Recently, after watching Dhurandhar, I was deeply disturbed. Not just by the storyline, but by the sheer intensity of betrayal portrayed in the film. Being an empath by nature, it affected me far more than I expected. I found myself asking God questions that have lived in my heart for a long time:
Watching Dhurandhar felt unsettling because it mirrored reality too closely. The betrayals were cold, calculated, and often executed by those closest. As the story unfolded, I wasn’t just watching a movie — I was reliving emotions I thought I had already buried.
The film reminded me how people can wear masks for years, playing the roles of friends, well-wishers, even protectors — only to turn around when material gain or self-interest appears. It reinforced a harsh truth I’ve learned through experience: betrayal rarely comes from strangers; it comes from those we trust deeply.
What shook me the most was how betrayal isn’t just a single moment. It’s a slow erosion of faith. Each incident chips away at your belief in people, until your heart whispers, “Never trust anyone anymore.”
And yet, despite everything, there is resilience.
Even when the mind feels exhausted and logic says, “Shut it down,” something within still chooses to move forward. That’s where I found myself — standing between pain and faith.
I’ve endured betrayals but never allowed them to poison my heart. The most recent one involved a lady police officer — someone I believed was a friend and a well-wisher. This betrayal cut deep because I trusted her intentions completely. When that trust broke, the shock lingered far longer than expected.
I’ve faced betrayal more than once, and each time it feels like a deeper wound. It makes you question every bond, every connection. It tempts you to build walls so high that nothing can reach you anymore.
But shutting myself off completely didn’t feel right.
Yes, logic says guarding the heart is safer. But deep inside, I knew that choosing bitterness would change who I am. And I’m not willing to become cold just because others chose to be dishonest.
So I keep going.
Even when my mind wants to shut down, my heart keeps choosing faith. I find it in small, almost invisible moments — breadcrumbs of miracles that remind me that not everyone is out to hurt me. Goodness still exists, even if it feels buried under layers of betrayal.
Then I came across a YouTube short by a psychic whose aura oozes authenticity — and I was stunned.
It felt like she was speaking directly to me. Every word resonated, as if she had tapped into my lived experiences and verbalized emotions I hadn’t fully articulated myself. She spoke about enduring betrayal, about the natural urge to close off, and about continuing to walk forward in faith despite everything.
It felt like confirmation — not coincidence.
Between the movie, my personal experiences, and that message, one truth became clear: betrayal may harden logic, but it doesn’t have to poison the heart. Faith doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it survives quietly — stubbornly refusing to die.
I may feel shaken. I may feel guarded. But I’m still open. Still believing in goodness, kindness, and humanity.
I don’t have all the answers, and maybe I never will. But my faith in the Supreme is stronger than betrayal. Even when it doesn’t make sense to the limited capacity of the conscious mind, my heart knows.
If you’re feeling betrayed, hurt, or questioning whether you can trust again, remember this:
Betrayals often reveal who is not meant to walk with us further on our journey.
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