“Can I trust you?”

Dictionary.com defines trust as “reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc., of a person or thing; confidence.” We may speak of being able to trust our friends, not being able to trust strangers, etc. When someone breaks our trust, we feel betrayed, misused, violated.

I have a hard time thinking like this. To me, this definition of trust puts the onus on the person you are trusting. Essentially, I am saying, “Because I trust you, I am going to give you something I wouldn’t give another person.” If they break this trust, then I say, “I trusted you, and you broke my trust.”

In a sense, this kind of trust is a leap of faith and an imposition. It is a judgment call. “I believe you are worthy of holding this for me.” Did I ask to hold it for you? Am I capable of holding it? Am I willing to say, “No, don’t trust me with that?”

If I have to ask “Can I trust you with this?” I should already know that I can’t. If I knew you could safekeep what I am giving, I wouldn’t have to ask. When I ask, can you comfortably say “No, you cannot?” Or will you feel it is an honor, and not let me know that you cannot hold it?

When we normally speak of trusting someone, we speak of it as something that is static, but it isn’t. “I’ll always be there for you” is completely untrue the moment one or the other of you dies. It doesn’t take into account those times when something happens while one of you is in the middle of an ocean, a week away from any port of call.

There are a lot of thorns involved with trusting in this manner.

I like to base my trust upon what is. I trust everyone to be exactly as they are.

By trusting everyone to be exactly as they are, I no longer ask people if I can trust them. I see them, see their actions, and how their actions and words match up. It is my observations and my history with them that I use to choose what to share with them. I will not ask them to hold anything more than I feel comfortable with them having.

It also places the onus upon myself. If someone “breaks” this trust, it is because I did not see them as they are, not because they did something to me. It allows me to see how I filtered my perspective on them. Did I miss the signs that said that this person did not have integrity, or was uncomfortable safekeeping others words or possessions? Are they scared to stand in the face of opposition or coercion? If so, I missed seeing that, and I asked them to go beyond their character. In the future I can see them, not as someone I cannot trust, but as someone who is not comfortable with these responsibilities.

This also puts the concepts of mistrust into the perspective of self-awareness. If I want to “trust” people whose actions and words are not consistent with each other; who speaks of sharing but doesn’t; who says they are my friend with their words but not their eyes; who says “you can trust me” (when trust should not need convincing); then that tells me that I am trying to create a connection despite those signs. I am trying to build relationships that are not there, and that is something for me to look at.

On the other hand, if I believe that everyone is untrustworthy, despite some people being open and consistent in their actions and words; despite their openness in listening, their respect for differing views; despite their lack of imposition; despite warmth being evident in their eyes and gestures; then that tells me that I am unwilling to open my eyes and heart to kindness.

The challenge with this is that it can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. If I am withdrawn and mistrust everyone, then people who would be “trustworthy” will tend to avoid my company. After all, I am not sharing my warmth and honesty with them. The people who will gravitate to me will have similar issues as my own. That would either appear either as people I can commiserate with (“Can’t trust anyone, can you?” “Nope, sure can’t.”) or people who are untrustworthy. People who have challenges with integrity believe the adage, “If you can fake sincerity, you’ve got it made.” Those who are untrusting will see this person who says, “You can trust me,” and want to believe them – even if they are not trustworthy. If that trust is broken, it merely reinforces the belief that everyone is untrustworthy.

The challenge I see for addressing trust issues is facing and releasing the underlying grief. It could be that my trust was broken, and I am desperately looking for a reason to believe it still exists somewhere in this world, or that I have given up because the cost of that broken trust was too painful.

Either way, there are two processes I see. The first is allowing the original grief to come up, so that it can be released and reconciled. The second is learning how to trust in our own observation skills. When we feel hurt, it colors everything we see with a filter that says, “I cannot trust you” or “You are the only person I can trust to keep that pain at bay.” It keeps us from being able to freely accept that a person may or may not be comfortable safeguarding that information or possession.

When we learn to trust our own ability to sense, however, we move along the road of seeing that we can actually trust ourselves. Once we can trust ourselves, we don’t need another person to trust. We also don’t need to push people away. We can appreciate people where they are, and recognize their boundaries.