When did you start (dis)trusting yourself?

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My distrust always came in the most mundane of interactions. Sitting at the hair salon, not liking the reflection staring back at me – yet unable to say a word. Not because I was afraid to speak up, but because I couldn’t convince myself I knew best.  

I always had a quiet preference, a nagging inkling that straight-back cornrows did not, in fact, flatter my larger-than-average forehead. But I held onto my silence, instead deferring to the professionals. Because they had to know better…right?

Letting them decide felt easier. Safer. Because if something went wrong, I could tell myself it wasn’t really my fault. My silence gave me plausible deniability.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that passive participation in my life’s trajectory was not an exercise in humility or politeness, but instead, a cowardly attempt to outsource my judgement to the whims of others.

But the seed of doubt had already taken hold – quickly, aggressively – infiltrating my internal compass. And much like a lousy tenant, my agency was soon evicted.

Just like that, I couldn’t trust myself.

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So, when did I start trusting myself again?

As the saying goes, once lost, trust is hard to earn. And boy, did it take me a while.

I’m typically not a fan of decisive moments – I don’t believe they exist. And so, the shift arrived quietly, not with a distinct epiphany, but with a journey. One in which my zeal to ask (dumb) questions slowly declined. The spirit of doubt slowly crept in, and I began to shy away from displaying my ignorance in a fool’s setting – a classroom, built for not knowing. And the worst part is, I often knew more than I thought I did.

I think it was then – when I realized my ability to learn might be at stake – that I finally admitted something had to change.

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My trust in myself was re-built in the same mundane interactions. Revisiting the hair salon and doing a double take to make sure the vision was coming to life. Offering the occasional – what I believed was a stern – glance at the stylist that said, we’ll sit here until we get this right. Urging the speedy uber drivers to slow down, even with the awareness that I was at their mercy. And reminding myself that emotional distrust was not a unique feeling; extending grace to those who should know better, because perhaps, in those moments, they did not feel like they did.

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So, tell me, when did you start (dis)trusting yourself?

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Breaking the fourth wall here. I’d actually love to know – tell me in the comments.