Let’s talk about trust.
Not the kind you read about in romance novels, where two people lock eyes and suddenly the world melts away and they just know they can rely on each other. No. I’m talking about real-world, gut-check, shaky-hands kind of trust. The kind you have to rebuild after it’s been shattered. The kind that takes everything in you to give again—because you’ve seen what happens when it breaks.
At this point in my life, trust doesn’t come easy. And honestly? I think that’s okay.
After all I’ve been through—the betrayal of people I never thought would hurt me, the silence where support should’ve been, the divorce that changed everything—I’ve earned my caution. I’ve earned my questions. I’ve earned the right to be slower, more intentional, more protective of my peace.
Trust, for me, isn’t something that just happens anymore. It’s something I build. One brick at a time.
I used to think trust meant giving someone the benefit of the doubt no matter what. Letting things slide. Keeping the peace. Not wanting to seem “too much” or “too emotional.” But now? Trust means listening to my gut—and honoring it. It means setting boundaries and watching how someone responds. It means not needing constant reassurance, but also not ignoring the need for consistency.
Some days I feel like I’m doing it all wrong. I overthink. I pull back. I test the waters before fully jumping in. But then I remind myself—this version of me has earned the right to be careful.
I’ve trusted the wrong people before.
I’ve extended grace to people who had no intention of returning it.
I’ve clung to hope when the truth was screaming in my face.
So now? I move slower. And that’s not fear. That’s wisdom.
These days, building trust looks like:
Having hard conversations and not shutting down afterward. Letting someone see me when I’m anxious, overwhelmed, or raw—and not apologizing for it. Sharing my truth without dressing it up to make someone else comfortable. Watching actions more than listening to words—and knowing the difference between effort and excuses.
And maybe most importantly? It’s about learning to trust myself again.
For a while, I stopped trusting my own judgment. When people you love betray you, it can make you question everything. But slowly, I’ve been rebuilding that inner relationship. The one where I trust myself to walk away from what hurts. To choose what feels right. To speak up when something’s off. To listen when something deep down says, this isn’t it.
I’m not aiming for perfection in relationships anymore. I’m aiming for realness. For mutual respect. For alignment.
Trust isn’t about never making mistakes—it’s about how you show up after them. It’s about accountability, safety, and being able to breathe easy around someone because you know they’re not waiting to use your vulnerability against you.
That’s the kind of trust I’m building. And that’s the kind of relationship I want—whether it’s romantic, friendship, or family.
And let’s not forget how trust issues can sneak into every corner of your life—not just your romantic relationships. Friendships, family dynamics, even working with new people—suddenly you find yourself scanning for red flags everywhere. It can feel exhausting. But here’s what I’ve come to understand: noticing red flags doesn’t mean you’re paranoid. It means you’ve learned from the past. It means you’re paying attention. And that’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of.
Sometimes, the hardest part of rebuilding trust is letting go of the idea that it should feel effortless. Trust takes work. It takes showing up when it’s inconvenient, telling the truth when it’s uncomfortable, and staying when it’s easier to run. And if someone in your life can’t meet you with that same energy—well, that’s information. You don’t have to explain why your boundaries exist. You just have to honor them.
One thing I’ve learned along the way is that trust grows in the small moments. It’s not just about grand gestures or big promises. It’s about who checks in when you go quiet. Who keeps your secrets safe. Who doesn’t get defensive when you express a need. Those little things? They’re everything. That’s the foundation. That’s what real trust is built on—not perfection, but presence.
So wherever you are in your journey—whether you’re trying to trust someone new, mend a bond that’s been broken, or just finally learning how to trust yourself again—give yourself grace. This stuff is hard. It’s brave. It’s messy. But it’s also the pathway to deeper, richer, more fulfilling connections. And you, my friend, deserve nothing less than that.
So, if you’re here too—learning to trust again after being let down—I see you.
Take your time.
Protect your heart and keep it open.
Let people earn their place in your life.
Because you, my dear, are not broken.
You’re wiser now.
Leave a comment