trust

I've spent a lot of time thinking about trust lately...

And realized, I've spent years learning how to distrust myself.

That realization didn't arrive all at once. It arrived through hundreds of tiny moments where I felt something, knew something, sensed something, and then immediately began explaining it away.

Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm being too sensitive. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe I need more information. Maybe I should be more compassionate. Maybe I should try harder to understand.

There is value in compassion.

There is value in curiosity.

There is value in giving people the benefit of the doubt.

But somewhere along the way, I began extending that grace to everyone except myself.

What I failed to realize is that self-abandonment rarely feels like self-abandonment in the moment. It feels like growth. It feels like humility. It feels like being open-minded. It feels like trying to be loving.

Until one day you wake up and realize you no longer know what belongs to you.

That was the part that surprised me.

I always imagined self-abandonment as something dramatic. A conscious choice. A clear betrayal. Instead, it was a thousand small decisions to trust everyone else's interpretation of reality more than my own.

The hardest lesson I've learned is that trust and self-trust are not opposites.

I can trust someone deeply and still ask questions. I can love someone and still disagree with them. I can be open, vulnerable, and receptive without surrendering my ability to discern. I can listen carefully to another person's perspective without abandoning my own.

Healthy relationships don't require self-abandonment.

Healthy spirituality doesn't require self-abandonment.

Healthy love doesn't require self-abandonment.

The relationships that have nourished me most deeply have challenged me, stretched me, and invited me to grow. But they have never required me to stop trusting myself. They have made room for my voice, my questions, my boundaries, my instincts, and my reality.

I've come to believe that one of the most important words in any relationship is "no."

Not because "no" creates distance.

Because an honest "no" creates the possibility of genuine trust and connection.

A "yes" that requires self-betrayal is not intimacy.

It is performance.

And eventually, every performance becomes exhausting.

Now, to practice...

When something feels wrong, I will not immediately explain it away. When my body speaks, I will listen. When my intuition raises a hand, I will not send it to the back of the room.

Discernment is not cynicism. Boundaries are not punishment. Questions are not disrespect. And "no" is not failure.

Sometimes "no" is wisdom.

Sometimes "no" is self-respect.

Sometimes "no" is the most loving thing we can say.

Not just to others.

To ourselves.

Because if I've learned anything, it's this:

When something feels wrong, I should probably stop trying to convince myself it isn't.