ignore the quiet knowing or choose to believe someone’s story over my own observation, that’s abandoning myself. When I fail to take honest stock of who I am—my skills, my boundaries, my relationship to the situation—in favor of an ideal or belief, that’s abandoning myself. And when I can’t even see the person or circumstance clearly because I’m interacting with a wounded reflection… that, too, is self-abandonment. Whether through projection or denial, betrayal begins the moment I turn away from my own inner truth. But that turning is rarely conscious. More often, it’s a quiet, protective reflex—born from fear of what that truth will require of me. Because once I acknowledge what I know, something must change. And change, even when necessary, is not always something I feel ready for. So I resist. I postpone. I deny. Their actions, then, are not the betrayal—but the mirror—offering a reflection I may not have been ready to see.

If the pain of perceived betrayal is the rupturing of a mirror, then healing begins with a return to the self I had abandoned. That return only becomes possible when I begin to heal the wounds that distorted the view in the first place. The Hall of Mirrors fades when the ego no longer needs to scramble for protection—and the gut, finally, gets a voice.

And maybe… just maybe, some of those mirror-breaking moments were never punishments at all, but soul-gifted agreements made beyond the ego’s reach—designed not to hurt me, but to bring me home to myself. If so, then even the sting carried the signature of love.

And from that knowing, I step up.

TL;DR

Betrayal isn’t about others breaking our trust—it’s about the moment we abandon our own knowing. Through projection or denial, self-betrayal distorts truth. Healing begins when we reclaim our voice, dissolve illusion, and return to inner integrity.

About the Image

This was taken at Placirita Canyon in Southern California. There were a lot of trees growing up around the rocks, with a few like this having sent roots into the bedrock and breaking it up. It could be seen as a form of betrayal, that the rock offered a foundation to anchor to and the tree took that and instead used itself to shatter the rocks. I wish I had some images of frogs, since I have tree frogs in the yard, but this image conveyed the idea symbolically which I really enjoy.

Audio

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Video

Video is also available through the YouTube Channel. The background features the Lesser Goldenfinch which are visiting a bird feeder. These guys are fiesty!